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The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants filed 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?
Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck;
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, care, 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 Servant.
Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship:
York. What is it, knave ?
York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes
What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland ? -
me.Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] 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's 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 :-Go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. 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 impossible.
Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love, Is near the hate of those love not the king. VOL. VI.
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. Bugot. If judgement lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. Green. Well, I'll 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'll 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 Boling
broke. 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. · Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and
ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot.
I fear me, never.
The Wilds in Glostershire.
Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with
North. Believe me, noble lord,
Boling. Of much less value is my company,
Enter Harry Percy.