Enter King Richard, John
of Gaunt, with other Nobles
and Attendants.

King Richard.

Lde John of Gaunt, time honoured Lancashire,
Haft thou according to thy oth and band,
Brought hither Henrie Herford thy bold sonne,
Here to make good the boyrous late appeale
Which then our icifure would not let vs heare
Against the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray?

Gaunt. I haue my Leige.

King. Tell me moreoner; haft thou founded him
If the appeale the Duke on auncient malice,
Or worthily, as a good fubiect should,
On fome knowne ground of treacherie in him?

Gaunt. As neare as I could lift him on that argument,
On fome apparant danger feene in him,
Aimde at your Highneſſe; no inueterate malice.

Kno. Then call them to our prefence face to face,
And frowning brow to brow our ſelues will heare
The accuſer, and the accuſed, freely ſpeake:
Hie ſtomackt are they both, and full of ire,
In rage, deafe as the sea, haſtie as fire.

Enter Bulling, Smoke, and Mowbray.

Bulling. Many yeares of happy dayes befall
My gratious Soucraigne, my moſt louing Liege.

Mow.

The Tragedie of

Mowb. Each day still better others happineſſe,
Vntill the Heauens enuying Earths good happe,
Adde in immortal title to your Crowne.

KING.
Wee thanke you both: yet one but flatters vs,
As well appeareth by the cause you come,
Namely, to appeale each other of high treason.
Coofin of Hereford, what doſt thou obiſt
Againſt the Duke of Norſtolke Thomas Mowbray?

BUT.
First (heauen be the record to my ſpeech)
In the deuotion of a ſubieſtes loue,
Tendring the precious ſafetie of my Prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appeallant to this princely prefence.
Now Thomas Mowbray, do I turne to thee;
And mark my greeting well: for what I ſpeake,
My body shall make good vpon this earth,
Or my divine ſoule anſwere it in heauen.
Thou art a Traytor, and a miſcreant;
Too good to be ſo, and too bad to liue:
Since the more faire and criſtall is the skie,
The vglier ſeeme the cloudes that in it ſlie.
Once more, the more to agrauate the note,
With a ſoule tray tours name ſtuffe I thy throat,
And with (ſo pleafe my Soueraigne) ere I moue,
What my tong ſpeaks, my right drawne ſword may proue,

Mowb. Let not my cold wordes here accuſe my zeale.
Tis not the tryall of a Womans warre,
The bitter clamor of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cauſe betwixt vs twaine;
The blood is hotte that muſt be coold for this,
Yet can I not of ſuch tame patience boast,
As to be huſt and naught at all to ſay,
First the faire reverence of your highneſſe curbes me,
From giuing reynes and ſpurres to my free ſpeech,
Which eſſe would poſt vntill it had returnd
Theſe tearmes of treason doubled downe his throat;
Setting a ſide his high bloods royaltyes:
And let him be no kiſsinan to my Leige,

King Richard the Second.

I doe deſie him, and ſpit at him;
Call him a ſlaUNDERous Coward and a Villaine :
Which to maintaine, I would allow him ods,
And meete him, were I tide to runne a ſoote,
Euen to the frozen ridges of the Alpes,
Or any other ground inhabitable,
Where euer English man durſt ſet his ſoote.
Meane time, let this defend my loyalty,
By all my hopes, moſt falſly doth he lie.

BUL.
Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my gage,
Difclayming here the kinred of a King,
And lay alſide my high bloods royaltyes;
Which ſeare, not reuerence makes thee to except.
If guilke dread haue left thee ſo much ſtrength,
As to take vp mine honours pawne, then ſtope;
By that, and all the rites of Knighthood eſſe,
Will I make good againſt thee arme to arme,
What I haue ſpoke, or what thou canſt deuife.

MOWB.
I take it vp, and by that Sword I ſweare,
Which gently lay de my Knighthood on my ſhoulder,
Ile anſwere thee in any faire degree:
Or chivalrous deſigne of Knightly tryall.
And when I mount aliuie, aliuie may I not light,
If I be Traitéur, or vnwiſtly fight.

KING.
What doth our Coofin lay to Mowbraies charge
It muſt be great that can inherit vs,
So much as of a thought of ill in him.

BUL.
Looke what I ſay, my life ſhall prooue it true,
That Mowbray hath receiude eight thouſand Nobles,
In name of lendinges, for your Highneſſe Souldiours:
The which he hath detainde for leawd imployments,
Like a ſalſe Tray tour, and iniurious Villaine.
Besides I ſay, and will in battaile prooue,
Or here, or eſſe where, to the furtheſt Verge
That euer was ſiurueyed by English eye,
That all the treasons for theſe eighteene yeares,
Complotted and contriued in this Land,
Fetcht from ſalſe Mowbray, their firſt head and ſpring;

Further

A 3.

SOU

The Tragedie of

Further Hay, and further will maintaine
Vpon his bad life to make all this good,
That he did plotte the Duke of Glosters death,
Suggest his foone beleeuing aduerfaries,
And confequently like a Traitour Coward,
Slue out his innocent foule through streames of blood;
Which blood, like sacrificing Abels, cryes,
Euen from the tongneleſſe Cauerns of the earth,
To me for iſtice, and rough chaſtisement:
And by the glorious worth of my diſcent,
This Arme ſhall do it, or this Life be ſpent.

**King.** How high a pitch his resolution ſoares :
Thomas of Norſtolke, what ſayſt thou to this?
**Mowb.** Oh let my Soueraigne turne away his face,
And bid his eares a little while be deafe,
Till I haue told this ſlaUNDER of his blood,
How God, and good men, hate ſo foule a lyer.

