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By fo much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

Busby. Wherein the King ftands gen'rally condemn'd. Bagot. If judgment lye in them, then fo do we, Because we have been ever near the King.

Green. Well, I'll for refuge ftrait to Bristol caftle
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Busby. Thither will I with you; for little office
The hateful Commons will perform for us,
Except, like curs, to tear us all in pieces :
Will you go with us?

Bagot. No: I'll to Ireland to his Majesty.
Farewel: if hearts prefages be not vain,
We three here part, that ne'er fhall meet again.
Busby. That's as York thrives, to beat back Bolingbroke.
Green. Alas poor Duke, the task he undertakes

Is numb'ring fands, and drinking oceans dry,
Where one on his fide fights, thoufands will flye.
Busby. Farewel at once, for once, for all, and ever!
Green, Well, we may meet again.

Bagot. I fear me, never.

[Exeunt

SCENE IX. In Gloucefterfhire.
Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland.
Boling. How far is it, my Lord, to Barkley now?
North. I am a ftranger here in Glo'fterfpire:
Thefe high wild hills, and rough uneven ways
Draw out our miles, and make them wearifome :
And yet our fair difcourfe has been as fugar,
Making the hard way fweet and delectable.
But I bethink me what a weary way
From Ravenfpurg to Cotswold will be found
By Rofs and Willoughby wanting your company,
Which I proteft hath very much beguil'd
The tedioufnefs and procefs of my travel:
But theirs is fweetned with the hope to have
The prefent benefit that I poffefs:
And hope to joy is little lefs in joy,

Than hope enjoy'd. By this the weary Lords

Shall make their way feem fhort, as mine hath done
By fight of what I have, your noble company.
Boling. Of much lefs value is my company

Than

Than your good words: but who comes here ?
Enter Percy.

North. It is my fon, young Harry Percy,

Sent from my brother Worcester: whencefoever,
Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I 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 forfook the Court, Broken his ftaff of office, and difperft

The houfhold of the King.

North. What was his reafon? he was not fo refolv'd, When we laft fpake together.

Percy. Because your Lordship was proclaimed traitor.
But he, my Lord, is gone to Ravenfpurg.

To offer fervice to the Duke of Hereford,
And fent me o'er by Barkley, to discover
What pow'r the Duke of York had levy'd there;
Then with direction to repair to Ravenfpurg.

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 took 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 fhall ripen, and confirm

To more approved fervice and defert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy, and be fure
I count my felf in nothing else so happy,
As in a foul remembring my good friends:
And as my fortune ripens with thy love,
It fhall be fill thy true love's recompence.

My heart this cov'nant makes, my hand thus feals it.
North. How far is it to Barkley? and what ftir
Keeps the good old York there with his men of war?
Percy. There ftands the caftle by yond tuft of trees,
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard,
And in it are the Lords, York, Barkley, Seymour ;
None elfe of name, and noble eftimate.
Bb 3

Enter

Enter Rofs and Willoughby.

North. Here come the Lords of Rofs and Willoughby, Bloody with fpurring, fiery red with haste.

Boling. Welcome, my Lords; I wot your love pursues A banish'd traitor; all my treafury

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

Rofs. Your prefence makes us rich, moft noble Lord.
Willo. And far furmounts 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 now comes here?
Enter Barkley.

North. It is my Lord of Barkley, as I guess. Bark. Lord Hereford, my meffage is to you. Boling. My Lord, my anfwer is to Lancaster, And I am come to feek that name in England, And I must find that title in your tongue, Before I make reply to ought you fay.

Bark. Miftake me not, my Lord, 'tis nọt my meaning To raze one title of your honour out.

To you, my Lord, I come, what Lord you will,

From the moft glorious of all this land,

The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on
To take advantage of the abfent time,

And fright our native peace with felf-born arms.
SCENE X. Enter York.

Boling. I fhall not need transport my words by you. Here comes his Grace in perfon. Noble uncle! [Kneels York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whofe duty is deceivable and falfe.

Boling. My gracious uncle!

York. I am no traitor's uncle; and that word Grace, In an ungracious mouth, is but prophane.

Why have thefe banish'd and forbidden legs

Dar'd once to touch a duft of England's ground?
But more then, why, why have they dar'd to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bofom,
Frighting her påle-fac'd villages with war,
And oftentation of defpightful arms?

Com'ft thou because th' anointed King is hence ?
Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind,
And in my loyal bofom lyes his

power.

Were I but now the Lord of fuch hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and my felf
Refcued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French;
Oh then, how quickly fhould this arm of mine,
Now prisoner to the palfie, chaftife thee,
And minifter correction to thy fault!

Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;
On what condition stands it, and wherein ?

York. Ev'n in condition of the worst degree;

In grofs rebellion, and detefted treafon :

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

In braving arms against thy Sovereign.

Boling. As I was banifh'd, I was banish'd Hereford ;]
But as I come, I come for Lancafter.
And, noble uncle, I befeech your Grace,
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
You are my father, for methinks in you
I fee old Gaunt alive. Oh then, my father!
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
A wand'ring vagabond; my rights and royalties
Pluckt from my arms perforce, and giv'n' away
To upftart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
If that my coufin King be King of England,
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.
You have a fon, Aumerle my noble kinfman:
Had you firft dy'd, and he been thus trod down,
He fhould have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
To rowze his wrongers, chafing them to the bay.
I am deny'd to fue my livery here,

And yet my letters patents give me leave:
My father's goods are all diftrain'd and fold,
And these, and all, are all amifs employ'd.
What would you have me do? I am a fubject,
And challenge law: attorneys are deny'd me,
And therefore perfonally I lay my claim

ΤΟ

To mine inheritance of free defcent.

North. The noble Duke hath been too much abus'd.
Rofs. It ftands your Grace upon to do him right.
Willo. Bafe men by his endowments are made great.
York. My Lords of England, let me tell you this,
I have had feeling of my coufin's wrongs,
And labour'd all I could to do him right:
But in this kind, to come in braving arms,
Be his own carver, and cut out his way,
To find out right with wrongs, it may not be ;
And you that do abet him in this kind
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.

North. The noble Duke hath fworn his coming is
But for his own; and for the right of that
We all have ftrongly fworn to give him aid;
And let him ne'er fee joy that breaks that oath !
York. Well, well, I fee the iffue of these arms;
I cannot mend it, I must needs confefs,
Because my pow'r is weak, and all ill-left:
But if I could, by him that gave me life,
I would attach you all, and make you ftoop
Unto the fovereign mercy of the King.
But fince I cannot, be it known to you,
I do remain as neuter. So farewel!
Unless you please to enter in the caftle,
And there repofe you for this night.

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept ;
But we must win your Grace to go with us
To Briftol-Caftle, which they fay is held
By Busby, Bagot, and their complices,
The caterpillars of the common-wealth,
Which I have fworn to weed, and pluck away.
York. It may be I will go but yet I'll pause,
For I am loth to break our country's laws :
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are;
Things paft redrefs are now with me paft care..

SCENE XI. In Wales.
Enter Salisbury, and a Captain.

[Exeunt.

Cap. My Lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, And hardly kept our countrymen together,

And

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