| KING RICHARD | the Second. (KING RICHARD II:) |
| JOHN OF GAUNT Duke of Lancaster
EDMUND OF LANGLEY Duke of York (DUKE OF YORK:) |
|
| uncles to the King. | |
| HENRY, surnamed
BOLINGBROKE |
(HENRY BOLINGBROKE:) Duke of Hereford, son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV. |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | son to the Duke of York. |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | Duke of Norfolk. |
| DUKE OF SURREY: | |
| EARL OF SALISBURY: | |
| LORD BERKELEY: | |
| BUSHY
BAGOT GREEN |
|
| | servants to King Richard. | | |
| EARL
OF NORTHUMBERLAND |
(NORTHUMBERLAND:) |
| HENRY PERCY,
surnamed HOTSPUR |
his son. (HENRY PERCY:) |
| LORD ROSS: | |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY: | |
| LORD FITZWATER: | |
| BISHOP OF CARLISLE: | |
| Abbot Of
Westminster |
(Abbot:) |
| LORD MARSHAL | (Lord Marshal:) |
| SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: | |
| SIR
PIERCE OF EXTON |
(EXTON:) |
| Captain of a band of Welshmen. (Captain:) | |
| QUEEN
to King Richard |
(QUEEN:) |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | (DUCHESS OF YORK:) |
| DUCHESS
OF GLOUCESTER |
(DUCHESS:) |
| Lady attending on the Queen. (Lady:) | |
| Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two
Gardeners,
Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. (Lord:) (First Herald:) (Second Herald:) (Gardener:) (Keeper:) (Groom:) (Servant:) |
| [Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT,
with other
Nobles and Attendants] |
|
| KING RICHARD II | Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | I have, my liege. |
| KING RICHARD II | Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily, as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | As near as I could sift him on that argument,
On some apparent danger seen in him Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. |
| KING RICHARD II | Then call them to our presence; face to
face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak: High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. |
| [Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY] | |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Many years of happy days befal
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! |
| KING RICHARD II | We thank you both: yet one but flatters
us,
As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | First, heaven be the record to my speech!
In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, Too good to be so and too bad to live, Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove. |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this: Yet can I not of such tame patience boast As to be hush'd and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him a slanderous coward and a villain: Which to maintain I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I tied to run afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable, Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time let this defend my loyalty, By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Pale trembling coward, there I throw my
gage,
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king, And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: By that and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | I take it up; and by that sword I swear
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: And when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor or unjustly fight! |
| KING RICHARD II | What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's
charge?
It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Look, what I speak, my life shall prove
it true;
That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides I say and will in battle prove, Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, That all the treasons for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastisement; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. |
| KING RICHARD II | How high a pitch his resolution soars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | O, let my sovereign turn away his face
And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood, How God and good men hate so foul a liar. |
| KING RICHARD II | Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, As he is but my father's brother's son, Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul: He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou: Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers; The other part reserved I by consent, For that my sovereign liege was in my debt Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death, I slew him not; but to my own disgrace Neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul But ere I last received the sacrament I did confess it, and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day. |
| KING RICHARD II | Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me;
Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | To be a make-peace shall become my age:
Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. |
| KING RICHARD II | And, Norfolk, throw down his. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | When, Harry, when?
Obedience bids I should not bid again. |
| KING RICHARD II | Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy
foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, Despite of death that lives upon my grave, To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breathed this poison. |
| KING RICHARD II | Rage must be withstood:
Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | Yea, but not change his spots: take but
my shame.
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation: that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one: Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live and for that will I die. |
| KING RICHARD II | Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!
Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. |
| [Exit JOHN OF GAUNT] | |
| KING RICHARD II | We were not born to sue, but to command;
Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day: There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate: Since we can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. Lord marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. |
| [Exeunt] |
| [Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with DUCHESS] | |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims, To stir against the butchers of his life! But since correction lieth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. |
| DUCHESS | Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb, That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we intitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,
His deputy anointed in His sight, Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against His minister. |
| DUCHESS | Where then, alas, may I complain myself? |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | To God, the widow's champion and defence. |
| DUCHESS | Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, They may break his foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife With her companion grief must end her life. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry:
As much good stay with thee as go with me! |
| DUCHESS | Yet one word more: grief boundeth where
it falls,
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so; Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?-- With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear there for welcome but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die: The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. |
| [Exeunt] |
| [Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE] | |
| Lord Marshal | My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. |
| Lord Marshal | The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and
bold,
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | Why, then, the champions are prepared,
and stay
For nothing but his majesty's approach. |
| [The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD
enters with
his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in arms, defendant, with a Herald] |
|
| KING RICHARD II | Marshal, demand of yonder champion
The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause. |
| Lord Marshal | In God's name and the king's, say who
thou art
And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath; As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;
Who hither come engaged by my oath-- Which God defend a knight should violate!-- Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God, my king and my succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king, and me: And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! |
| [The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE,
appellant, in armour, with a Herald] |
|
| KING RICHARD II | Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war, And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause. |
| Lord Marshal | What is thy name? and wherefore comest
thou hither,
Before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby
Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, King Richard and to me; And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! |
| Lord Marshal | On pain of death, no person be so bold
Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, Except the marshal and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's
hand,
And bow my knee before his majesty: For Mowbray and myself are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave And loving farewell of our several friends. |
| Lord Marshal | The appellant in all duty greets your
highness,
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. |
| KING RICHARD II | We will descend and fold him in our arms.
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | O let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear: As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, I take my leave of you; Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt, Even in the lusty havior of his son. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
Be swift like lightning in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive! |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | However God or fortune cast my lot,
There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, A loyal, just and upright gentleman: Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary. Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. |
| KING RICHARD II | Farewell, my lord: securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, marshal, and begin. |
| Lord Marshal | Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. |
| Lord Marshal | Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. |
| First Herald | Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king and him; And dares him to set forward to the fight. |
| Second Herald | Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of
Norfolk,
On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal; Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin. |
| Lord Marshal | Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. |
| [A charge sounded] | |
| Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. | |
| KING RICHARD II | Let them lay by their helmets and their
spears,
And both return back to their chairs again: Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree. |
| [A long flourish] | |
| Draw near,
And list what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace And make us wade even in our kindred's blood, Therefore, we banish you our territories: You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. |
|
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Your will be done: this must my comfort
be,
Sun that warms you here shall shine on me; And those his golden beams to you here lent Shall point on me and gild my banishment. |
| KING RICHARD II | Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile; The hopeless word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hands. The language I have learn'd these forty years, My native English, now I must forego: And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony: Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; And dull unfeeling barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now: What is thy sentence then but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? |
| KING RICHARD II | It boots thee not to be compassionate:
After our sentence plaining comes too late. |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | Then thus I turn me from my country's
light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. |
| KING RICHARD II | Return again, and take an oath with thee.
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to God-- Our part therein we banish with yourselves-- To keep the oath that we administer: You never shall, so help you truth and God! Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | I swear. |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | And I, to keep all this. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:--
By this time, had the king permitted us, One of our souls had wander'd in the air. Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. |
| THOMAS MOWBRAY | No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way. |
| [Exit] | |
| KING RICHARD II | Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away. |
| [To HENRY BOLINGBROKE] | |
| Six frozen winter spent,
Return with welcome home from banishment. |
|
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | How long a time lies in one little word!
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of kings. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | I thank my liege, that in regard of me
He shortens four years of my son's exile: But little vantage shall I reap thereby; For, ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. |
| KING RICHARD II | Why uncle, thou hast many years to live. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | But not a minute, king, that thou canst
give:
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death, But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. |
| KING RICHARD II | Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Things sweet to taste prove in digestion
sour.
