Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck. O, full of careful business are his looks. Enter the Duke of YORK. Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. Comfort's in Heaven; and we are on the Earth, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Enter a Servant. Servant. My lord, your son York. came. was gone before I 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 Gloster; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound. Hold take my ring. Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lord ship: To-day, as I came by, I called there; But I shall grieve you to report the rest. York. What is't, knave? Serv. An hour before I came the Duchess di'd. 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, me. - Go, fellow, [to the Servant.] get thee home; provide some carts, And bring away the armour that is there. Gentlemen, will you go muster men? [Exit Servant. If I know how, or which way, to order these affairs, Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen: Th' one is my sovereign, whom both my oath Is my [near] kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd, men, And meet me presently at Berkley Castle. I should to Plashy too. But time will not permit. All is uneven, - And every thing is left at six and seven. [Exeunt YORK and QUEEN. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go for Ire land, But none returns. For us to levy power, Proportionable to th' enemy, Is all impossible. 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, demn'd. Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the King. Green. Well, I'll 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 part, 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: ever. Bushy. Well, we may meet again. I fear me, never. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The Wilds in Glostershire. Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces. Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? North. Believe me, noble lord, I am a stranger here in Glostershire. These high wild hills and rough uneven ways And hope to joy is little less in joy, Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done By sight of what I have, your noble company. Boling. Of much less value is my company, Than your good words. But who comes here? Enter HARRY PERCY. North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. Harry, how fares your uncle? Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you. North. Why, is he not with the Queen? Percy. No, my good lord: he hath forsook the Court, Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd The household of the King. North. What was his reason? He was not so resolv'd when last we spake together. Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, To offer service to the Duke of Hereford; What power the Duke of York had levied there; 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 look 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 shall ripen, and confirm To more approved service and desert. Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; And as my fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompense: My heart this covenant 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, |