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Bagot. And that's tKe 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.

Bagot. 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.

[Exeunt. SCENE III.

The Wilds in Glostershire.

Enter Bolingbrok.b and Northumberland, with Forces.

Baling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?

North. Believe me, noble lord, I am a stranger here in Glostershire. These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, Draw out our miles, and make 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 Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company; Which, I protest, hath very much bcguil'd The tediousness and process of my travel: But theirs is sweeten'd 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 lords Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath done By sight of what I have, your noble company.

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

Enter Harry Percy. North. Jt is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.— Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.

North. Why, is he not with the queen?

Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the

court,

Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd
The household of the king.

North. What was his reason?

He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake together.

Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, To offer service to the duke of Hereford; And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover What power the duke of York had levied there; Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg.

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 shall ripen, and confirm To more approved service and desert.

Baling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, I count myself in nothing else so happy,

As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends;

And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,

It shall be still thy true love's recompense:

My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.

North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir Keeps good old York there, with his men of war?

Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard: And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour;

one else of name, and noble estimate.

Enter Ross and Willouohby.

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

Baling. Welcome, my lords: I wot, your love

pursues

A banish'd traitor; all my treasury
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd.
Shall be your love and labour's recompense.
Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble

lord.

Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. Baling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the

poor;

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

Enter Berkley.
North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess.

Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you.

Baling. My lord, my answer is—to Lancaster;
And I am come to seek that name in England:
And I must find that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you say.

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 regent of this land,
The duke of York; to know, what pricks you on
To take advantage of the absent time,
And fright our native peace with self-born arms.

Enter York, attended.

Boling. I shall not need transport my words by

you;

Here comes his grace in person.—My noble uncle!

[Kneels.

York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy

knee, Whose duty is deceivable and false.

Baling. 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 profane.
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But then more why;—Why have they dar'd to march

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