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• 1 2016-11-13T12:52:28-08:00 Act II 17 Richard II Act 2 plain 2016-12-15T13:22:05-08:00 Scene 1
  Enter John of Gaunt sick, with the Duke of York, and
  Attendants.
   
  GAUNT
  Will the King come, that I may breathe my last
  In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?
  YORK
  Vex not yourself nor strive not with your breath,
  For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
  GAUNT
  O, but they say the tongues of dying men                                               5
  Enforce attention like deep harmony.
  Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in
  vain,
  For they breathe truth that breathe their words in
  pain.                                                                                                          10
  He that no more must say is listened more
     Than they whom youth and ease have taught to
     gloze.
  More are men’s ends marked than their lives before.
     The setting sun and music at the close,                                              15
  As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
  Writ in remembrance more than things long past.
  Though Richard my life’s counsel would not hear,
  My death’s sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.
  YORK
  No, it is stopped with other flattering sounds,                                     20
  As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond;
  Lascivious meters, to whose venom sound
  The open ear of youth doth always listen;
  Report of fashions in proud Italy,
  Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation                                         25
  Limps after in base imitation.
  Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity—
  So it be new, there’s no respect how vile—
  That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?
  Then all too late comes counsel to be heard                                         30
  Where will doth mutiny with wit’s regard.
  Direct not him whose way himself will choose.
  ’Tis breath thou lack’st, and that breath wilt thou
  lose.
  GAUNT
  Methinks I am a prophet new inspired                                                  35
  And thus expiring do foretell of him:
  His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
  For violent fires soon burn out themselves;
  Small showers last long, but sudden storms are
  short;                                                                                                        40
  He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;
  With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder;
  Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
  Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
  This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle,                                    45
  This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
  This other Eden, demi-paradise,
  This fortress built by Nature for herself
  Against infection and the hand of war,
  This happy breed of men, this little world,                                           50
  This precious stone set in the silver sea,
  Which serves it in the office of a wall
  Or as a moat defensive to a house,
  Against the envy of less happier lands,
  This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this                                        55
  England,
  This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
  Feared by their breed and famous by their birth,
  Renownèd for their deeds as far from home
  For Christian service and true chivalry                                                 60
  As is the sepulcher in stubborn Jewry
  Of the world’s ransom, blessèd Mary’s son,
  This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
  Dear for her reputation through the world,
  Is now leased out—I die pronouncing it—                                           65
  Like to a tenement or pelting farm.
  England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
  Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
  Of wat’ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
  With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds.                                      70
  That England that was wont to conquer others
  Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
  Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
  How happy then were my ensuing death!
   
  Enter King and Queen, Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot,
  Ross, Willoughby, etc.
   
  YORK
  The King is come. Deal mildly with his youth,                                   75
  For young hot colts being reined do rage the more.
  QUEEN, to Gaunt
  How fares our noble uncle Lancaster?
  KING RICHARD, to Gaunt
  What comfort, man? How is ’t with agèd Gaunt?
  GAUNT
  O, how that name befits my composition!
  Old Gaunt indeed and gaunt in being old.                                            80
  Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast,
  And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?
  For sleeping England long time have I watched;
  Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt.
  The pleasure that some fathers feed upon                                            85
  Is my strict fast—I mean my children’s looks—
  And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt.
  Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
  Whose hollow womb inherits naught but bones.
   
