Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: 130 [Exit, borne off by his Attendants. K. Rich. And let them die that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. York. I do beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. 140 K. Rich. Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Northumberland. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. King Richard. What says he? Northumberland. Nay, nothing; all is said: His tongue is now a stringless instrument; York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. 150 So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, York. How long shall I be patient? ah, how long Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: King Richard. Why, uncle, what's the matter? 160 170 180 O my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased 190 Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 200 K. Rich. Think what you will, we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. 210 York. I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell: What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good. [Exit. K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight: Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England; 220 [Flourish. Exeunt King, Queen, Aumerle, North. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. Willoughby. Barely in title, not in revenue. Northumberland. Richly in both, if justice had her right. Ross. My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! 230 Willoughby. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. Ross. No good at all that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and spoiled of his patrimony. 240 North. Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne In him, a royal prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. Willoughby. And daily new exactions are devised, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: 250 North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows: More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. Ross. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. North. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm; And yet we strike not, but securely perish. Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. 260 North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. 271 Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. North. Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, 280 Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint, 290 |