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Green. That he, our hope, might have retir’d
Queen. Now God in heaven forbid!
worse, The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry
Percy, The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northum
berland, And all the rest of the revolting faction Traitors?
Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester
Bushy. Despair not, madam.
Who shall hinder me?
i-might have retir'd his power,] Might have drawn it back. A French sense.
Green. Here comes the duke of York.
Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck; O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words.
York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. Your husband he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land; Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.
Enter a Servant. Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. York. He was ? —Why, so!-go all which way
it will ! The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:Hold, take my ring.
Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship:
York. What is it, knave?
York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
& Get thee to Plashy,] The lordship of Plashy, was a town of the duchess of Gloster's in Essex.
I know not what to do:-I would to God,
Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, pro
vide some carts, And bring away the armour that is there.
[Exit Servant. Gentlemen, will you go muster men if I know How, or which way, to order these affairs, Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ;The one's my sovereign, whom both my
oath And duty bids defend; the other again, Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd ; Whorn conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you:-Go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. I should to Plashy too;But time will not permit:-All is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven.
Exeunt York and Queen. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ire
untruth-] That is, disloyalty, treachery. ! The king had cut off my head with my brother's.] None of York's brothers had his head cut off, either by the King or any one else. The Duke of Gloster, to whose death he probably alludes, was secretly murdered at Calais, being smothered between two beds.
Come, sister, cousin, I would say:] This is one of Shakspeare's touches of nature. York is talking to the Queen his cousin, but the recent death of his sister is uppermost in his mind.
But none returns. For us to levy power,
enemy, Is all impossible.
Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love, Is near the hate of those love not the king. Bagot. And that's the wavering commons: for
their love Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con
demn'd. Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol
castle; The earl of Wiltshire is already there.
Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office The hateful commons will perform for us; Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.Will you go along with us?
Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bo
lingbroke. Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is-numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and
ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot.
I fear me, never.
The Wilds in Glostershire.
Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND,
with Forces. Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?
North. Believe me, noble lord, I am a stranger here in Glostershire. These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome: And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and délectable. But, I bethink me, what a weary way From Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company; Which, I protest, hath very much beguild The tediousness and process of my travel : But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess: And hope to joy, is little less in joy, Than hope enjoy’d: by this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath done By sight of what I have, your noble company.
Boling. Of much less value is my company, Than your good words. But who comes here!
Enter HARRY PERCY.
North. It is my son, young Harry Percy,
his health of you.