  KING RICHARD
  Can sick men play so nicely with their names?                                   90
  GAUNT
  No, misery makes sport to mock itself.
  Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
  I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
  KING RICHARD
  Should dying men flatter with those that live?
  GAUNT
  No, no, men living flatter those that die.                                              95
  KING RICHARD
  Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me.
  GAUNT
  O, no, thou diest, though I the sicker be.
  KING RICHARD
  I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.
  GAUNT
  Now He that made me knows I see thee ill,
  Ill in myself to see, and in thee, seeing ill.                                         100
  thy deathbed is no lesser than thy land,
  Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;
  And thou, too careless-patient as thou art,
  Commit’st thy anointed body to the
  cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee.                                     105
  A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
  Whose compass is no bigger than thy head, And yet encagèd in so small a verge,
  The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet’s eye
  Seen how his son’s son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,110
  Deposing thee before thou wert possessed,
  Which art possessed now to depose thyself.
  Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,                                     115
  It were a shame to let this land by lease;
  But, for thy world enjoying but this land,
  Is it not more than shame to shame it so?
  Landlord of England art thou now, not king.
  Thy state of law is bondslave to the law,                                            120
  And thou—
  KING RICHARD  A lunatic lean-witted fool,
  Presuming on an ague's privilege,
  Darest with thy frozen admonition
  Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood
  With fury from his native residence.
  Now, by my seat's right royal majesty,
  Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
  This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head
  from thy unreverent shoulder                                                           130
  GAUNT
  O, spare me not, my brother Edward’s son,
   For that I was his father Edward’s son!
  That blood already, like the pelican,
  Hast thou tapped out and drunkenly caroused.
  My brother Gloucester—plain, well-meaning soul,                         135
  Whom fair befall in heaven ’mongst happy souls—
  May be a precedent and witness good
  That thou respect’st not spilling Edward’s blood.
  Join with the present sickness that I have,
  And thy unkindness be like crooked age                                            140
  To crop at once a too-long withered flower.
  Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
  These words hereafter thy tormentors be!—
  Convey me to my bed, then to my grave.
  Love they to live that love and honor have.                                       145
  He exits, carried off by Attendants.
  KING RICHARD
  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                                   150
  As Harry, Duke of Hereford, were he here.
  KING RICHARD
  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?                                                                                          155
  NORTHUMBERLAND  Nay, nothing; all is said.
  His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
  Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
  YORK
  Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!
  Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.                                     160
  KING RICHARD
  The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;
  His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.
  So much for that. Now for our Irish wars:
  We must supplant those rough rugheaded kern,
  Which live like venom where no venom else                                    165
  But only they have privilege to live.
  And, for these great affairs do ask some charge,
  Towards our assistance we do seize to us
  The plate, coin, revenues, and movables
  Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possessed.                                 170
  YORK
  How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long
  Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
  Not Gloucester’s death, nor Hereford’s banishment,
  Nor Gaunt’s rebukes, nor England’s private wrongs,
  Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke                                            175
  About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
  Have ever made me sour my patient cheek
  Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign’s face.
  I am the last of noble Edward’s sons,
  Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.                               180
  In war was never lion raged more fierce,
  In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
  Than was that young and princely gentleman.
  His face thou hast, for even so looked he,
  Accomplished with the number of thy hours;                                   185
  But when he frowned, it was against the French
  And not against his friends. His noble hand
  Did win what he did spend, and spent not that
  Which his triumphant father’s hand had won.
  His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,                                       190
  But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
  O, Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
  Or else he never would compare between.
  KING RICHARD
  Why, uncle, what’s the matter?
  
  YORK
  O, my liege,                                                                                    195
  Pardon me if you please. If not,
  I pleased Not to be pardoned, am content withal.
  Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands
  The royalty and rights of banished Hereford?
  
