Part 155

Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know how or which way to order these affairs Thus disorderly thrust into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen. Th’ one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; th’ other again Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I’ll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkeley Castle. I should to Plashy too, But time will not permit. All is uneven, And everything 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 unpossible.

GREEN. Besides, our nearness to the King in love Is near the hate of those love not the King.

BAGOT. And that is 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 condemned.

BAGOT. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the King.

GREEN. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle. The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

BUSHY. Thither will I with you, for little office Will the hateful commons perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us?

BAGOT. No, I will to Ireland to his Majesty. Farewell. If heart’s presages be not vain, We three here part that ne’er shall meet again.

BUSHY. That’s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

GREEN. Alas, poor Duke! The task he undertakes Is numb’ring sands and drinking oceans dry. Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.

BUSHY. Well, we may meet again.

BAGOT. I fear me, never.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE III. The Wolds in Gloucestershire.

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland with Forces.

BOLINGBROKE. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

NORTHUMBERLAND. Believe me, noble lord, I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire. These high wild hills and rough uneven ways Draws out our miles and makes 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 Ravenspurgh to Cotshall will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled The tediousness and process of my travel. But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess; And hope to joy is little less in joy Than hope enjoyed. By this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short as mine hath done By sight of what I have, your noble company.

BOLINGBROKE. Of much less value is my company Than your good words. But who comes here?

Enter Harry Percy.

NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. Harry, how fares your uncle?

PERCY. I had thought, my lord, to have learned his health of you.

NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, is he not with the Queen?

PERCY. No, my good lord. He hath forsook the court, Broken his staff of office, and dispersed The household of the King.

NORTHUMBERLAND. What was his reason? He was not so resolved when last we spake together.

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 directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND. 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.

NORTHUMBERLAND. 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.

BOLINGBROKE. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure I count myself in nothing else so happy 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 recompense. My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.

NORTHUMBERLAND. How far is it to Berkeley, and what stir Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

PERCY. There stands the castle by yon tuft of trees, Manned 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.

NORTHUMBERLAND. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

BOLINGBROKE. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues A banished traitor. All my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enriched, Shall be your love and labour’s recompense.

ROSS. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

WILLOUGHBY. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

BOLINGBROKE. 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.

NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.

BERKELEY. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.

BOLINGBROKE. 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.

BERKELEY. Mistake me not, my lord, ’tis not my meaning To rase 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-borne arms.

Enter York, attended.

BOLINGBROKE. 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.

BOLINGBROKE. 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 banished and forbidden legs Dared once to touch a dust of England’s ground? But then more why: why have they dared to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, Frighting her pale-faced 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 lord of such hot youth As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself Rescued 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!

BOLINGBROKE. 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 banished man, and here art come, Before the expiration of thy time, In braving arms against thy sovereign.

BOLINGBROKE. As I was banished, I was banished 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 condemned A wandering vagabond, my rights and royalties Plucked from my arms perforce and given away To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? If that my cousin king be King in England, It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin. 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 patents give me leave. My father’s goods are all distrained and sold, And these, and all, are all amiss employed. 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.

NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath been too much abused.

ROSS. It stands your Grace upon to do him right.

WILLOUGHBY. 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 laboured 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.

NORTHUMBERLAND. 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 never 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 unto 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.

BOLINGBROKE. 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._]

SCENE IV. A camp in Wales.

Enter Earl of Salisbury and a Welsh Captain.

CAPTAIN. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stayed ten days And hardly kept our countrymen together, And yet we hear no tidings from the King. Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.

SALISBURY. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman. The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.

CAPTAIN. ’Tis thought the King is dead. We will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all withered, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth, And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change; Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, The other to enjoy by rage and war. These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assured Richard their king is dead.

[_Exit._]

SALISBURY. Ah, Richard! With the eyes of heavy mind I see thy glory like a shooting star Fall to the base earth from the firmament. Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest. Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes, And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

[_Exit._]

ACT III

SCENE I. Bristol. Bolingbroke’s camp.

Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Harry Percy, Willoughby, Ross; Officers behind, with Bushy and Green, prisoners.

BOLINGBROKE. Bring forth these men. Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls— Since presently your souls must part your bodies— With too much urging your pernicious lives, For ’twere no charity; yet to wash your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men I will unfold some causes of your deaths: You have misled a prince, a royal king, A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, By you unhappied and disfigured clean. You have in manner with your sinful hours Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him, Broke the possession of a royal bed, And stained the beauty of a fair queen’s cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth, Near to the King in blood, and near in love Till you did make him misinterpret me, Have stooped my neck under your injuries And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment, Whilst you have fed upon my signories, Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods, From my own windows torn my household coat, Rased out my imprese, leaving me no sign Save men’s opinions and my living blood To show the world I am a gentleman. This and much more, much more than twice all this, Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over To execution and the hand of death.

BUSHY. More welcome is the stroke of death to me Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.

GREEN. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls And plague injustice with the pains of hell.

BOLINGBROKE. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatched.

[_Exeunt Northumberland and Others, with Bushy and Green._]

Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house; For God’s sake, fairly let her be entreated. Tell her I send to her my kind commends; Take special care my greetings be delivered.

