« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »
K. Rich. -a lunatick, lean-witted fool, Enter King Richard, and Queen ; AUMERLE, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Bushy, GREEN, Bagot, Ross, and Wil- Dar’st with thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheek ; chasing the royal blood, York. The king is come : deal mildly with his with fury, from his native residence. youth;
Now by my seat's right royal majesty, For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the Wert thou 'not brother to great Edward's son,
This tongue, that runs so roundly in thy head, Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? Should run thy head from thy unreverend K. Rich. What comfort, man ? How is't with
shoulders. aged Gaunt?
Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's Gaunt: 0, how that name befits my composi- son, tion !
For that I was his father Edward's son ; Old Gaunt, indeed ; and gaunt in being old ; That blood already, like the pelican, Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd: And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt? My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, For sleeping England long time have I watch'd ; (Whom fair befal in heaven'mongst hoppysouls!) Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: Nay be a precedent and witness good, The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon, That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Is my strict fast, I mean—my children's looks; Join with the present sickness that I have; And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt : And thy unkindness be like crooked age, Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, To crop at once a too-long wither’d flower. Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. Live in thy shame, but dienot shame with thee! K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with These words hereafter thy tormentors be ! their names ?
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Love they to live, that love and honour have. Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
[Exit, borne out by his attendants. I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. K. Rich. And let them die, that
and sulK. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those
lens have ; that live ?
For both hast thou, and both become the grave. Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words die.
To wayward sickliness and age in him: K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st—thou He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear flatter'st me.
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here. Gaunt. Oh! no; thou diest, though I the K. Rich. Right; you say true: as Hereford's sicker be.
love, so his; K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. thee ill.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Gaunt. Now, He, that made me, knows I see thee ill ;
North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him Il in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
to your majesty. Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land,
K. Rich. What says he now
? Wherein thou liest in reputation sick :
North. Nay, nothing ; all is said : And thou, too careless patient as thou art, His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Commit’st thy anointed body to the cure Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. Of those physicians, that first wounded thee : York. Be York the next that must be bankA thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. And yet, incaged in so small a verge,
K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
doth he; O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye, His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be: Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, So much for that.-Now for our Irish wars : From forth thy reach he would have laid thy We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns: shame;
Which live like venom, where no venom else, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, But only they, hath privilege to live. Which art possess’d now to depose thyself, And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, Towards our assistance, we do seize to us It were a shame, to let this land by lease : The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables, But, for thy world, enjoying but this land, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. Is it not more than shame, to shame it so ? York. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how Landlord of England art thou now, not king: long Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? And thou
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment,
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private Come on, our queen : to-morrow must we part; wrongs,
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke,
[Flourish. Exeunt King, Queen, Busky, About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
Aumerle, Green, and Bagot. Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
dead. I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke. Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first ; Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue. In war was never lion rag'd more fierce,
North. Richly in both, if justice had her right In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break Than was that young and princely gentleman : with silence, His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let hin But, when he frown'd, it was against the French,
ne'er speak more,
K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter? Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.
North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame such
wrongs are borne, Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. In him a royal prince, and many more Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands, Of noble blood in this declining land. The royalties and rights of banish’s Hereford ? The king is not himself, but basely led Is not Gaunt dead ? and doth not Hereford live? By flatterers; and what they will inform, Was not Gaunt just ? and is not Harry true ? Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, Did not the one deserve to have an heir ? That will the king severely prosecutę Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grieHis charters, and his customary rights ;
vous taxes, Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; And lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fin'd Be not thyself, for how art thou a king, For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. But by fair sequence and succession ?
Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd; Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true !) As blanks, benevolences, and I wot pot what: If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, But what, o'God's name, doth become of this? Cail in the letters patent that he hath
North. Wars have not wasted it, for wan'd By his attornies-general to sue
he hath not, His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, But basely yielded upon compromise You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, That, which his ancestors achiev'd with blows: You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars And prick my tender patience to those thoughts, Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in Which honour and allegiance cannot think.
farm. K. Rich. Think what you will; we seize into Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a bro
ken man. His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth York. I'll not be by, the while: My liege,
over him. farewell :
Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell ; His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by bad courses may be understood, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. That their events can never fall out good. North. His noble kinsman ; most degenerate
[Exit. king! K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire But lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, straight;
Yet seek no sbelter to avoid the storm ; Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, To see this business : To-morrow next
And yet we strike not, but securely perish. We will for Ireland ; and 'tis time, I trow; Ross. We see the very wreck that we must And we create, in absence of ourself,
suffer; Our uncle York lord governor of England, And unavoided is the danger now, For he is just, and always lov'd us well.- For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
he is ;
North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes | Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, of death,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure, I spy life peering; but I dare not say
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail: How near the tidings of our comfort is. Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou Of what it is not. Then, thrice gracious queen, dost ours.
More than your lord's departure weep not; Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: more's not seen : We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary. bold.
Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul North. Then thus :- I have from Port le Persuades me, it is otherwise : Howe'er it be, Blane, a bay
I cannot but be sad ; so heavy sad, In Britanny, receiv'd intelligence,
As,-though, in thinking, on no thought I That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, think, (The son of Richard earl of Arundel)
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
lady. Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston, Queen. 'Tis nothing less : conceit is still deriv'd Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and From some fore-father grief; mine is not so ; Francis Quoint,
For nothing hath begot my something grief; All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, Or something hath the nothing, that I grieve: With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, 'Tis in reversion, that I do possess ; Are making hither with all due expedience, But what it is, that is not yet known; what And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: I cannot name ; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
Enter GREEN. The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Green. God save your majesty !-and well Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
met, gentlemen :Redeem from broking
pawn the blemish'd crown, I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter's gilt, Queen. Why hop'st thou so ? 'tis better hope, And make high majesty look like itself, Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg : For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope; But, if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shippd? Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.
Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.
And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be Who strongly hath set footing in this land : there.
[Exeunt. The banishid Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
Queen. Now God in heaven forbid !
Green. 0, madam, 'tis too true: and that is Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad:
worse, You promis’d, when you parted with the king, The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry To lay aside life-harming heaviness,
Percy, And entertain a cheerful disposition.
The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please with all their powerful friends, are fled to him. myself,
Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Nor. I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
thumberland, Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, And all the rest of the revolting faction, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
Traitors ? As my sweet Richard : Yet again, methinks, Green. We have; whereon the earl of Wor. Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
cester Is coming towards me ; and my inward soul Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, With nothing trembles : at something it grieves, And all the household servants fled with him More than with parting from my lord the king. To Bolingbroke. Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my shadows,
woe, Which show like grief itself, but are not so: And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir : For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy ; Divides one thing entire to many objects ; And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Like perspectives, which, rightly, gaz'd upon, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. Show nothing but confusion ; ey'd awry, Bushy. Despair not, madam.
Queen. Who shall hinder me?
Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin, I'll I will despair, and be at enmity
Dispose of you :-Go, muster up your men, With cozening hope ; he is a flatterer,
And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
I should to Plashy too ;Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, But time will not permit:-All is uneven, Which false hope lingers in extremity.
And every thing is left at six and seven.
[Ercunt York and Queen. Enter York.
Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Green. Here comes the duke of York.
Ireland, Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck; But none returns. For us to levy power, O, full of careful business are his looks !- Proportionable to the enemy, Uncle,
Is all impossible. For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. Green. Besides,our nearness to the king in love, York. Should I do so, I should belie my Is near the hate of those love not the king. thoughts:
Bugot. And that's the wavering commons ; Comfort's in heaven ; and we are on the earth,
for their love Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. Lies in their purses ; and whoso empties them, Your husband he is gone to save far off, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. Whilst others come to make him lose at home : Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally Here am I left to underprop his land ;
condemn'd. Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:- Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Now comes the sick hour, that his surfeit made; Because we ever have been near the king. Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bris
tol castle ; Enter a Servant.
The earl of Wiltshire is already there.