  Is not Gaunt dead? And doth not Hereford live?                              200
  Was not Gaunt just? And is not Harry true?
  Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
  Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
  Take Hereford’s rights away, and take from time
  His charters and his customary rights;                                                205
  Let not tomorrow then ensue today;
  Be not thyself; for how art thou a king
  But by fair sequence and succession?
  Now afore God—God forbid I say true!—
  If you do wrongfully seize Hereford’s rights,                                   210
  Call in the letters patents that he hath
  By his attorneys general to sue
  His livery, and deny his offered homage,
  You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
  You lose a thousand well-disposèd hearts,                                        215
  And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
  Which honor and allegiance cannot think.
  KING RICHARD
  Think what you will, we seize into our hands
  His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.
  YORK
  I’ll not be by the while. My liege, farewell.                                       220
  What will ensue hereof there’s none can tell;
  But by bad courses may be understood
  That their events can never fall out good.                                 He exits.
  KING RICHARD
  Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight.
  Bid him repair to us to Ely House                                                       225
  To see this business. Tomorrow next
  We will for Ireland, and ’tis time, I trow.
  And we create, in absence of ourself,
  Our uncle York Lord Governor of England,
  For he is just and always loved us well.—                                         230
  Come on, our queen. Tomorrow must we part.
  Be merry, for our time of stay is short.
  King and Queen exit with others;
  Northumberland, Willoughby, and Ross remain.
  NORTHUMBERLAND
  Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.
  ROSS
  And living too, for now his son is duke.
  WILLOUGHBY
  Barely in title, not in revenues.                                                            235
  NORTHUMBERLAND
  Richly in both, if justice had her right.
  ROSS
  My heart is great, but it must break with silence
  Ere ’t be disburdened with a liberal tongue.
  NORTHUMBERLAND
  Nay, speak thy mind, and let him ne’er speak more
  That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!                                  240
  WILLOUGHBY, to Ross
  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,                                                   245
  Unless you call it good to pity him,
  Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.
  NORTHUMBERLAND
  Now, afore God, ’tis shame such wrongs are borne
  In him, a royal prince, and many more
  Of noble blood in this declining land.                                                 250
  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.                             255
  ROSS
  The commons hath he pilled 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.                                   260
  But what i’ God’s name doth become of this?
  NORTHUMBERLAND
  Wars hath not wasted it, for warred 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.                                 265
  ROSS
  The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
  WILLOUGHBY
  The King grown bankrupt like a broken man.
  NORTHUMBERLAND
  Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.
  ROSS
  He hath not money for these Irish wars,
  His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,                                         270
  But by the robbing of the banished duke.
  NORTHUMBERLAND
  His noble kinsman. Most degenerate king!
  But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
  Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm;
  We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,                                             275
  And yet we strike not, but securely perish.
  ROSS
  We see the very wrack that we must suffer,
  And unavoided is the danger now
  For suffering so the causes of our wrack.
  NORTHUMBERLAND
  Not so. Even through the hollow eyes of death                                 280
  I spy life peering; but I dare not say
  How near the tidings of our comfort is.
  WILLOUGHBY
  Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.
  ROSS
  Be confident to speak, Northumberland.
  We three are but thyself, and speaking so                                          285
  Thy words are but as thoughts. Therefore be bold.
  NORTHUMBERLAND
  Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc,
  A bay in Brittany, received intelligence
  That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord
  Cobham,                                                                                                290
  That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
  His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
  Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,
  Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
  Coint—                                                                                                  295
  All these well furnished by the Duke of Brittany
  With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
  Are making hither with all due expedience
  And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.
  Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay                                      300
  The first departing of the King for Ireland.
  If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
  Imp out our drooping country’s broken wing,
  Redeem from broking pawn the blemished crown,
  Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter’s gilt,                                  305
  And make high majesty look like itself,
  Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh.
  But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
  Stay and be secret, and myself will go.
  ROSS
  To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.                           310
  WILLOUGHBY
  Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.
  They exit.
   
  Scene 2
  Enter the Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.
   
