Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts
And bring away the armour that is there.

[Exit Servant.

Gentlemen, will you go muster men?

If I know how or which way to order these affairs
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen :
The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; the other again
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd,
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.
I should to Plashy too;

But time will not permit: all is uneven,
And every thing 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's 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 con-
demn'd.

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

The hateful commons will 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 numbering 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.

140

SCENE III. Wilds in Gloucestershire.

Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND,
with Forces.

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

North. Believe me, noble lord,

I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire :

These high wild hills and rough uneven ways

Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome;
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and délectable.
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 enjoy'd by this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done

By sight of what I have, your noble company.

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

Enter HENRY PERCY.

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

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.

North. 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.

North.

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.
North. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford,
boy?

ΤΟ

20

30

Percy. No, my good lord, for that is not
forgot

Which ne'er I did remember to my knowledge,
I never in my life did look on him.

North. Then learn to know him now; this is
the duke.

Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service,

Such as it is, being tender, raw and young;
Which elder days shall ripen and confirm
To more approved service and desert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be

sure

I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul remembering my good friends;
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,
It shall be still thy true love's recompense:
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus
seals it.

North. How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir

Keeps good old York there with his men of war? Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,

Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard; And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour ;

None else of name and noble estimate.

Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY.

North. Here comes the Lords of Ross and
Willoughby,

Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

Beling. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love

40

50

60

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd
Shall be your love and labour's recompense.

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

Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;

Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

Enter BERKELEY.

North. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess. Berk. My Lord of Hereford, my message is

to you.

Boling. My lord, my answer is to Lancaster; 70 And I am come to seek that name in England; And I must find that title in your tongue,

Before I make reply to aught you say.

Berk. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning

To raze one title of your honour out:

To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,
From the most gracious regent of this land,
The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on
To take advantage of the absent time

And fright our native peace with self-borne arms. 80