And meet me presently at Berkley - Castle.
I should to Plaushy too;

But time will not permit; All is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven.

[Exeunt YORK and Queen.]

Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to
Ireland,

But none returns. For us to levy power,
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, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally

condemn'd.

Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do

we,

Because we ever have been near the king. 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.

The hateful commons will perform for us;
Except, like curs, to tear us all to pieces.
Will you go along with us?

Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty.
Farewel: if heart's presages be not vain,
We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again.

Is

Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he under

takes

numb'ring 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.

SCENE

[Exeunt.]

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,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome:
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way,
From Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found
In Rofs and Willoughby, wanting your com.

pany;

Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd
The tediousness and procels of my travel:
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have
The present benefit which I possess:
And hope to joy, is little lefs in joy,
Than hope enjoy'd: by this, the weary lords
Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath

done

By sight of what I have, your noble company. Boling. Of much less value is my company, Than your good words. But who comes here?

Enter Harry PERCY.

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, sent brother Worcester, whencesoever.

From my

Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd 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 dispers'd
The houshold of the king.

North. What was his reason?

He was not so resolv'd, 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 levy'd there;
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg.
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,

ここ

As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends;
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,
It shall be still thy true love's recompence:
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,

Mann'd 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 Rofs and Willoughby,

Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

$

Boling. Welcome, my lords: I wot, your love

pursues

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 presence makes us rich, most noble

lord.

Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;

Which, till my

infant fortune comes to years, Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

Enter BERKLEY.

North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guefs.
Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is

to you.

Boling. My lord, my answer is

caster;

to Lan

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. Mistake 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 regent of this land,

The duke of York; to know, what pricks you on To take advantage of the absent time,

And fright our native peace with self-born arms.

Enter YORK, attended.

Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you;

Here comes

his
in
grace person. My noble
uncle!

[kneels.]

York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not

thy knee,

Whose duty is deceivable and false

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 those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But then more why; Why have they dar'd

to march

So many miles upon her peaceful bosom;