Chapter 3

Bush. 'Tis nothing but conceit (my gracious Lady.) Qu. 'Tis nothing lesse: conceit is still deriu'd From some fore-father greefe, mine is not so, For nothing hath begot my something greefe, Or something, hath the nothing that I greeue, 'Tis in reuersion that I do possesse, But what it is, that is not yet knowne, what I cannot name, 'tis namelesse woe I wot. Enter Greene.

Gree. Heauen saue your Maiesty, and wel met Gentlemen: I hope the King is not yet shipt for Ireland

Qu. Why hop'st thou so? Tis better hope he is: For his designes craue hast, his hast good hope, Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipt? Gre. That he our hope, might haue retyr'd his power, and driuen into dispaire an enemies hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this Land. The banish'd Bullingbrooke repeales himselfe, And with vp-lifted Armes is safe arriu'd At Rauenspurg

Qu. Now God in heauen forbid

Gr. O Madam 'tis too true: and that is worse, The L[ord]. Northumberland, his yong sonne Henrie Percie, The Lords of Rosse, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powrefull friends are fled to him

Bush. Why haue you not proclaim'd Northumberland And the rest of the reuolted faction, Traitors? Gre. We haue: whereupon the Earle of Worcester Hath broke his staffe, resign'd his Stewardship, And al the houshold seruants fled with him to Bullinbrook Qu. So Greene, thou art the midwife of my woe, And Bullinbrooke my sorrowes dismall heyre: Now hath my soule brought forth her prodegie, And I a gasping new deliuered mother, Haue woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow ioyn'd

Bush. Dispaire not Madam

Qu. Who shall hinder me? I will dispaire, and be at enmitie With couzening hope; he is a Flatterer, A Parasite, a keeper backe of death, Who gently would dissolue the bands of life, Which false hopes linger in extremity. Enter Yorke.

Gre. Heere comes the Duke of Yorke

Qu. With signes of warre about his aged necke, Oh full of carefull businesse are his lookes: Vncle, for heauens sake speake comfortable words: Yor. Comfort's in heauen, and we are on the earth, Where nothing liues but crosses, care and greefe: Your husband he is gone to saue farre off, Whilst others come to make him loose at home: Heere am I left to vnder-prop his Land, Who weake with age, cannot support my selfe: Now comes the sicke houre that his surfet made, Now shall he try his friends that flattered him. Enter a seruant.

Ser. My Lord, your sonne was gone before I came

Yor. He was: why so: go all which way it will: The Nobles they are fled, the Commons they are cold, And will I feare reuolt on Herfords side. Sirra, get thee to Plashie to my sister Gloster, Bid her send me presently a thousand pound, Hold, take my Ring

Ser. My Lord, I had forgot To tell your Lordship, to day I came by, and call'd there, But I shall greeue you to report the rest

Yor. What is't knaue? Ser. An houre before I came, the Dutchesse di'de

Yor. Heau'n for his mercy, what a tide of woes Come rushing on this wofull Land at once? I know not what to do: I would to heauen (So my vntruth had not prouok'd him to it) The King had cut off my head with my brothers. What, are there postes dispatcht for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these warres? Come sister (Cozen I would say) pray pardon me. Go fellow, get thee home, prouide some Carts, And bring away the Armour that is there. Gentlemen, will you muster men? If I know how, or which way to order these affaires Thus disorderly thrust into my hands, Neuer beleeue me. Both are my kinsmen, Th' one is my Soueraigne, whom both my oath And dutie bids defend: th' other againe Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd, Whom conscience, and my kindred bids to right: Well, somewhat we must do: Come Cozen, Ile dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster vp your men, And meet me presently at Barkley Castle: I should to Plashy too: but time will not permit, All is vneuen, and euery thing is left at six and seuen.

