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 fhall he try his friends, that flatter'd him.
Enter a Servant.

Serv. My lord, your fon was gone before I came.
Yok. 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 reft.

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 dispatch'd for Ireland?
How shall we do for money 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?
If I know how to order these 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 presently at Berkley castle :
I fhould to Plafbie too;

But

But time will not permit. All is uneven,
And every thing is left at fix and feven.

[Exeunt York and Queen.

SCENE VIII.

Busby. The wind fits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns; for us to levy Power, Proportionable to the enemy,

Is all impoffible.

Green. Befides, our Nearness to the King in Love Is near the Hate of those, 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.

Busby. 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 straight to Bristol Caftle; 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 Majesty.
Farewel: If heart's Prefages be not vain,
We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again.
Buby. 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. Buby. Farewel at once, for once, for all and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot. I fear me, never.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

Changes to a wild Profped in Glocestershire.
Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland.

Boling. H North. I am a ftranger here in Glofterbire

"OW far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?

Thefe high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearifome :
And yet your fair difcourfe has been as fugar,
Making the hard way fweet and delectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way,
From Ravenfpurg to Cothold, will be found
In Rofs and Willoughby, wanting your Company;
Which, I proteft, hath very much beguil'd
The tedioufnefs and process of my travel:
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have
The prefent benefit that I poffefs:

And hope to joy, is little less 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 less value is my company,
Than your good words: but who comes here?
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 forfook the Court, Broken his ftaff of office, and difpers'd

The Houshold of the King.

North. What was his reafon ?

He was not fo refolv'd, when laft we spake 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

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 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 fhall ripen and confirm
To more approved fervice and defert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be fure,
I count my felf in nothing elfe fo happy,
As in a foul remembring my good friends;
And as my Fortune ripens with thy love,
It shall be ftill 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 Fork there with his men of war?
Percy. There ftands 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 come 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 Treasury

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd,
Shall be your love and labour's recompence.

Rofs. Your prefence makes us rich, most noble lord.
Willo. And far furmounts our labour to attain it.
Boling. Evermore, thanks; (th' exchequer of the
poor)

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 Lancafteri

D. 3.

And

And I am come to seek that Name in England,
And I must find that Title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you say.

Berk. Miftake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning To raze one Title of your honour out.

To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,)
From the most glorious of this Land,

The Duke of York, to know, what pricks you on
To take advantage of 6 the abfent time,

And fright our native peace with self-born arms.

Boling. I fhall not need transport 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 no Uncle :-

I am no traitor's uncle and that word Grace,
In an ungracious mouth, is but prophane.
Why have thofe banifh'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a duft of England's ground?
But more than, why, why, have they dar'd to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bofom,
Frighting her palefac'd villages with war,

7 And oftentation of difposed arms ?

Com'ft thou because th'anointed King is hence
Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind;
And in my loyal bofom lies his Power.
Were I but now the lord of fuch hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and my felf
Refcu'd the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,

6 the abfent time,] For unprepared. Not an inelegant fynecdoche.

7 And oftentation of DESPISED arms ?] But fure the oftentation of defpifed arms would not fright any one. We should read

DISPOSED arms.

i, e, forces in battle array.

From