Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power,? And driven into despair an enemy's hope, At Ravenspurg. Queen. Now God in heaven forbid! Green. O, madam, 'tis too true: and that is 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 Northumberland, And all the rest of the revolting faction Traitors? Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope; he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper-back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, 7 — might have retir'd his power,] Might have drawn it back. A French sense. VOL. V. M 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: Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:- Enter a Servant. Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. York. He was? Why, so!-go all which way it was?-Why, will! The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, 8 Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; 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! 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, me. Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, provide 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 Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd; But time will not permit:-All is uneven, [Exeunt YORK and Queen. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, - 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, 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, 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 Bristof castle; The earl of Wiltshire is already there. Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. 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. 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, From Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found 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? |