YORK. A gentleman of mine I have dispatched With letters of your love to her at large.

BOLINGBROKE. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away, To fight with Glendower and his complices. A while to work, and after holiday.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view.

Flourish: drums and trumpets. Enter King Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle and soldiers.

KING RICHARD. Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand?

AUMERLE. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air After your late tossing on the breaking seas?

KING RICHARD. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy To stand upon my kingdom once again. Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses’ hoofs. As a long-parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting, So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favours with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense, But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way, Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign’s enemies. Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords. This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellion’s arms.

CARLISLE. Fear not, my lord. That Power that made you king Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. The means that heaven yields must be embraced And not neglected; else if heaven would, And we will not. Heaven’s offer we refuse, The proffered means of succour and redress.

AUMERLE. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss, Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great in substance and in power.

KING RICHARD. Discomfortable cousin, know’st thou not That when the searching eye of heaven is hid Behind the globe that lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen In murders and in outrage boldly here; But when from under this terrestrial ball He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, The cloak of night being plucked from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, Who all this while hath revelled in the night Whilst we were wand’ring with the Antipodes, Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day, But self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm off from an anointed king; The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord. For every man that Bolingbroke hath pressed To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight, Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.

Enter Salisbury.

Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?

SALISBURY. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair. One day too late, I fear me, noble lord, Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth. O, call back yesterday, bid time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! Today, today, unhappy day, too late, O’erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed, and fled.

AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege. Why looks your Grace so pale?

KING RICHARD. But now, the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And till so much blood thither come again Have I not reason to look pale and dead? All souls that will be safe, fly from my side, For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege. Remember who you are.

KING RICHARD. I had forgot myself. Am I not king? Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest! Is not the King’s name twenty thousand names? Arm, arm, my name! A puny subject strikes At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, Ye favourites of a king. Are we not high? High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?

Enter Sir Stephen Scroop.

SCROOP. More health and happiness betide my liege Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him.

KING RICHARD. Mine ear is open and my heart prepared. The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, ’twas my care, And what loss is it to be rid of care? Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? Greater he shall not be. If he serve God, We’ll serve Him too, and be his fellow so. Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend. They break their faith to God as well as us. Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay. The worst is death, and death will have his day.

SCROOP. Glad am I that your highness is so armed To bear the tidings of calamity. Like an unseasonable stormy day Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores As if the world were all dissolved to tears, So high above his limits swells the rage Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel. Whitebeards have armed their thin and hairless scalps Against thy majesty; boys with women’s voices Strive to speak big and clap their female joints In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown; Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew against thy state; Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills Against thy seat. Both young and old rebel, And all goes worse than I have power to tell.

KING RICHARD. Too well, too well thou tell’st a tale so ill. Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot? What is become of Bushy? Where is Green? That they have let the dangerous enemy Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.

SCROOP. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.

KING RICHARD. O villains, vipers, damned without redemption! Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! Snakes, in my heart-blood warmed, that sting my heart! Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! Would they make peace? Terrible hell Make war upon their spotted souls for this!

SCROOP. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate. Again uncurse their souls. Their peace is made With heads, and not with hands. Those whom you curse Have felt the worst of death’s destroying wound And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground.

AUMERLE. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?

SCROOP. Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.

AUMERLE. Where is the Duke my father with his power?

KING RICHARD. No matter where. Of comfort no man speak! Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs, Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let’s choose executors and talk of wills. And yet not so, for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke’s, And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God’s sake let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings— How some have been deposed, some slain in war, Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed, Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed, All murdered. For within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life Were brass impregnable; and, humoured thus, Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king! Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence. Throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while. I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus, How can you say to me I am a king?

CARLISLE. My lord, wise men ne’er sit and wail their woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear and be slain—no worse can come to fight; And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.

AUMERLE. My father hath a power. Enquire of him, And learn to make a body of a limb.

KING RICHARD. Thou chid’st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I come To change blows with thee for our day of doom. This ague fit of fear is overblown; An easy task it is to win our own. Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.

SCROOP. Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state in inclination of the day; So may you by my dull and heavy eye. My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. I play the torturer by small and small To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken: Your uncle York is joined with Bolingbroke, And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Upon his party.

KING RICHARD. Thou hast said enough. [_To Aumerle_.] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth Of that sweet way I was in to despair. What say you now? What comfort have we now? By heaven, I’ll hate him everlastingly That bids me be of comfort any more. Go to Flint Castle. There I’ll pine away; A king, woe’s slave, shall kingly woe obey. That power I have, discharge, and let them go To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, For I have none. Let no man speak again To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

AUMERLE. My liege, one word.

KING RICHARD. He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers. Let them hence away, From Richard’s night to Bolingbroke’s fair day.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE III. Wales. Before Flint Castle.

Enter, with drum and colours, Bolingbroke and Forces; Northumberland and Others.

BOLINGBROKE. So that by this intelligence we learn The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed With some few private friends upon this coast.

NORTHUMBERLAND. The news is very fair and good, my lord: Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.

YORK. It would beseem the Lord Northumberland To say “King Richard”. Alack the heavy day When such a sacred king should hide his head!

NORTHUMBERLAND. Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief Left I his title out.