Exit

Bush. The winde sits faire for newes to go to Ireland, But none returnes: For vs to leuy power Proportionable to th' enemy, is all impossible

Gr. Besides our neerenesse to the King in loue, Is neere the hate of those loue not the King

Ba. And that's the wauering Commons, for their loue Lies in their purses, and who so empties them, By so much fils their hearts with deadly hate

Bush. Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd Bag. If iudgement lye in them, then so do we, Because we haue beene euer neere the King

Gr. Well: I will for refuge straight to Bristoll Castle, The Earle of Wiltshire is alreadie there

Bush. Thither will I with you, for little office Will the hatefull Commons performe for vs, Except like Curres, to teare vs all in peeces: Will you go along with vs? Bag. No, I will to Ireland to his Maiestie: Farewell, if hearts presages be not vaine, We three here part, that neu'r shall meete againe

Bu. That's as Yorke thriues to beate back Bullinbroke Gr. Alas poore Duke, the taske he vndertakes Is numbring sands, and drinking Oceans drie, Where one on his side fights, thousands will flye

Bush. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and euer. Well, we may meete againe

Bag. I feare me neuer. Enter.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter the Duke of Hereford, and Northumberland.

Bul. How farre is it my Lord to Berkley now? Nor. Beleeue me noble Lord, I am a stranger heere in Gloustershire, These high wilde hilles, and rough vneeuen waies, Drawes out our miles, and makes them wearisome. And yet our faire discourse hath beene as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable: But I bethinke me, what a wearie way From Rauenspurgh to Cottshold will be found, In Rosse and Willoughby, wanting your companie, Which I protest hath very much beguild The tediousnesse, and processe of my trauell: But theirs is sweetned with the hope to haue The present benefit that I possesse; And hope to ioy, is little lesse in ioy, Then hope enioy'd: By this, the wearie Lords Shall make their way seeme short, as mine hath done, By sight of what I haue, your Noble Companie

Bull. Of much lesse value is my Companie, Then your good words: but who comes here?

Enter H[arry]. Percie.

North. It is my Sonne, young Harry Percie, Sent from my Brother Worcester: Whence soeuer. Harry, how fares your Vnckle? Percie. I had thought, my Lord, to haue learn'd his health of you

North. Why, is he not with the Queene? Percie. No, my good Lord, he hath forsook the Court, Broken his Staffe of Office, and disperst The Household of the King

North. What was his reason? He was not so resolu'd, when we last spake together

Percie. Because your Lordship was proclaimed Traitor. But hee, my Lord, is gone to Rauenspurgh, To offer seruice to the Duke of Hereford, And sent me ouer by Barkely, to discouer What power the Duke of Yorke had leuied there, Then with direction to repaire to Rauenspurgh

North. Haue you forgot the Duke of Hereford (Boy.) Percie. No, my good Lord; for that is not forgot Which ne're I did remember: to my knowledge, I neuer in my life did looke on him

North. Then learne to know him now: this is the Duke

Percie. My gracious Lord, I tender you my seruice, Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young, Which elder dayes shall ripen, and confirme To more approued seruice, and desert

Bull. I thanke thee gentle Percie, and be sure I count my selfe in nothing else so happy, As in a Soule remembring my good Friends: And as my Fortune ripens with thy Loue, It shall be still thy true Loues recompence, My Heart this Couenant makes, my Hand thus seales it

North. How farre is it to Barkely? and what stirre Keepes good old Yorke there, with his Men of Warre? Percie. There stands the Castle, by yond tuft of Trees, Mann'd with three hundred men, as I haue heard, And in it are the Lords of Yorke, Barkely, and Seymor, None else of Name, and noble estimate. Enter Rosse and Willoughby.

North. Here come the Lords of Rosse and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fierie red with haste

Bull. Welcome my Lords, I wot your loue pursues A banisht Traytor; all my Treasurie Is yet but vnfelt thankes, which more enrich'd, Shall be your loue, and labours recompence

Ross. Your presence makes vs rich, most Noble Lord

Willo. And farre surmounts our labour to attaine it

Bull. Euermore thankes, th' Exchequer of the poore, Which till my infant-fortune comes to yeeres, Stands for my Bountie: but who comes here? Enter Barkely.

North. It is my Lord of Barkely, as I ghesse

Bark. My Lord of Hereford, my Message is to you

Bull. My Lord, my Answere is to Lancaster, And I am come to seeke that Name in England, And I must finde that Title in your Tongue, Before I make reply to aught you say

Bark. Mistake me not, my Lord, 'tis not my meaning To raze one Title of your Honor out. To you, my Lord, I come (what Lord you will) From the most glorious of this Land, The Duke of Yorke, to know what pricks you on To take aduantage of the absent time, And fright our Natiue Peace with selfe-borne Armes. Enter Yorke.