You urged me as a judge; but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, I was too strict to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong. |
| KING RICHARD II | Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him
so:
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. |
| [Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train] | |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | Cousin, farewell: what presence must not
know,
From where you do remain let paper show. |
| Lord Marshal | My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,
As far as land will let me, by your side. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy
words,
That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Joy absent, grief is present for that time. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | What is six winters? they are quickly gone. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | The sullen passage of thy weary steps
Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
Will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief? |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | All places that the eye of heaven visits
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour And not the king exiled thee; or suppose Devouring pestilence hangs in our air And thou art flying to a fresher clime: Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest: Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Than a delightful measure or a dance; For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on
thy way:
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet
soil, adieu;
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. |
| [Exeunt] |
| [Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and
GREEN at one
door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another] |
|
| KING RICHARD II | We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his way? |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | I brought high Hereford, if you call him
so,
But to the next highway, and there I left him. |
| KING RICHARD II | And say, what store of parting tears were shed? |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | Faith, none for me; except the north-east
wind,
Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. |
| KING RICHARD II | What said our cousin when you parted with him? |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | 'Farewell:'
And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But since it would not, he had none of me. |
| KING RICHARD II | He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green Observed his courtship to the common people; How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy, What reverence he did throw away on slaves, Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee, With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;' As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. |
| GREEN | Well, he is gone; and with him go these
thoughts.
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness' loss. |
| KING RICHARD II | We will ourself in person to this war:
And, for our coffers, with too great a court And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are inforced to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: if that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. |
| [Enter BUSHY] | |
| Bushy, what news? | |
| BUSHY | Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my
lord,
Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste To entreat your majesty to visit him. |
| KING RICHARD II | Where lies he? |
| BUSHY | At Ely House. |
| KING RICHARD II | Now put it, God, in the physician's mind
To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: Pray God we may make haste, and come too late! |
| All | Amen. |
| [Exeunt] |
| [Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE
OF YORK,
&c] |
|
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Will the king come, that I may breathe
my last
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? |
| DUKE OF YORK | Vex not yourself, nor strive not with
your breath;
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | O, but they say the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. He that no more must say is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. |
| DUKE OF YORK | No; it is stopp'd with other flattering
sounds,
As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen; Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-- So it be new, there's no respect how vile-- That is not quickly buzzed into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose: 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Methinks I am a prophet new inspired
And thus expiring do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! |
| [Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE
OF AUMERLE,
BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD WILLOUGHBY] |
|
| DUKE OF YORK | The king is come: deal mildly with his
youth;
For young hot colts being raged do rage the more. |
| QUEEN | How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? |
| KING RICHARD II | What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt? |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | O how that name befits my composition!
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. |
| KING RICHARD II | Can sick men play so nicely with their names? |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | No, misery makes sport to mock itself:
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. |
| KING RICHARD II | Should dying men flatter with those that live? |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | No, no, men living flatter those that die. |
| KING RICHARD II | Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. |
| KING RICHARD II | I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;
Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee: A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease; But for thy world enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou-- |
| KING RICHARD II | A lunatic lean-witted fool,
Presuming on an ague's privilege, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood With fury from his native residence. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son,
For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul, Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls! May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Join with the present sickness that I have; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Love they to live that love and honour have. |
| [Exit, borne off by his Attendants] | |
| KING RICHARD II | And let them die that age and sullens
have;
For both hast thou, and both become the grave. |
| DUKE OF YORK | I do beseech your majesty, impute his
words
To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. |
| KING RICHARD II | Right, you say true: as Hereford's love,
so his;
As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. |
| [Enter NORTHUMBERLAND] | |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. |
| KING RICHARD II | What says he? |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Nay, nothing; all is said
His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. |
| DUKE OF YORK | Be York the next that must be bankrupt
so!
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. |
| KING RICHARD II | The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth
he;
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, Which live like venom where no venom else But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, corn, revenues and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. |
| DUKE OF YORK | How long shall I be patient? ah, how long
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: In war was never lion raged more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; But when he frown'd, it was against the French And not against his friends; his noble hand Did will what he did spend and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won; His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. |
| KING RICHARD II | Why, uncle, what's the matter? |
| DUKE OF YORK | O my liege,
Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands The royalties and rights of banish'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 son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time His charters and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself; for how art thou a king But by fair sequence and succession? Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!-- If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patent 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 lose a thousand well-disposed hearts And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. |
| KING RICHARD II | Think what you will, we seize into our
hands
His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. |
| DUKE OF YORK | I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell:
What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good. |
| [Exit] | |
| KING RICHARD II | Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight:
Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England; For he is just and always loved us well. Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short |
| [Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN,
DUKE OF
AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT] |
|
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. |
| LORD ROSS | And living too; for now his son is duke. |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | Barely in title, not in revenue. |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Richly in both, if justice had her right. |
| LORD ROSS | My heart is great; but it must break with
silence,
Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er
speak more
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke
of Hereford?
