The Wolds in Gloucestershire. |
|
Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces. |
Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now? |
North. Believe me, noble lord, |
I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire: |
These high wild hills and rough uneven ways |
Draw out our miles and make them wearisome; |
But yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, |
Making the hard way sweet and delectable. |
But I bethink me what a weary way |
From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found |
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, |
Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd |
The tediousness and process 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 less 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 HENRY PERCY. |
North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, |
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. |
Harry, how fares your uncle? |
H. Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you. |
North. Why, is he not with the queen? |
H. Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, |
Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd |
The household of the king. |
North. What was his reason? |
He was not so resolv'd when last we spake together. |
H. Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. |
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh, |
To offer service to the Duke of Hereford, |
And sent me over by Berkeley to discover |
What power the Duke of York had levied there; |
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurgh. |
North. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy? |
H. 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. |
H. 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 Berkeley? and what stir |
Keeps good old York there with his men of war? |
H. 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, Berkeley, 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 pursues |
A banish'd traitor; all my treasury |
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, |
Shall be your love and labour's recompense. |
Ross. 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 BERKELEY. |
North. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess. |
Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. |
Boling. My lord, my answer is—to Lancaster; |
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 gracious 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 Grace in person. |
My noble uncle! [Kneels. |
York. Show 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 profane. |
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, |
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war |
And ostentation of despised arms? |
Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence? |
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, |
And in my loyal bosom lies his power. |
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth |
As when brave Gaunt thy father, and myself, |
Rescu'd the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, |
From forth the ranks of many thousand French, |
O! then, how quickly should this arm of mine, |
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee |
And minister correction to thy fault! |
Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault: |
On what condition stands it and wherein? |
York. Even in condition of the worst degree, |
In gross rebellion and detested treason: |
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come |
Before the expiration of thy time, |
In braving arms against thy sovereign. |
Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford; |
But as I come, I come for Lancaster. |
And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace |
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye: |
You are my father, for methinks in you |
I see old Gaunt alive: O! then, my father, |
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd |
A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties |
Pluck'd from my arms perforce and given away |
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? |
If that my cousin king be King of England, |
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. |
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman; |
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, |
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, |
To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay. |
I am denied to sue my livery here, |
And yet my letters-patent give me leave: |
My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold, |
And these and all are all amiss employ'd. |
What would you have me do? I am a subject, |
And challenge law: attorneys are denied me, |
And therefore personally I lay my claim |
To my inheritance of free descent. |
North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd. |
Ross. It stands your Grace upon to do him right. |
Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. |
York. My lords of England, let me tell you this: |
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, |
And labour'd all I could to do him right; |
But in this kind to come, in braving arms, |
Be his own carver and cut out his way, |
To find out right with wrong, it may not be; |
And you that do abet him in this kind |
Cherish rebellion and are rebels all. |
North. The noble duke hath sworn his coming is |
But for his own; and for the right of that |
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; |
And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath! |
York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms: |
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, |
Because my power is weak and all ill left; |
But if I could, by him that gave me life, |
I would attach you all and make you stoop |
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king; |
But since I cannot, be it known to you |
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well; |
Unless you please to enter in the castle |
And there repose you for this night. |
Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept: |
But we must win your Grace to go with us |
To Bristol Castle; which they say is held |
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, |
The caterpillars of the commonwealth, |
Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. |
York. It may be I will go with you; but yet I'll pause; |
For I am loath to break our country's laws. |
Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are: |
Things past redress are now with me past care. [Exeunt. |
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