If I know how to order these affairs,

Disorderly thus thrust into my hands,

Never believe me. They are both my kinsmen ;
The one my Sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th' other again

My kinfman is, One whom the King hath wrong'd;
Whom confcience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, fomewhat we must do.-Come, coufin, I'll
Difpofe of you.-Go mufter up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkley castle-
I fhould to Plafpie too;

But time will not permit. All is uneven,
And every thing is left at fix and seven.

[Exeunt York and Queen.

Busby. The wind fits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns; for us to levy Power, Proportionable to the enemy,

Is all impoffible.

Green. Befides, our Nearness to the King in Love Is near the Hate of those, love not the King.

Bagot. And that's the wav'ring Commons, for their love

Lies in their purfes; and who empties them,
By fo much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
Busby. Wherein the King stands generally condemn'd.
Bagot. If judgment lye in them, then fo do we;
Because we have been ever near the King.

Green. Well; I'll for Refuge ftraight to Bristol Caftle;

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 in pieces:
Will you go with us?

Bagot. No, I'll to Ireland to his Majefty.

Farewel.

Farewel. If heart's Prefages be not vain,

We three here part, that ne'er fhall meet again. Busby. That's as York thrives, to beat back Bolingbroke.

Green. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes Is numb'ring fands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his fide fights, thousands will fly. Bufby. Farewel at once, for once, for all and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again.

Bagot. I fear me, never.

SCENE IX.

[Exeunt.

Changes to a wild Profpe&t in Glocefter fhire.
Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland.

Boling.

H

WOW far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? North. I am a ftranger here in Glo'ftershire. These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, Draw out our miles, and make them wearifome, And yet your fair difcourfe has been as fugar, Making the hard way fweet and delectable. But, I bethink me, what a weary way, From Ravenspurg to Cotfbold, will be found In Rofs and Willoughby, wanting your Company; Which, I proteft, hath very much beguil'd The tedioufnefs and process of my travel; But theirs is sweetned with the hope to have The present benefit that I poffefs; And hope to joy, is little lefs in joy, Than hope enjoy'd. By this, the weary lords Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done, By fight of what I have, your noble company.

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

Enter

Enter Percy.

North. It is my fon, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencefoever.
-Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I thought, my lord, t'have learn'd his health of you.

North. Why, is he not with the Queen?

Percy. No, my good lord, he hath forfook the Court, Broken his staff of office, and difpers'd

The Houshold of the King.

North. What was his reafon ?

He was not fo refolv'd, when laft we fpake together.
Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed Traitor.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg,
To offer fervice to the Duke of Hereford;
And fent me o'er by Berkley, to discover
What Pow'r the Duke of York had levy'd there;
Then with directions to repair to Ravenfpurg.

North. 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,
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 fhall ripen and confirm To more approved fervice and defert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be fure, I count my felf in nothing else fo happy, As in a foul remembring my good friends; And as my Fortune ripens with thy love, It fhall be ftill thy true love's recompence. My heart this cov'nant makes, my hand thus feals it. North. How far is it to Berkley? and what ftir Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

Percy.

Percy. There ftands the Caftle by yond tuft of trees, Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard; And in it are the lords, York, Berkley, Seymour ; None else of name, and noble estimate.

Enter Rofs and Willoughby.

North. Here come the lords of Rofs and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

Boling. Welcome, my lords; I wot, your love purfues A banih'd traitor; all my Treasury

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

Rofs. Your prefence makes us rich, most noble lord.
Willo. And far furmounts our labour to attain it.
Boling. Evermore, thanks, th' exchequer of the
poor,

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

Enter Berkley.

North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. Berk. My lord of Hereford, my meffage is to you. Boling. My lord, my answer is to Lancaster; And I am come to feek that Name in England, And I muft find that Title in your tongue, Before I make reply to aught you fay.

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 glorious of this Land,

The Duke of York, to know, what pricks you on
To take advantage of the abfent time,

And fright our native peace with felf-born arms.

9 the absent time,] For He means nothing more than, unprepared. Not an inelegant time of the king's absence. fynecdoche. WARBURTON.

SCENE

SCENE X.

Enter York.

Boling. I fhall not need transport my words by you. Here comes his Grace in perfon. Noble Uncle!

[Kneels. York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whofe duty is deceivable and falfe.

Boling. 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 prophane.
Why have those banish'd, and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a duft of England's ground?
But more than why; why, have they dar'd to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bofom,

Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war,
And oftentation of defpifed arms?

Com'st thou because th'anointed King is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind;
And in my loyal bofom lies his Power.
Were I but now the lord of fuch hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and my self
Refcu'd the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French;
Oh! then, how quickly fhould this arm of mine,

And oftentation of DESPISED ar] But fure the oftentation of defpifed arms would not fright any one. We fhould

read

DISPOSED a'ms.

i. e. forces in battle-array. WAR.
This alteration is harsh. Sir
T. Hanmer reads defpightful. Mr.
Upton gives this pafiage as a

proof that our authour uses the paffive participle in an active fenfe. The copies all agree. Perhaps the old Duke means to treat him with contempt as well as with feverity, and to infinuate that he defpifes his power, as being able to mafter it. In this fenfe all is right.