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What pow'r the Duke of York had levy'd there,
North. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?
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 ihall ripen and confirm To more approved service and defert.
Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a foul rememb'ring my good friends; And as my fortune ripen's with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompence. My heart this cov'nant makes, my hand thus seals it.
North. How far is it to Berkley? and what stir Keeps good old York there with his men of war ?
Percy. There stands the castle by yond tuft of trees, Mann'd with three hundred men as I have heard; And in it are the Lords, York, Berkley, Seymour ; None else of name and noble estimate.
Enter Ross and Willoughby. North. Here comes the Lords of Ross and Willoughby. Bloody with fpurring, fiery-red with hafte.
Boling. Welcome, my Lords; I wot, your love pursues A banili'd traitor; all my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich’d, Shall be your love and labour's recompence.
Rofs. Your presence makes us rich, most noble Lord. Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.
Boling. Evermore, thanks ;-(th' exchequer of the Which, till my infant-fortune comes to years, [poor) Stands for my bounty. But who now comes here?
Enter Berkley. North. It is my Lord of Berkley, as I guess. Berk. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.
Boling. My Lord, my answer is to Lancaster; And I am come to seek that name in England,
And I must find that title in your tongue,
Berk. Mistake me not, my Lord; 'tis not my meaning Te raze one title of
honour out. To you, my Lord, I come, (what Lord you will), From the most glorious of this land, The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on To take advantage of the absent * time, And fright our native peace with self-born arms,
S CE N E X.: Enter York. Boling. I shall 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, Whole duty is deceivable and false.
Boling. My gracious uncle !
no uncle :
upon her peaceful boiom, Frighting her pale-face'd villages with war, And oftentation of diíposed arms? Com'ít thou because th' anointed King is hence ? Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind; And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the Lord of such hot youth, As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself Rescu'd the black Prince, that young Mars of men, From forth the ranks of inany thousand French; Oh! then, how quickly should this arm of mine, Now prisoner to the paisy, chastise thee, And minister 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 worit degree,
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come,
Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;
North. The noble Duke hath been too much abus'd. Rofs. It stands your Grace upon to do him right. Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great.
York. My Lords of England, let me tell you this,
North. The noble Duke hath fworn, his coming is
York. Well, well; I see the issue of these arms.
Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept;
York. It may be I will go, but yet I'll pause;
SCENE XI. In Wales.
Enter Salisbury, and a Captain. Cap. My Lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, And hardly kept our countrymen together, And yet we hear no tidings from the King : Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewel.
Salis. Stay yet another day thou trusty Welchman : The King reposeth all his trust in thee.
Cap. 'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay. “ The bay-trees in our country all are wither'd, " And meteors fright the fixed stars of heav'n ; “ The pale-face'd moon looks bloody on the earth, " And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change. * Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap :" The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy ; Th’ other, in hope t'enjoy by rage and war. These figns forerun the death of Kings Farewel; our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assur'd Richard their King is dead. [Exit.
Boling Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls
Salif. Ah, Richard, ah! with eyes of heavy mind, I see thy glory, like a fhooting itar, Fall to the base earth from the firmament : The sun sets weeping in the lowly welt, Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unreít: Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes, And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit. ACT III. S C Ε Ν Ε I.
Bolingbroke's camp at Bristol. Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Ross, Percy, Willoughby, with Bushy and Green prisoners.
RING forth these men.
(Since presently your souls must part your bodies)
upon my figniories ;