Bushy. Thither will I with you : for little office Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. The hateful commons will perform for us; York. He was ?-Why, so !-go all which Except like curs to tear us all in pieces.way it will !
Will you go along with us? The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Farewell ; if heart's presages be not vain, Sirrah,
We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again
. Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster ; Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bid her send me presently a thousand pound :- Bolingbroke. Hold, take my ring.
Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes, Serv. My lord, i had forgot to tell your lord- Is--numb’ring sands, and drinking oceans dry; ship:
Where one on his side fights, thousands will tv, To-day, as I came by, I called there ;
Bushy. Farewell at once ; for once, for all, and But I shall grieve you to report the rest. York. What is it, knave ?
Green. Well, we may meet again. Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess Bagot. I fear me, never.
Ereunt. died. York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes
SCENE III.-The Wilds in Glostershire. Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do :-I would to God,
Enter BOLINGBROKE and NorTHUMBERLAND, (So my uptruth had not provok'd him to it,)
with forces. The king had cutoff'my head with my brother's.What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland ?- Poling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? How shall we do for money for these wars ? North. Believe me, noble lord, Come, sister,-cousin, I would say: pray, par- | I am a stranger here in Glostershire. don me.
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome ; provide some carts,
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, And bring away the armour that is there.-- Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
[Erit Servant. But, I bethink me, what a weary way Gentlemen, will you go muster men? if I know From Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found How, or which way, to order these affairs, In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your compaay; Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Which, 1 protest, hath very much beguild Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ;- The tediousness and process of my travel: The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have And duty bids defend; the other, again, The present benefit, which I possess : Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd; And hope to joy, is little less in joy, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. I Thon hope enjoy'd: by this the weary
Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath | Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich’d, done
Shall be your love and labour's recompense. By sight of what I have, your noble company. Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noBoling. Of much less value is my company,
ble lord. Than your good words. But who comes here? Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attainit.
Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of Enter HARRY PERCY.
the poor; North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.- Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? Harry, how fares your uncle?
Enter BERKLEY. Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.
North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. North. Why, is he not with the queen ? Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook you. the court,
Boling. My lord, my answer is to Lancaster; Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd
And I am come to seek that name in England: The household of the king.
And I must find that title in your tongue, North. What was his reason?
Before I make reply to aught you say.. He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake to- Berk. Mistake me not, my lord : 'tis not my gether.
meaning, Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed To raze one title of your honour out: traitor.
To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,) But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, From the most glorious regent of this land, To offer service to the duke of Hereford ; The duke of York; to know, what pricks you on And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover To take advantage of the absent time, What power the duke of York had levied there; And fright our native peace with self-born arms. Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. North. Have you forgot the duke of Here
Enter York, attended. ford, boy
Boling. I shall not need transport my words Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot, by you ; Which ne'er I did remember : to my knowledge, Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle! I never in my life did look on him.
[Kneels. North. Then learn to know him now; this is York. Show me thy humble heart, and not the duke.
thy knee, Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my whose duty is deceivable and false. service,
Boling. My gracious uncle ! Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young ; York. Tut, tut ! Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle: To more approved service and desert.
I am no traitor's uncle; and that word-grace, Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and besure, In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. I count myself in nothing else so happy, Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs As in a soul rememb’ring my good friends; Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground? And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, But then more why ;-Why have they dar'd to It shall be still thy true love's recompense :
march My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus So many miles upon her peaceful bosom ; seals it.
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war, North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir And ostentation of despised arms ? Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? Com'st thou, because the anointed king is hence? Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, trees,
And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard: Were I bút now the lord of such hot youth, And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, Seymour ;
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of None else of name, and noble estimate.
From forth the ranks of many thousand French; Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY.
0, then, how quickly should this arm of mine, North. Here come the lords of Ross and Wil. Now prisoner to the palsy, chástise thee, loughby,
And minister correction to thy fault ! Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my Boling. Welcome, my lords : I wot, your love fault; pursues
On what condition stands it, and wherein ? A banish'd traitor ; all my treasury
York. Even in condition of the worst degree,