  BUSHY
  Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.
  You promised, when you parted with the King,
  To lay aside life-harming heaviness
  And entertain a cheerful disposition.
  QUEEN
  To please the King I did; to please myself                                              5
  I cannot do it. Yet I know no cause
  Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
  Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
  As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks
  Some unborn sorrow ripe in Fortune’s womb                                     10
  Is coming towards me, and my inward soul
  With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves
  More than with parting from my lord the King.
  BUSHY
  Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows
  Which shows like grief itself but is not so;                                          15
  For sorrow’s eyes, glazed with blinding tears,
  Divides one thing entire to many objects,
  Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon
  Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry
  Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,                                           20
  Looking awry upon your lord’s departure,
  Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail,
  Which, looked on as it is, is naught but shadows
  Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
  More than your lord’s departure weep not. More is                           25
  not seen,
  Or if it be, ’tis with false sorrow’s eye,
  Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
  QUEEN
  It may be so, but yet my inward soul
  Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe’er it be,                                       30
  I cannot but be sad—so heavy sad
  As thought, on thinking on no thought I think,
  Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
  BUSHY
  ’Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
  QUEEN
  ’Tis nothing less. Conceit is still derived                                              35
  From some forefather grief. Mine is not so,
  For nothing hath begot my something grief—
  Or something hath the nothing that I grieve.
  ’Tis in reversion that I do possess,
  But what it is that is not yet known what,                                            40
  I cannot name. ’Tis nameless woe, I wot.
   
  Enter Green.
   
  GREEN
  God save your Majesty!—And well met, gentlemen.
  I hope the King is not yet shipped for Ireland.
  QUEEN
  Why hopest thou so? ’Tis better hope he is,
  For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.                               45
  Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipped?
   
  GREEN
  That he, our hope, might have retired his power
  And driven into despair an enemy’s hope,
  Who strongly hath set footing in this land.
  The banished Bolingbroke repeals himself                                          50
  And with uplifted arms is safe arrived
  At Ravenspurgh.
  QUEEN  Now God in heaven forbid!
  GREEN
  Ah, madam, ’tis too true. And that is worse,
  The Lord Northumberland, his son young Harry                                55
  Percy,
  The Lords of Ross, Beaumont, and Willoughby,
  With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
  BUSHY
  Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland
  And all the rest revolted faction traitors?                                             60
  GREEN
  We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester
  Hath broken his staff, resigned his stewardship,
  And all the Household servants fled with him
  To Bolingbroke.
  QUEEN
  So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,                                        65
  And Bolingbroke my sorrow’s dismal heir.
  Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,
  And I, a gasping new-delivered mother,
  Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined.
  BUSHY
  Despair not, madam.                                                                                 70
  QUEEN  Who shall hinder me?
  I will despair and be at enmity
  With cozening hope. He is a flatterer,
  A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
  Who gently would dissolve the bands of life                                       75
  Which false hope lingers in extremity.
   
  Enter York.
   
  GREEN  Here comes the Duke of York.
  QUEEN
  With signs of war about his agèd neck.
  O, full of careful business are his looks!—
  Uncle, for God’s sake speak comfortable words.                                80
  YORK
  Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.
  Comfort’s in heaven, and we are on the Earth,
  Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.
  Your husband, he is gone to save far off
  Whilst others come to make him lose at home.                                   85
  Here am I left to underprop his land,
  Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.
  Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
  Now shall he try his friends that flattered him.
   
  Enter a Servingman.
   
   
  SERVINGMAN
  My lord, your son was gone before I came.                                         90
  YORK
  He was? Why, so go all which way it will.
  The nobles they are fled; the commons they are
  cold
  And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford’s side.
  Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;                            95
  Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.
  Hold, take my ring.
  SERVINGMAN
  My lord, I had forgot to tell your Lordship:
  Today as I came by I callèd there—
  But I shall grieve you to report the rest.                                             100
  YORK  What is ’t, knave?
  SERVINGMAN
  An hour before I came, the Duchess died.
  YORK
  God for His mercy, what a tide of woes
  Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
  I know not what to do. I would to God,                                              105
  So my untruth had not provoked him to it,
  The King had cut off my head with my brother’s!
  What, are there no posts dispatched for Ireland?
  How shall we do for money for these wars?—
  Come, sister—cousin I would say, pray pardon                                110
  me.—
  Go, fellow, get thee home. Provide some carts
  And bring away the armor that is there.
  Servingman exits.
  Gentlemen, will you go muster men?
  If I know how or which way to order these affairs                           115
  Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,
  Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.
  T’ one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
  And duty bids defend; t’ other again
  Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged,                                 120
  Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
  Well, somewhat we must do. To Queen. Come,
  cousin,
  I’ll dispose of you.—Gentlemen, go muster up your
  men                                                                                                         125
  And meet me presently at Berkeley.
  I should to Plashy too,
  But time will not permit. All is uneven,
  And everything is left at six and seven.
  Duke of York and Queen exit.
  Bushy, Green, and Bagot remain.
  BUSHY
  The wind sits fair for news to go for Ireland,                                    130
  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.                                        135
  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,                                              140
  Because we ever have been near the King.
  GREEN
  Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle.
  The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
  BUSHY
  Thither will I with you, for little office
  Will the hateful commons perform for us,                                         145
  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.                                 150
  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.                                     155
  BUSHY
  Well, we may meet again.
  BAGOT  I fear me, never.
  They exit.
   
