The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

Flourish. Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE, GREEN, and BAGOT

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.

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!

WILLOUGHBY. 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; 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 moe

Of noble blood in this declining land.

The King is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, ‘gainst any of us an, That will the King severely prosecute ‘Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

ROSS. The commons hath he pill’d with grievous taxes; And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he find For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts.

WILLOUGHBY. And daily new exactions are devis’d, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what; But what, a God’s name, doth become of this?

NORTHUMBERLAND. Wars hath not wasted it, for warr’d he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise

That which his noble ancestors achiev’d with blows.

More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.

ROSS. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

WILLOUGHBY. The King’s 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, But by the robbing of the banish’d 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, And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

ROSS. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now

For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

NORTHUMBERLAND. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death 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, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold.

NORTHUMBERLAND. Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay In Brittany, receiv’d intelligence

That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, 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 Quoint-All these, well furnish’d by the Duke of Britaine, 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 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 blemish’d crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre’s gilt, 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.

WILLOUGHBY. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

Exeunt

SCENE 2.

Windsor Castle

Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT

BUSHY. Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.

You promis’d, 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 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, 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; For sorrow’s eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects, Like perspectives which, rightly gaz’d upon, Show nothing but confusion-ey’d awry, Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty, Looking awry upon your lord’s departure, Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail; Which, look’d on as it is, is nought 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-though, 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 deriv’d 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 shipp’d for Ireland.

QUEEN. Why hopest thou so? ‘Tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.

Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp’d?

GREEN. That he, our hope, might have retir’d his power And driven into despair an enemy’s hope Who strongly hath set footing in this land.

The banish’d Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arriv’d At Ravenspurgh.

QUEEN. Now God in heaven forbid!

GREEN. Ah, madam, ‘tis too true; and that is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

BUSHY. Why have you not proclaim’d Northumberland And all the rest revolted faction traitors?

GREEN. We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester Hath broken his staff, resign’d 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-deliver’d mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join’d.

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 bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity.

Enter YORK

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 flatter’d 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 Plashy, 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, To-day, 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 provok’d him to it, The King had cut off my head with my brother’s.

What, are there no posts dispatch’d for Ireland?

How shall we do for money for these wars?

Come, sister-cousin, I would say-pray, pardon me.

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 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 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 condemn’d.

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 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, Except Eke 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 3.

Gloucestershire

Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, 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 Cotswold will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, Which, I protest, hath very much beguil’d The tediousness and process of my travel.

But theirs is sweet’ned 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