If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. |
| LORD ROSS | No good at all that I can do for him;
Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs
are borne
In him, a royal prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. |
| LORD ROSS | The commons hath he pill'd with grievous
taxes,
And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | And daily new exactions are devised,
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he
hath not,
But basely yielded upon compromise That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows: More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. |
| LORD ROSS | The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. |
| LORD ROSS | He hath not money for these Irish wars,
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | His noble kinsman: most degenerate king!
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm; We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish. |
| LORD ROSS | We see the very wreck that we must suffer;
And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Not so; even through the hollow eyes of
death
I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. |
| LORD ROSS | Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc,
a bay
In Brittany, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, [ ] That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint, 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 shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'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 Ravenspurgh; But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay and be secret, and myself will go. |
| LORD ROSS | To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. |
| [Exeunt] |
| [Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT] | |
| BUSHY | Madam, your majesty is too much sad:
You promised, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness And entertain a cheerful 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 farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. |
| BUSHY | Each substance of a grief hath twenty
shadows,
Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not: 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 so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad As, though on thinking on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. |
| BUSHY | 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. |
| QUEEN | 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived
From some forefather grief; mine is not so, For nothing had begot my something grief; Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 'Tis in reversion that I do possess; But what it is, that is not yet known; what I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. |
| [Enter GREEN] | |
| GREEN | God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. |
| QUEEN | Why hopest 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 retired
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 arrived At Ravenspurgh. |
| QUEEN | Now God in heaven forbid! |
| GREEN | Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that 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. |
| BUSHY | Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland
And all the rest revolted faction traitors? |
| GREEN | We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. |
| 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. |
| 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. |
| [Enter DUKE OF YORK] | |
| GREEN | Here comes the Duke of York. |
| QUEEN | With signs of war about his aged neck:
O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. |
| DUKE OF YORK | Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts:
Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, cares 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. |
| [Enter a Servant] | |
| Servant | My lord, your son was gone before I came. |
| DUKE OF YORK | He was? Why, so! go all which way it will!
The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring. |
| Servant | My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,
To-day, as I came by, I called there; But I shall grieve you to report the rest. |
| DUKE OF YORK | What is't, knave? |
| Servant | An hour before I came, the duchess died. |
| DUKE OF YORK | God for his mercy! what a tide of woes
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do: I would to God, So my untruth had not provoked him to it, The king had cut off my head with my brother's. What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me. Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts And bring away the armour that is there. |
| [Exit Servant] | |
| Gentlemen, will you go muster men?
If I know how or which way to order these affairs Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen: The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; the other again Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you. Gentlemen, go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkeley. I should to Plashy too; But time will not permit: all is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven. |
|
| [Exeunt DUKE OF YORK and QUEEN] | |
| BUSHY | The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,
But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible. |
| GREEN | Besides, our nearness to the king in love
Is near the hate of those love not the king. |
| BAGOT | And that's the wavering commons: for their
love
Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. |
| BUSHY | Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. |
| BAGOT | If judgement lie in them, then so do we,
Because we ever have been near the king. |
| GREEN | Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol
castle:
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. |
| BUSHY | Thither will I with you; for little office
The hateful commons will perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? |
| BAGOT | No; I will to Ireland to his majesty.
Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here art 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. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. |
| BUSHY | Well, we may meet again. |
| BAGOT | I fear me, never. |
| [Exeunt] |
| [Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces] | |
| HENRY BOLINGBROKE | How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now? |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Believe me, noble lord,
I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire: These high wild hills and rough uneven ways Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome, And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable. But I bethink me what a weary way From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled The tediousness and process of my travel: But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess; |