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 worse,
The lord Northumberland, his young fon Percy,
The lords of Rofs, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their pow'rful friends, are fled to him.
Busby. Why have you not proclaim'dNorthumberland,
And all of that revolted faction, traitors?

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

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe, And Bolingbroke my forrow'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.
Bushy. 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.

SCENE VII.

Enter York.

Green. Here comes the Duke of York.
Queen. With figns of war about his aged neck;
Oh, full of careful bufinefs are his looks!
Uncle, for heav'n's fake, comfortable words.
York. Should I do fo, I fhould bely my thoughts;

* My forrow's difmal heir.] The authour feems to have ufed heir in an improper fenfe; an heir being one that inherits by fucceffion,

is here put for one that fucceeds, though he fucceeds but in order of time, not in order of descent.

Comfort's

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 my self.
Now comes the fick hour, that his furfeit made;
Now fhall 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 Plafbie, to my fifter Glo'fter; Bid her fend presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring.

Serv. My lord, I had forgot

To tell, to-day I came by, and call'd there;
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!

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 brother's.
What, are there pofts difpatch'd for Ireland?
How fhall we do for mony for these wars?

Come, fifter; coufin, I would fay; pray, pardon me.-
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide fome carts,

[To the Servant.

And bring away the armour that is there.
-Gentlemen, will you go and mufter men?

-] nicle, p. 13;
Untruth.]

8 Get thee to Plafhie, The Lordship of Plafhie was a Town of the Dutchess of Glouafter's in Effex. See Hale's Chró

alty, treachery.

THEOBALD. That is, Difley

If I know how to order thefe affairs,
Disorderly thus thruft into my hands,

Never believe me. They are both my kinfmen;
The one my Sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th' other again

My kinfman is, One whom the King hath wrong'd;
Whom confcience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, fomewhat we must do.-Come, coufin, I'll
Difpofe of you.-Go mufter up your men,
And meet me prefently at Berkley caftle —
I fhould to Plafbie too;

But time will not permit.

And every thing is left at fix and feven.

All is uneven,

[Exeunt York and Queen,

SCENE VIII.

Bufhy. The wind fits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns; for us to levy Power,

Proportionable to the enemy,

Is all impoflible.

Green. Befides, our Nearnefs to the King in Love Is near the Hate of thofe, love not the King.

Bagot. And that's the wav'ring Commons, for their
love

Lies in their purfes; and who empties them,
By fo much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
Bushy. Wherein the King ftands generally condemn'd,
Bagot. If judgment lye in them, then fo do we;
Because we have been ever near the King.

Green. Well; I'll for Refuge ftraight to Bristol Castle;

The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Buby. Thither will I with you; for little office
The hateful Commons will perform for us;
Except, like curs, to tear us all in pieces:
Will you go with us?

Bagot. No, I'll to Ireland to his Majefty.

Farewel.

Farewel. If heart's Prefages be not vain,
We three here part, that ne'er fhall meet again.
Busby. That's as York thrives, to beat back Boling-
broke.

Green. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes
Is numb'ring fands, and drinking oceans dry;
Where one on his fide fights, thousands will fly.
Bushy. Farewel at once, for once, for all and ever.
Green. Well, we may meet again.

Bagot. I fear me, never.

SCENE IX,

[Exeunt.

Changes to a wild Profpect in Glocestershire.

Boling.

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland.

How

W far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?
North. I am a ftranger here in Gloftershire,
Thefe high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearifome,
And yet your fair discourse has been as fugar,
Making the hard way fweet and delectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way,
From Ravenfpurg to Cotfhold, will be found
In Rofs and Willoughby, wanting your Company;
Which, I proteft, hath very much beguil'd
The tediousness and procefs of my travel;
But theirs is fweetned with the hope to have
The prefent benefit that I poffefs;

And hope to joy, is little lefs in joy,
Than hope enjoy'd. By this, the weary lords
Shall make their way feem fhort, as mine hath done,
By fight of what I have, your noble company,

Boling. Of much lefs value is my company,
Than your good words. But who comes here?

Enter

Enter Percy.

North. It is my fon, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencefoever.
-Harry, how fares your uncle?

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 for fook 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.
Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed Traitor,
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenfpurg,

To offer fervice to the Duke of Hereford;
And fent me o'er by Berkley, to discover

What Pow'r the Duke of York had levy'd there;
Then with directions to repair to Ravenfpurg.
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 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 To more approved fervice and defert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be fure, I count my self in nothing else fo happy, As in a foul remembring my good friends: And as my Fortune ripens with thy love, It shall 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 ftir Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

Percy.