Bull. I shall not need transport my words by you, Here comes his Grace in Person. My Noble Vnckle

York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whose dutie is deceiuable, and false

Bull. My gracious Vnckle

York. Tut, tut, Grace me no Grace, nor Vnckle me, I am no Traytors Vnckle; and that word Grace, In an vngracious mouth, is but prophane. Why haue these banish'd, and forbidden Legges, Dar'd once to touch a Dust of Englands Ground? But more then why, why haue they dar'd to march So many miles vpon her peacefull Bosome, Frighting her pale-fac'd Villages with Warre, And ostentation of despised Armes? Com'st thou because th' anoynted King is hence? Why foolish Boy, the King is left behind, And in my loyall Bosome lyes his power. Were I but now the Lord of such hot youth, As when braue Gaunt, thy Father, and my selfe Rescued the Black Prince, that yong Mars of men, From forth the Rankes of many thousand French: Oh then, how quickly should this Arme of mine, Now Prisoner to the Palsie, chastise thee, And minister correction to thy Fault

Bull. My gracious Vnckle, let me know my Fault, On what Condition stands it, and wherein? York. Euen in Condition of the worst degree, In grosse Rebellion, and detested Treason: Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come Before th' expiration of thy time, In brauing Armes against thy Soueraigne

Bull. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford, But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And Noble Vnckle, I beseech your Grace Looke on my Wrongs with an indifferent eye: You are my Father, for me thinkes in you I see old Gaunt aliue. Oh then my Father, Will you permit, that I shall stand condemn'd A wandring Vagabond; my Rights and Royalties Pluckt from my armes perforce, and giuen away To vpstart Vnthrifts? Wherefore was I borne? If that my Cousin King, be King of England, It must be graunted, I am Duke of Lancaster. You haue a Sonne, Aumerle, my Noble Kinsman, Had you first died, and he beene thus trod downe, He should haue found his Vnckle Gaunt a Father, To rowze his Wrongs, and chase them to the bay. I am denyde to sue my Liuerie here, And yet my Letters Patents giue me leaue: My Fathers goods are all distraynd, and sold, And these, and all, are all amisse imployd. What would you haue me doe? I am a Subiect, And challenge Law: Attorneyes are deny'd me; And therefore personally I lay my claime To my Inheritance of free Discent

North. The Noble Duke hath been too much abus'd

Ross. It stands your Grace vpon, to doe him right

Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great

York. My Lords of England, let me tell you this, I haue had feeling of my Cosens Wrongs, And labour'd all I could to doe him right: But in this kind, to come in brauing Armes, Be his owne Caruer, and cut out his way, To find out Right with Wrongs, it may not be; And you that doe abett him in this kind, Cherish Rebellion, and are Rebels all

North. The Noble Duke hath sworne his comming is But for his owne; and for the right of that, Wee all haue strongly sworne to giue him ayd, And let him neu'r see Ioy, that breakes that Oath

York. Well, well, I see the issue of these Armes, I cannot mend it, I must needes confesse, Because my power is weake, and all ill left: But if I could, by him that gaue me life, I would attach you all, and make you stoope Vnto the Soueraigne Mercy of the King. But since I cannot, be it knowne to you, I doe remaine as Neuter. So fare you well, Vnlesse you please to enter in the Castle, And there repose you for this Night

Bull. An offer Vnckle, that wee will accept: But wee must winne your Grace to goe with vs To Bristow Castle, which they say is held By Bushie, Bagot, and their Complices, The Caterpillers of the Commonwealth, Which I haue sworne to weed, and plucke away

York. It may be I will go with you: but yet Ile pawse, For I am loth to breake our Countries Lawes: Nor Friends, nor Foes, to me welcome you are, Things past redresse, are now with me past care.

Exeunt.

Scoena Quarta.

Enter Salisbury, and a Captaine.

Capt. My Lord of Salisbury, we haue stayd ten dayes, And hardly kept our Countreymen together, And yet we heare no tidings from the King; Therefore we will disperse our selues: farewell

Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trustie Welchman, The King reposeth all his confidence in thee

Capt. 'Tis thought the King is dead, we will not stay; The Bay-trees in our Countrey all are wither'd, And Meteors fright the fixed Starres of Heauen; The pale-fac'd Moone lookes bloody on the Earth, And leane-look'd Prophets whisper fearefull change; Rich men looke sad, and Ruffians dance and leape, The one in feare, to loose what they enioy, The other to enioy by Rage, and Warre: These signes fore-run the death of Kings. Farewell, our Countreymen are gone and fled, As well assur'd Richard their King is dead. Enter.

