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Enter YORK.

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:
To-day, as I came by, I called there;
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

York. What is it, knave?
Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died.

York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!

8 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,
(So my untruth' had not provok'd him to it)
The king had cut off my head with my brother's.'—
What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland ?-
How shall we do for money for these wars? -
Come, sister,--cousin, I would say : pray, pardon

me.

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

land,

- 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.

2 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,
Proportionable to the 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

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

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, Sent from

my

brother Worcester, whencesoever. Harry, how fares your uncle? Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd

his health of you. North. Why, is he not with the queen?

Percy. No, my good lord ; he hath forsook the

court,
Broken his staff of office, and dispers’d
The household of the king.
North.

What was his reason? He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake together. Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed

traitor.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg,
To offer service to the duke of Hereford;
And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover
What

power the duke of York had levied there; Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg.

North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford,

boy?

Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot, Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him. North. Then learn to know him now; this is the

duke. Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my ser

vice,
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young;
Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm
To more approved service and desert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure,
I count myself in nothing else so happy,
As in a soul rememb’ring my good friends ;
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,
It shall be still thy true love's recompense:
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals

it. North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of

trees, Mann’d with three hundred men, as I have heard:

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