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York. O my Liege *.
you to seize, and grip into your hands,
K. Rich. Think what you will; we seize into our His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. [hands
York. I'll not be by the while; my Liege, farewel : What will enfue hereof there's none can tell. But by bad courses may be underilood, That their events can never fall out good. [Exit,
K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight, Bid him repair to us to Ely-house, To see this business done : to-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow. And we create, in absence of ourself, Our úncle York Lord Governor of England: For he is just, and always lov'd us well. Come on, our Queen; to morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish.
[Exeunt King, Queen, &c.
SCENE IV. Manent Northumberland, Willoughby, and Rofs. North. Well, Lords, the Duke, of Lancaster is dead. Rofs. And living too, for now his son is Duke. Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue. North. Richly in both, if justice had her right.
Rofs.My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburthen'd with a lib’ral tongue.
North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak That speaks thy words again to do thee harm. _[more,
Willo. Tends what you'd speak to the Duke of If it be so, out with it boldly, man:
[Hereford ? Quick is mine ear to hear of good tow'rds him.
Rofs. No good at all that I can do for him,
North. Now, afore heav'n, it's shame such wrongs In him a royal prince, and many more
[are borne Of noble blood in this declining land, The King is not himself, but bafely led By flatterers; and what they will inform Merely in hate ’gainst any of us all, That will the King feverely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
Rofs.The Commons hath he pill’d with grievous taxes, And lost their hearts; the nobles he hath find For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
Wills. And daily new exactions are devis’d; As blanks, benevolences, I wot not what: But what o‘God's name doth become of this ?
North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath But bafely yielded upon compromise
[not, That which his ancestors atchiev'd with blows: More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars.
Rofs. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. Willo.The King's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. North. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. Rofs. He hath not money for these Irish wars, (His burthenous taxations notwithstanding), But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke. D 2
North. His noble kinsman-moft degenerate King !
Ross. We see the very wreck that we must fuffer ;
North. Not so: ev'n thro' the hollow eyes of death
Willo.Nay, let us share thy thoughts, asthou dost ours.
Rofs. Be confident to speak, Northumberland;
North. Then thus, my friends. I have from Port le
Rofs. To horse, to horse; urge doubts to them that
SCENE V. The court.
Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.
Queen. To please the King, I did ; to please myself,
Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
Queen. It may be fo; but yet my inward soul
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious Lady.
Queen. 'Tis nothing less; conceit is still deriv'd
Busby. 'Tis nothing, &c.
mine is not ro;
SCENE VI. Enter Green.
Queen. Why hop'st thou so ?' 'tis better hope he is : For his designs crave hafte, his halte good hope. Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd ?
Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his And driv'n into despair an enemy's hope, [power; 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 heav'n forbid !
Green. O, Madam, ʼtis too true ; and what is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his young fon Percy, The Lords of Rols, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their pow'rful friends, are fled to him.
Bufby. Why have you not proclaim'd NorthumberAnd all of that revolted faction, traitors ? [land,
Green. We have: whereon the Earl of Worcelter
Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe,
Busby. Depair not, Madam.
Queen. Who shall hinder me ?
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve;