Not Glofter's death, not Hereford's Banishment,
'Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke

About his marriage, nor my own difgrace,
Have ever made me fow'r my patient cheek;
Or bend one wrinkle on my Sovereign's face.
I am the last of noble Edward's fons,

Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first;
In war, was never Lion rag'd more fierce,
In peace, was never gentle Lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely Gentleman:
His face thou haft, for even fo look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours.
But when he frown'd, it was against the French,
And not against his friends; his noble hand
Did win what he did fpend; and spent not That,
Which his triumphant father's hand had won.
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
Oh, Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or elfe he never would compare between.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter ?
York. O my Liege,

Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
Seek you to feize, and gripe into your hands,
The Royalties and Rights of banish'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt juft, and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
Is not his heir a well-deferving fon?

Take Hereford's Rights away, and take from time
His charters, and his cuftomary Rights;
Let not to-morrow then enfue to day
Be not thyself; for how art thou a King,
But by fair fequence and fucceffion;
If you do wrongfully feize Hereford's Right,
Call in his letters patents that he hath,

By

his attorneys-general to fue

*

His livery, and deny his offer'd homage; .

* Deny bis offer'd homage.] That is, refufe to admit the homage, by which he is to hold his lands.

You

You pluck a thousand dangers on your head;
You lofe a thousand well-difpofed hearts;
And prick my tender patience to thofe thoughts,
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

K. Rich. Think what you will, we feize into our

hands

His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.

York I'll not be by, the while; my Liege, farewel;

What will enfue hereof, there's none can tell.

But by bad courfes may be understood,

That their events can never fall out good.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Go, Busby, to the Earl of Wilfbire ftraight,

Bid him repair to us to Ely-boufse,

To fee this bufinefs done. To-morrow next

We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow.

And we create, in abfence of ourself,
Our uncle York Lord-governor of England,
For he is juft, and always lov'd us well.

Come on, our Queen; to-morrow muft we part;

for our time of Stay is fhort.

[Flourish.

[Exeunt King, Queen, &c.

SCENE IV.

Manent Northumberland, Willoughby, and Rofs.

North. Well, Lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.
Rofs. And living too, for now his fon is Duke.
Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.

North. Richly in both, if juftice had her right.
Rofs. My heart is great; but it must break with
filence,

Ere't be difburden'd with a lib'ral tongue.

North. Nay, fpeak thy mind; and let him ne'er fpeak

more,

That fpeaks thy words again to do thee harm.

Willo. Tends, what you'd fpeak, to the Duke of
Hereford ?

If it be fo, out with it boldly, man:

Quick is mine ear to hear of good tow'rds him.
Rofs. No good at all that I can do for him,

C 4

Unless

Unless you call it good to pity him,
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

North. Now, afore heav'n, it's fhame, fuch wrongs are borne

In him a royal Prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining Land;
The King is not himself, but bafely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform
Merely in hate 'gainst any of us all,
That will the King feverely profecute

'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
Rofs. The Commons hath he pill'd with grievousTaxes,
And loft their hearts; the Nobles he hath fin'd
For ancient quarrels, and quite loft their hearts.
Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd;
As Blanks, Benevolences, I wot not what :
But what o' God's name doth become of this?
North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath

not,

But bafely yielded upon compromife

That, which his ancestors atchiev'd with blows;
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars.

Rofs. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the Realm in farm.
Willo. The King's grown bankrupt, like a broken man.
North. Reproach, and diffolution, hangeth over him.
Rofs. He hath not money for thefe Irish wars,
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke.

North. His noble Kinfinan. Moft degenerate King! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempeft fing, Yet feek no fhelter to avoid the ftorm: We fee the wind fit fore upon our fails,

(1) And yet we ftrike not, but fecurely perifh.

Rofs. We fee the very wreck, that we must fuffer; And unavoided is the danger now,

For fuff'ring fo the causes of our wreck.

North. Not fo; ev'n through the hollow eyes of
Death

I fpy life peering; but I dare not fay,
How near the tidings of our comfort is.

(1) Toftrike the fails, is, to contract them when there is too much wind.

Willo. Nay, let us fhare thy thoughts, as thou doft

ours.

Rofs. Be confident to fpeak, Northumberland; We three are but thyfelf, and speaking fo,

Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold. North. Then thus, my friends. I have from Port le Blanc,

A bay in Bretagne, had intelligence,

That Harry Hereford, Rainald lord Cobham,
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Rainfton,

Sir John Norberie, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Coines,
All these, well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall fhips, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And fhortly mean to touch our northern fhore;
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the King for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our flavish yoak,
Imp out our drooping Country's broken wing,
Redeem from bioking Pawn the blemish'd Crown,
Wipe off the duft that hides our Scepter's gilt,
And make high Majefty look like itself.
Away with me in poft to Ravenspurg;
But if you faint, as fearing to do fo,

Stay, and be fecret, and myfelf will go.

Rofs. To horfe, to horfe; urge Doubts to them that fear. Willo. Hold out my horfe, and I will firft be there.

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.

[Exeunt.

Busby. You promis'd, when you parted with the

Adam, your Majefty is much too fad:

King,

To lay afide felf-harming heavinefs,
And entertain a chearful difpofition.

Queen. To pleafe the King, I did; to please myself,

I cannot do it; yet I know no caufe,

C 5

Why

Why I should welcome fuch a guest as grief;
Save bidding farewel to fo fweet a Guest
As my fweet Richard. Yet again, methinks,
Some unborn forrow, ripe in fortunes' womb,
Is coming tow'rd me; and my inward foul

(2) With nothing trembles, at fomething it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the King.

Bushy. Each fubftance of a grief hath twenty fhadows,

Which fhew like grief itself, but are not so:
For forrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
(3) Like Perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry
Diftinguish form.So your fweet Majefty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds fhapes of grief, more than himself, to wail
Which look'd on, as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not; gracious Queen, then weep not
More than your lord's departure; more's not feen:
Or if it be, 'tis with falfe forrow's eye,
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.
Queen. It may be fo; but yet my inward foul
Perfuades me otherwife. Howe'er it be,

;

(2) With nothing trembles, yet at fomething grieves.]. The following line requires that this fhould be read juft the contrary way, With fomething trembles, yet at nothing grieves.

All the old editions read,

my inward foul

With nothing trembles; at fomething it grieves.

WARBURTON.

The reading, which Dr. Warburton corrects, is itself an innovation. His conjecture gives indeed a better fenfe than that of any copy, but copies must not be needlefly forfaken.

(3) Like Perfpectives, which rightly gaz'd upon,

Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry,

Diftinguifb form.] This is a fine fimilitude, and the thing meant is this. Amongft mathematical recreations, there is one in Optics, in which a figure is drawn, wherein all the rules of Perspective are inverted: fo that, if held in the fame pofition with those pictures which are drawn according to the rules of Perspective, it can prefent nothing but confufion and to be feen in form, and under a regular Appearance, it must be look'd upon from a contrary station: or, as Shakespeare fays, ey'd awry, WARBURTON.

I cannot