on to fu, busy yd silab sestored Ti dor ikonou de sil's one'A North. It is my fon, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencefoever. Percy. I thought, my lord, t'have learn'd his health of you. North. Why, is he not with the Queen? Percy. No, my good lord, he hath forfook the Court, Broken his ftaff of office, and difpers'd The Houfhold of the King. North. What was his reafon? He was not fo refolv'd, when laft we fpake together. To offer fervice to the Duke of Hereford; What Pow'r the Duke of York had levy'd there; North. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy? North. Then learn to known him now; this is the Duke. Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my fervice, & Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young, Which elder days fhall ripen and confirm -- A T Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be fure, I count my felf in nothing else so happy to set UT As in a foul remembring my good friends: And as my Fortune ripens with thy love, It fhall be still thy true love's recompence. My heart this cov'nant makes, my hand thus feals-it.- " North. How far is it to Berkley? and what stir Keeps good old York there with his men of warg? Percy 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 Rofs and Willoughby. North. Here comes the lords of Rofs and Willoughby, Bloody with fpurring, fiery-red with hafte.. Boling. Welcome, my lords; I wot, your love purfues A banish'd traitor; all my Treafury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, Rofs. Your prefence makes us rich, most noble lord. Which, 'till my infant-fortune comes to years, 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 meffage is to you. Boling. My lord, my anfwer is to Lancaster; And am come to I feek that Name in England, And I must find that Title in your tongue, Before I make reply to aught you fay. Berk. Miftake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on And fright our native peace with felf-born arms. 9 →→→→ the absent time,] For He means nothing more than, unprepared. Not an inelegant time of the king's abfence. fynecdoche, WARBURTON. Boling. I fhall not need tranfport my words by you. Here comes his Grace in perfon. Noble Uncle! [Kneels. York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whofe duty is deceivable and falfe. Boling. My gracious uncle! York. Tut, tut! Grace me no Grace, nor Uncle me to Uncle: Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war, And oftentation of defpifed arms? Com'st thou because th' anointed King is hence? Now prifoner to the palfie, chaftife thee, Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; *On what condition ftands it, and wherein? York. Ev'n in condition of the worst degree; In grofs Rebellion, and detefted Treafon. Thou art a banifh'd man, and here art come, Before the expiration of thy time, In braving arms against thy Sovereign.. Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banifh'd Hereford; But as I come, I come for Lancafter. And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace, And yet my letters patents give me leave: It *On obat condition. fhould be, in what condition. That is, in what degree of guilt. The particles in the old editions are of little credit. + Wherefore was I born?] To what purpofe ferves birth and lineal fucceffion? I am Duke of Landafter by the fame right of birth as the King is king of Eng land. To mine Inheritance of free Defcent. North. The noble Duke hath been too much abus'd. Rofs. It ftands your Grace upon, to do him Right. Willo. Bafe men by his endowments are made great. York. My lords of England, let me tell you this, I have had Feeling of my Coufin's wrongs, And labour'd all I could to do him Right. But, in this kind, to come in braving arms, Be his own carver, and cut out his way, To find out Right with wrongs, it may not be; And you that do abet him in this kind, Cherish Rebellion, and are Rebels all. North. The noble Duke hath fworn, his Coming is Boling. An offer, Uncle, that we will accept. [Exeunt. SCENE |