  Scene 3
  Enter Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, and
  Northumberland.
   
  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.                                5
  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,                              10
  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                                                        15
  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?                                     20
   
  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.                                                                                                           25
  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                                     30
  When last we spake together.
  PERCY
  Because your Lordship was proclaimèd 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,
  Thenwith directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.                                    35
  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                                40
  I never in my life did look on him.
  NORTHUMBERLAND
  Then learn to know him now. This is the Duke.
  PERCY, to Bolingbroke
  My gracious lord, I tender you my service,
  Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,
  Which elder days shall ripen and confirm                                            45
  To more approvèd 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,                                               50
  It shall be still thy true love’s recompense.
  My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.
  Gives Percy his hand.
  NORTHUMBERLAND, to Percy
  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,                                         55
  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,                                   60
  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 labor’s recompense.                                         65
  ROSS
  Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.
  WILLOUGHBY
  And far surmounts our labor to attain it.
  BOLINGBROKE
  Evermore thank’s the exchequer of the poor,
  Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
  Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?                                       70
   
  Enter Berkeley.
   
  NORTHUMBERLAND
  It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.
  BERKELEY, to Bolingbroke
  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                                              75
  Before I make reply to aught you say.
  BERKELEY
  Mistake me not, my lord, ’tis not my meaning
  To rase one title of your honor out.
  To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,
  From the most gracious regent of this land,                                         80
  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.
   
  BOLINGBROKE
  I shall not need transport my words by you.
  Here comes his Grace in person.                                       He kneels.  85
  My noble uncle.
  YORK
  Show me thy humble heart and not thy knee,
  Whose duty is deceivable and false.
  BOLINGBROKE, standing  My gracious uncle—
  YORK  Tut, tut!                                                                                             90
  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?                              95
  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 despisèd arms?
  Com’st thou because the anointed king is hence?                            100
  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,                        105
  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.                                         110
  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,                                                        115
  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.                                     120
  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                              125
  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,                                130
  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,                                   135
  And these, and all, are all amiss employed.
  What would you have me do? I am a subject,
  And I challenge law. Attorneys are denied me,
  And therefore personally I lay my claim
  To my inheritance of free descent.                                                      140
  NORTHUMBERLAND, to York
  The noble duke hath been too much abused.
  ROSS, to York
  It stands your Grace upon to do him right.
  WILLOUGHBY, to York
  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                                          145
  And labored 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                                                 150
  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.                               155
  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                                        160
  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.                                                    165
  BOLINGBROKE
  An offer, uncle, that we will accept.
  But we must win your Grace to go with us
  To Bristow Castle, which they say is held
  By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,
  The caterpillars of the commonwealth,                                              170
  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.                                175
  They exit.
   
  Scene 4
  Enter Earl of Salisbury and a Welsh Captain.
   
  WELSH 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.                                         5
  The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.
  WELSH CAPTAIN
  ’Tis thought the King is dead. We will not stay.
  The bay trees in our country are all withered,
  And meteors fright the fixèd stars of heaven;
  The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the Earth,                                10
  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.                                     15
  Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled,
  As well assured Richard their king is dead.
  He exits.
  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.                                           20
  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.
  He exits.