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-delivered mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined. Bushy. Despair not, madam. Queen. Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Enter YORK. Green. Here comes the duke of York. Uncle, For Heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. 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, care, and grief. Your husband he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.- Enter a Servant. Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. York. He was?-Why, so!-go all which way it will! The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; your Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell lordship: Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. York. Heaven for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woful land at once! I know not what to do.-I would to Heaven me. Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, provide some carts, And bring away the armor that is there. [Exit Servant. Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wronged; I should to Plashy too ; But time will not permit.-All is uneven, [Exeunt YORK and Queen. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, For us to levy power, But none returns. 1 Disloyalty, treachery. 2 Not one of York's brothers had his head cut off, either by the king or any one else. Gloster, to whose death he probably alludes, was smothered between two beds at Calais. 3 York is talking to the queen, his cousin, but the recent death of his sister is uppermost in his mind. Proportionable to the 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, Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, 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 Will the hateful commons perform for us; Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. 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; Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot. 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, possess; And hope to joy,' is little less in joy, Than hope enjoyed. By this the weary lords Enter HARRY PERCY. North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learned 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 dispersed The household of the king. North. What was his reason? He was not so resolved, 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; And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover What power the duke of York had levied there; 1 To joy is here used as a verb; it is equivalent with to rejoice. “To joy, to clap hands, to rejoyce."-Baret. 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 remembering 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 yon tuft of trees, Manned with three hundred men, as I have heard; And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour; None else of name, and noble estimate. Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY. North. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. Boling. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pur sues A banished traitor; all my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enriched, Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. |