Sal. Ah Richard, with eyes of heauie mind, I see thy Glory, like a shooting Starre, Fall to the base Earth, from the Firmament: Thy Sunne sets weeping in the lowly West, Witnessing Stormes to come, Woe, and Vnrest: Thy Friends are fled, to wait vpon thy Foes, And crossely to thy good, all fortune goes. Enter.

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, Northumberland, Rosse, Percie, Willoughby, with Bushie and Greene Prisoners.

Bull. Bring forth these men: Bushie and Greene, I will not vex your soules, (Since presently your soules must part your bodies) With too much vrging your pernitious liues, For 'twere no Charitie: yet to wash your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men, I will vnfold some causes of your deaths. You haue mis-led a Prince, a Royall King, A happie Gentleman in Blood, and Lineaments, By you vnhappied, and disfigur'd cleane: You haue in manner with your sinfull houres Made a Diuorce betwixt his Queene and him, Broke the possession of a Royall Bed, And stayn'd the beautie of a faire Queenes Cheekes, With teares drawn fro[m] her eyes, with your foule wrongs. My selfe a Prince, by fortune of my birth, Neere to the King in blood, and neere in loue, Till you did make him mis-interprete me, Haue stoopt my neck vnder your iniuries, And sigh'd my English breath in forraine Clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment; While you haue fed vpon my Seignories, Dis-park'd my Parkes, and fell'd my Forrest Woods; From mine owne Windowes torne my Household Coat, Raz'd out my Impresse, leauing me no signe, Saue mens opinions, and my liuing blood, To shew the World I am a Gentleman. This, and much more, much more then twice all this, Condemnes you to the death: see them deliuered ouer To execution, and the hand of death

Bushie. More welcome is the stroake of death to me, Then Bullingbrooke to England

Greene. My comfort is, that Heauen will take our soules, And plague Iniustice with the paines of Hell

Bull. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd: Vnckle, you say the Queene is at your House, For Heauens sake fairely let her be entreated, Tell her I send to her my kind commends; Take speciall care my Greetings be deliuer'd

York. A Gentleman of mine I haue dispatch'd With Letters of your loue, to her at large

Bull. Thankes gentle Vnckle: come Lords away, To fight with Glendoure, and his Complices; A while to worke, and after holliday.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Drums: Flourish, and Colours. Enter Richard, Aumerle, Carlile, and Souldiers.

Rich. Barkloughly Castle call you this at hand? Au. Yea, my Lord: how brooks your Grace the ayre, After your late tossing on the breaking Seas? Rich. Needs must I like it well: I weepe for ioy To stand vpon my Kingdome once againe. Deere Earth, I doe salute thee with my hand, Though Rebels wound thee with their Horses hoofes: As a long parted Mother with her Child, Playes fondly with her teares, and smiles in meeting; So weeping, smiling, greet I thee my Earth, And doe thee fauor with my Royall hands. Feed not thy Soueraignes Foe, my gentle Earth, Nor with thy Sweetes, comfort his rauenous sence: But let thy Spiders, that suck vp thy Venome, And heauie-gated Toades lye in their way, Doing annoyance to the trecherous feete, Which with vsurping steps doe trample thee. Yeeld stinging Nettles to mine Enemies; And when they from thy Bosome pluck a Flower, Guard it I prethee with a lurking Adder, Whose double tongue may with a mortall touch Throw death vpon thy Soueraignes Enemies. Mock not my sencelesse Coniuration, Lords; This Earth shall haue a feeling, and these Stones Proue armed Souldiers, ere her Natiue King Shall falter vnder foule Rebellious Armes

Car. Feare not my Lord, that Power that made you King Hath power to keepe you King, in spight of all

Aum. He meanes, my Lord, that we are too remisse, Whilest Bullingbrooke through our securitie, Growes strong and great, in substance and in friends

Rich. Discomfortable Cousin, knowest thou not, That when the searching Eye of Heauen is hid Behind the Globe, that lights the lower World, Then Theeues and Robbers raunge abroad vnseene, In Murthers and in Out-rage bloody here: But when from vnder this Terrestriall Ball He fires the prowd tops of the Easterne Pines, And darts his Lightning through eu'ry guiltie hole, Then Murthers, Treasons, and detested sinnes (The Cloake of Night being pluckt from off their backs) Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselues. So when this Theefe, this Traytor Bullingbrooke, Who all this while hath reuell'd in the Night, Shall see vs rising in our Throne, the East, His Treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of Day; But selfe-affrighted, tremble at his sinne. Not all the Water in the rough rude Sea Can wash the Balme from an anoynted King; The breath of worldly men cannot depose The Deputie elected by the Lord: For euery man that Bullingbrooke hath prest, To lift shrewd Steele against our Golden Crowne, Heauen for his Richard hath in heauenly pay A glorious Angell: then if Angels fight, Weake men must fall, for Heauen still guards the right. Enter Salisbury.

