Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope: Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his

power,

And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land.
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd

At Ravenspurg.

Queen.

Now God in heaven forbid !

Green. Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and what is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry

Percy,

The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,

With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy; And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,

Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.

Green. Here comes the Duke of York.

Queen. O, full of careful business are his looks.

Enter YORK.

Úncle, fór God's sake, speak comfortable words.
York. 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.
Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I
Know how or which way t' order these affairs
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,

Never believe me.

Somewhat we must do.

Gentlemen, 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. [Exit YORK.
Bushy. Despair not, madam.

Queen.

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,
Which false hope lingers in extremity.

[Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies.

Bagot. I will 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 Bolingbroke.

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is numbering sands, and drinking oceans dry: Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bagot. Farewell at once,-for once, for all, and ever. Bushy. Well, we may meet again. Bagot.

I fear me, never. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.-The wilds in Glostershire.

Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND,
with Forces.

Northumberland.

HESE high wild hills and rough uneven.

ways

Draw out our miles, and make them weari

some;

And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and délectable.
Boling. Of much less value is my company
Than your good words.—But who comes here?
North. It is my son, my lord, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.

Enter PERCY.

Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I had thought, my lord, t' 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 proclaimèd 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 service,
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young;
Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm
To more approvèd service and desert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure
I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul remembering 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. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby.

Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY.

Boling. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pur

sues

A banish'd traitor: all my treasury

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd,
Shall be your love and labour's recompense.

Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble
lord.

Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. Boling. Evermore thanks, th' exchequer of the poor; Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, Stands for my bounty.-But who is't comes here?

Enter YORK, attended.

My noble uncle!

[Kneels. not thy

York. Show me thy humble heart, and

knee,

Whose duty is deceivable and false.

Boling. My gracious uncle!

York. Tut, tut!

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle :

I am no traitor's uncle; and that word "grace
In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground,
In gross rebellion and detested treason?

Thou art a banish'd man; and here art come,
Before the expiration of thy time,

In braving arms against thy sovereign.

1

eye :

Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford; But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace, Look on my wrongs with an indifferent 1 You are my father, for methinks in you I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father, Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? If that my cousin king be King of England, It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold ; And these and all are all amiss employ'd. What would you have me do? I am a subject, And challenge law attorneys are denied me; And therefore personally I lay my claim

To my inheritance of free descent.

North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd.

1 Impartial.