York. O my Liege *.
Seck

you to seize, and grip into your hands,
The royalties and rights of baniih'd Hereford ?
Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live ?
Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true ?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir ?
Is not his heir a well-deserving fon?
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time
His charters, and his cultomary rights.
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;
Be not thyself.- For how art thou a King,
But by fair sequence and succession ?
If you do wrongfully feize Hereford's right,
Call in his letters parents that he hath,
By his attorneys-general, to sue
His livery, and deny his offer'd homage ;
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head ;
You lote a thousand well-difpofed hearts;
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts,
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

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 jult, 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,
Unless you call it good to pity him,
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

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,

North. His noble kinsman-moft degenerate King !
But, Lords, we hear this fearful tempeft fing,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm :
We see the wind sit sore upon our fails,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

Ross. We see the very wreck that we must fuffer ;
And unavoided is the danger now,
For suff’ring so the causes of our wreck.

North. Not so: ev'n thro' the hollow eyes of death
I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings, of our comfort is.

Willo.Nay, let us share thy thoughts, asthou dost ours.

Rofs. Be confident to speak, Northumberland;
We three are but thyself, and speaking 10,
Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold.

North. Then thus, my friends. I have from Port le
A bay in Bretagne, had intelligence, [Blanc,
That Harry Hereford, Rainald Lord Cobham,
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Rainston,
Sir John Norberie, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis

Coines,
All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore ;
Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay
The first departing of the King for Ireland.
If then we shall Thake off our Navilh yoke,
Imp put our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemilh'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt,
And make high-majesty look like itself;
Away with me in post to Ravenfpurg.
But if you faint, as fearing to do so, :
Stay, and be fecret, and myself will go. [fear.

Rofs. To horse, to horse; urge doubts to them that
Hillo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

:

SCENE V. The court.

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.
Bushy. Madam, your Majesty is much too fad :
You promis’d, when you parted with the King,
To lay aside self-harming heaviness,
And entertain a chearful disposition.

Queen. To please the King, I did ; to please myself,
I cannot do it: Yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief;
Save bidding farewel to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: yet again, 'methinks,
Some unborn forrow, ripe in Fortune's womb,
Is coming tow'rd me; and my inward soul
With something trembles, yet at nothing grieves,
More than with parting from my Lord the King.

Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty fhadows,
Which shew like gʻrief itself, but are not to.
For Sorrow's eye, glaz'd'with'blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire, to many objects ;
Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Shew nothing but confusion; ey d awry,
Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,
Looking awry upon your Lord's departure,
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail ;
Which look'd on, as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Gracious Queen, then weep not
More than your Lord's departure; more's not seen :
Or if it be, 'tis with false Sorrow's

eye,
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.

Queen. It may be fo; but yet my inward soul
Perfuades me otherwise : howe'er it be,
I cannot but be fad; so heavy-fad *,

Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious Lady.

Queen. 'Tis nothing less; conceit is still deriv'd
From fome forefather grief: mine is not so t;

SCENE
so heavyofad,
As though, on thinking, on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and thrink.

Busby. 'Tis nothing, &c.
+

mine is not ro;
For nothing hath begot my something grief,

Or

SCENE VI. Enter Green.
Green. Heav'n fave your Majesty! and well met,

Gentlemen.
I hope the King is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.

Queen. Why hop'st thou so ?' 'tis better hope he is : For his designs crave hafte, his halte good hope. Then wherefore dolt 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 Rofs, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their pow'rful friends, are fled to him.

Buhy. Why have you not proclaim'd NorthumberAnd all of that revolted faction, traitors ? sland,

Green. We have: whereon the Earl of Worcelter
Hath broke his staff, refign'd his fteward thip;
And all the houshold-fervants fled with him
To Bolingbroke.

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

Bushy. Depair not, Madam.

Queen. Who shall hinder me ?
I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening Hope; he is a flatterer,
A parafite, a keeper back of death;
Who gently would diffolve the bands of life,
Which false hopes linger, in extremity.

Or something hath the nothing that I grieve;
"Tis in reversion that I do pofleis;
But what it is, that is poi yet known, what
I cannot name, 'tis nameless woe, I wot,
SCENE, &c.

SCENE