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 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,
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
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,
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 hop‘st thou so? ’Tis better hope he is,
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.
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,
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 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?
GREEN
We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broke 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,
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.
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 bonds of life,
Which false hope lingers in extremity.
Enter the Duke of York, ⌈wearing a gorget⌉
GREEN Here comes the Duke of York.
QUEEN
With signs of war about his aged neck.
O, full of careful business are his looks!
Uncle, for God’s sake speak comfortable words.
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.
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.
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 Pleshey, to my sister Gloucester.
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 called there—
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
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,
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?
(To the Queen) Come, sister—cousin, I would say; pray
pardon me.
(To the Servingman) Go, fellow, get thee home. Provide
some carts,
And bring away the armour that is there.
⌈Exit Servingman⌉
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.
T‘one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; t’other again
Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged,
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must do. (To the Queen) Come,
cousin,
I’ll dispose of you.—
Gentlemen, go muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkeley Castle.
I should to Pleshey too, but time will not permit.
All is uneven,
And everything is left at six and seven.
Exeunt the Duke of York and the Queen. Bushy, Bagot, and Green remain
BUSHY
The wind sits fair for news to go for 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 judgement 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 commoners perform for us,
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
(To Bagot) 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.
⌈BAGOT⌉
Farewell at once, for once, for all and ever.
BUSHY
Well, we may meet again.
BAGOT I fear me never.
Exeunt ⌈Bushy and Green at one door, and Bagot at another door⌉
2.3 Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, and the Earl of 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;
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 Cotswold 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.
Enter Harry Percy
But who comes here?
NORTHUMBERLAND
It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.
Harry, how fares your uncle?
HARRY PERCY
I had thought, my lord, to have learned his health of
you.
NORTHUMBERLAND Why, is he not with the Queen?
HARRY 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.
HARRY 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?
HARRY 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.
HARRY 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.
He gives Percy his hand
NORTHUMBERLAND
How far is it to Berkeley, and what stir
Keeps good old York there with his men of war?
HARRY 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 Lord Ross and Lord 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 thank’s the exchequer of the poor,
Which till my infant fortune comes to years
Stands for my bounty.
Enter Berkeley
But who comes here?
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 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-borne arms.
Enter the Duke of York
BOLINGBROKE
I shall not need transport my words by you.
Here comes his grace in person.—My noble uncle!
He 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 the 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 ⌈standing⌉
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 royalti
es
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 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 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 I 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 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.
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
The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 120
