SCENE IV.

1

Manent Northumberland, Willoughby, and Rofs.

North. Well, Lords, the Duke of Lancafter is dead.
Rofs. And living too, for now his fon is Duke.
Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.

North. Richly in both, if juftice had her right.
Rofs. My heart is great; but it muft break with filence,

Ere't be difburthen'd with a lib'ral tongue.

North. Nay, fpeak thy mind; and let him ne'er fpeak

That fpeaks thy words again to do thee harm.

[more.

Willo. Tends what you'd fpeak to the Duke of Here

If it be fo, out with it boldly, man:

Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards 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 fuch
In him a royal prince, and many more
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 profecute

[ford

wrongs are [borne

'Gainft us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
Rofs. The Commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes,
And loft their hearts; the Nobles he hath fin'd
For ancient quarrels, and quite loft their hearts.
Willo. 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 not, But bafely yielded upon compromise

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 diffolution 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.

VOL. IV.

C

North.

1

North. His noble kinfman-moft degenerate King!

But, Lords, we hear this fearful tempeft fing,

Yet feek no fhelter to avoid the ftorm:

We fee the wind fit fore upon our fails,

And yet we strike not, but fecurely perish.

Rofs. We fee the very wreck that we muft fuffer; And unavoided is the danger now,

For fuff'ring fo the caufes of our wreck.

North. Not fo: ev'n through the hollow eyes of death I fpy life peering; but I dare not say

How near the tidings of our comfort is.

Willo. Nay, let us fhare thy thoughts, as thou doft ours, Rofs. Be confident to speak, Northumberland;

We three are but thyfelf, and fpeaking fo,

I have from Port le

Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold.
North. Then thus, my friends.
A bay in Bretagne, had intelligence,
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 Rainfton,

[Blanc,

Sir John Norberie, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
Coines,

All these well furnifh'd by the Duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall fhips, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And fhortly mean to touch our northern fhore;
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 duft that hides our fceptre's gilt,
And make high majefty look like itself;
Away with me in poft to Ravenfpurg.
But if you faint, as fearing to do fo,

Stay, and be fecret, and myself will go.

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE V. The court.

Enter Queen, Busby, and Bagot.

Bufby. Madam, your Majefty is much too fad:
You promis'd, when you parted with the King,
To lay afide felf-harming heavinefs,
And entertain a chearful difpofition.
Queen. To please the King, I did;

to please myself,
I cannot do it. Yet I know no caufe
Why I fhould welcome fuch a guest as grief;
Save bidding farewell to fo fweet a guest
As my fweet Richard: yet again, methinks,
Some unborn forrow, ripe in Fortune's womb,
Is coming tow'rd me; and my inward foul
With fomething trembles, yet at nothing grieves,
More than with parting from my Lord the King.

Bufby. Each fubftance of a grief hath twenty fhadows,
Which fhew like grief itself, but are not fo.
For Sorrow's eye, glaz'd with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire, to many objects;
Like perfpectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry,
Diftinguish form.So
So your fweet Majefty,
Looking awry upon your Lord's departure,
Finds fhapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which look'd on, as it is, is nought but fhadows
Of what it is not. Gracious Queen, then weep not
More than your Lord's departure; more's not feen:
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 foul
Perfuades me otherwife: howe'er it be,

I cannot but be fad; fo heavy-fad *.

Bufby. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious Lady. Queen. 'Tis nothing lefs; conceit is still deriv'd

From fome forefather grief: mine is not fo † ;

fo heavy-fad,

C 2

As though, on thinking, on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink,
Bushy. 'Tis nothing, &c.

+

mine is not fo;

For nothing hath begot my fomething grief,

SCENE

Or

SCENE VI. Enter Green.

Green. Heav'n fave your Majefty! and well met Gentlemen.

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

Queen. Why hop'ft thou fo? 'tis better hope he is: For his defigns crave hafte, his hafte good hope. Then wherefore doft thou hope he is not fhipp'd? Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his pow'r; And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Who ftrongly hath fet footing in this land. The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself; And with uplifted arms is fafe arriv'd At Ravenfpurg.

Queen. Now God in heav'n forbid!

Green. O, Madam, 'tis too true; and what is worfe, The Lord Northumberland, his young fon Percy, The Lords of Rofs, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their pow'rful friends, are fled to him.

Bufby. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland, And all of that revolted faction, traitors?

Green. We have: whereon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broke his ftaff, refign'd his ftewardship;
And all the houfhold-fervants fled with him

To Bolingbroke.

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe, And Bolingbroke my Sorrow's difmal heir.

Now hath my foul brought forth her prodigy,

And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,

Have woe to woe, forrow to forrow join'd.
Busby. Defpair not, Madam.

Queen. Who fhall hinder me?

I will defpair, 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 falfe hopes linger, in extremity.

Or fomething hath the nothing that I grieve;
'Tis in reversion that I do poffefs;

But what it is, that is not yet known, what
I cannot name, 'tis namelefs woe, 'I wot.

SCENE, &c.

SCENE

SCENE VII. Enter York.

Green. Here comes the Duke of York.

Queen. With figns of war about his aged neck;
Oh, full of careful business are his looks!
Uncle, for heav'n's fake, comfortable words.

York. Should I do fo, I fhould belie my thoughts;
Comfort's in heav'n, and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives but croffes, care and grief,
Your husband he is gone to fave far off,
Whilft others come to make him lofe at home.
Here am I left to underprop this land;
Who weak with age, cannot fupport myself.
Now comes the fick hour, that his furfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. My Lord, your fon was gone before I came.
York. He was; why, fo, go all which way it will!
The Nobles they are fled, the Commons cold,

And will I fear revolt on Hereford's fide.
Get thee to Plafhie, to my fifter Glo'fter;
Bid her fend prefently a thoufand pound:
Hold, take my ring.

Serv. My Lord, I had forgot

To tell, to-day I came by, and call'd there;
1
But I fhall grieve you to report the rest.

York. What is't?

Serv. An hour before I came the Dutchefs dy'd. York. Heav'n for his mercy, what a tide of woes Come rushing on this woful land at once!

brother's.

I know not what to do: I would to heav'n
(So
my untruth had not provok'd him to it)
The King had cut off my head with my
What, are there pofts difpatch'd for Ireland?
How fhall we do for money for these wars?
Come, fifter; (coufm, I would fay,) pray, pardon me.
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide fome carts,

And bring away the armour that is there.
Gentlemen, will you go and muster men?
If I know how to order these affairs,

C 3

[To the fervant.

Disorderly