Welcome my Lord, how farre off lyes your Power? Salisb. Nor neere, nor farther off, my gracious Lord, Then this weake arme; discomfort guides my tongue, And bids me speake of nothing but despaire: One day too late, I feare (my Noble Lord) Hath clouded all thy happie dayes on Earth: Oh call backe Yesterday, bid Time returne, And thou shalt haue twelue thousand fighting men: To day, to day, vnhappie day too late Orethrowes thy Ioyes, Friends, Fortune, and thy State; For all the Welchmen hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bullingbrooke, disperst, and fled

Aum. Comfort my Liege, why lookes your Grace so pale? Rich. But now the blood of twentie thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled, And till so much blood thither come againe, Haue I not reason to looke pale, and dead? All Soules that will be safe, flye from my side, For Time hath set a blot vpon my pride

Aum. Comfort my Liege, remember who you are

Rich. I had forgot my selfe. Am I not King? Awake thou sluggard Maiestie, thou sleepest: Is not the Kings Name fortie thousand Names? Arme, arme my Name: a punie subiect strikes At thy great glory. Looke not to the ground, Ye Fauorites of a King: are wee not high? High be our thoughts: I know my Vnckle Yorke Hath Power enough to serue our turne. But who comes here? Enter Scroope.

Scroope. More health and happinesse betide my Liege, Then can my care-tun'd tongue deliuer him

Rich. Mine eare is open, and my heart prepar'd: The worst is worldly losse, thou canst vnfold: Say, Is my Kingdome lost? why 'twas my Care: And what losse is it to be rid of Care? Striues Bullingbrooke to be as Great as wee? Greater he shall not be: If hee serue God, Wee'l serue him too, and be his Fellow so. Reuolt our Subiects? That we cannot mend, They breake their Faith to God, as well as vs: Cry Woe, Destruction, Ruine, Losse, Decay, The worst is Death, and Death will haue his day

Scroope. Glad am I, that your Highnesse is so arm'd To beare the tidings of Calamitie. Like an vnseasonable stormie day, Which make the Siluer Riuers drowne their Shores, As if the World were all dissolu'd to teares: So high, aboue his Limits, swells the Rage Of Bullingbrooke, couering your fearefull Land With hard bright Steele, and hearts harder then Steele: White Beares haue arm'd their thin and hairelesse Scalps Against thy Maiestie, and Boyes with Womens Voyces, Striue to speake bigge, and clap their female ioints In stiffe vnwieldie Armes: against thy Crowne Thy very Beads-men learne to bend their Bowes Of double fatall Eugh: against thy State Yea Distaffe-Women manage rustie Bills: Against thy Seat both young and old rebell, And all goes worse then I haue power to tell

Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'st a Tale so ill. Where is the Earle of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? What is become of Bushie? where is Greene? That they haue let the dangerous Enemie Measure our Confines with such peacefull steps? If we preuaile, their heads shall pay for it. I warrant they haue made peace with Bullingbrooke

Scroope. Peace haue they made with him indeede (my Lord.) Rich. Oh Villains, Vipers, damn'd without redemption, Dogges, easily woon to fawne on any man, Snakes in my heart blood warm'd, that sting my heart, Three Iudasses, each one thrice worse then Iudas, Would they make peace? terrible Hell make warre Vpon their spotted Soules for this Offence

Scroope. Sweet Loue (I see) changing his propertie, Turnes to the sowrest, and most deadly hate: Againe vncurse their Soules; their peace is made With Heads, and not with Hands: those whom you curse Haue felt the worst of Deaths destroying hand, And lye full low, grau'd in the hollow ground

Aum. Is Bushie, Greene, and the Earle of Wiltshire dead? Scroope. Yea, all of them at Bristow lost their heads