**King.** Mowbray, impartialall are our eyes and eares;
Were he my Brother ; nay, my kingdoms Heire,
As he is but my fathers brothers Sonne,
Now by Scepters awe I make a vow,
Such neighbour neerenes to our ſacred blood,
Should nothing priuledge him, nor partialize
The vnſlooping firmenelle of my vpright ſoule:
He is our ſubject Mowbray, ſo art thou,
Free ſpeech and feareleſſe I to thee allow.

**Mowb.** Then Bulling brooke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the fatſe paſſage of thy throat thou lyeſt :
Three partes of that receipt I had for Callice,
Disburſt I to his highneſſe ſouldrours;
The other part referu'de I, by consent,
For that my Soueraigne liege was in my debt,
Vpon remainder of a deare account,
Since laſt I went to France to fetch his Queene:
Now ſwallow downe that lie. For Glosters death :
I flew him not, but to mine owne diſgrace
Neglected my ſworne duetic in that caſe :
For you my noble Lord of Lancaſter,

The

Richard the Second.

The honourable Father to my foe,
Once did I lay an ambush for your life;
A trefpasse that doth vexe my greened ſoule:
Ah, but ere I laſt recei'de the Sacrament,
I did confefſe it, and exaſtly begd
Your Graces pardon, and I hope I had it.
This is my fault, as for the reſt appeal'd,
Itiffues from the rancour of a Villaine,
A recreant, and moſt degenerate Traitour;
Which in my ſelfe I boldly will defend,
And enterchangeably hurle downe the gage,
Tpon this ouerweening traitours ſoote,
To proouemy ſelfe a loyall Gentleman,
Euen in the best blood chamberd in his boſome :
In haſte whereof, moſt hartily I pray
Your highneſſe to affigne our triall day.

**King.** Wrath kindled Gentleman, be ruled by me,
Let us purge this choler without letting bloud,
This we preferibe, though no Phifition :
Deepe Malice makes too deepe inciſion:
Forget, forgiue, conclude, and be agreed,
Our Doctors ſay, this is no month to bleed:
Good Vnckle, let this end, where it begunne;
Weele calme the Duke of Norſtolke, you your ſonne.

**Gauw.** To be a make-peace, ſhall become my age :
Throw downe (my ſonne) the Duke of Norſolkes gage.

**King.** And Norſtolke, throw downe his.
**Gauwnt.** When Harrie, when ? obedience bids,
Obedience bids I should not bid againe.

**King.** Norſtolke, throw downe we bid, there is no boote.
**Mowb.** My ſelfe I throw (dread Soueraigne) at thy ſoote,
My life thou ſhalt commaund, but not my thame:
The one my duetic owes; but my faire name,
Deſpight of Death that liues vpon my Graue,
To darke Diſhonours vſe, thou ſhalt not haue:
I am diſgraſte, impeacht, and baſſuld heere;
Pierſt to the ſoule with Slaunders venomd ſpeare,
The which no Balme can cure, but his heart blood

Which

The Tragedie of

Which breathde this poy son:

Kng. Raze muft be withstood :
Give me his gage; Lions make Leopards tame.
Mawh. Yea, but not change his spots; take but my shame,
And I refigne my gage, my deare deare Lord.
The purest treasure mortall times affoord,
Is fpotleſſe reputation, that away;
Men are but gilded Loame, or painted Clay:
A Iewell in a tenne times bard vp Cheſt,
Is a bold Spirit in a loyall Breaſt.
Mine Honour is my life, both grow in one;
Take Honour from me, and my life is done.
Then (deare my Leige) mine Honour let me try,
In that I liue, and for that will I die.

Kng. Coofin, throw vp your gage; do you begin.
But. O God defend my ſoule from ſuch deepe linne,
Shall I ſeeme Creſt-fallen in my fathers fight?
Or with pale begger-face impeach my hight,
Before this out-darde daſtard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound my Honour with ſuch feeble vvrong,
Or found ſo bafe a parlee, my teeth ſhall teare
The fluauſh motiue of recanting ſeare,
And ſpit it bleeding in his high diſgrace,
Where ſhame doth harbour, euen in Mowbraies face.

Kng. We were not borne to ſue, but to commaund,
Which ſince we can not do, to make you friendes,
Be ready (as your life ſhall anſwere it)
At Couenrie vpon Saint Lambard's day:
There ſhall your Swords and Launces arbitrate
The ſwelling difference of your ſetled hate :
Since we cannot atone you, you ſhall fee
Iuſtice deſigne the Vıctors chiiualrie.
Lord Marſhall, commaund our Officers at Armes,
Be readie to direct theſe home allarmes.

Enter Iohn of Gaunt, with the Dutchefse of Gloceſter.
Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Woodstocks blood,
Doth more ſollicite me, then your exclaimes,

To

Richard the Second.

To ſtirre againſt the butchers of his life.
But ſince correction lyeth in thoſe handes,
Which made the ſault that we connot correc,
Put we our quarrell to the will of heauen;
Who when they fee the hower's ripe on earth,
Will raine hot vengeance on offenders heades.

Dutcheſe. Findes brotherhood in thee no ſharper ſpurre?
Hath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire?
Edwards ſeauen ſonnes, whereof thy ſelſe art one,
Were ſeauen Viols of his ſacred blood,
Or ſeauen faire Branches ſpringing from one roote :
Some of thoſe ſeauen are dryed by Natures course;
Some of thoſe Branches by the Deſtinies cut :
But Thomas my deare Lord, my life, my Gloceſter,
One Violl full of Edwards ſacred blood,
One flourishing Branch of his moſt royall roote
Is craft, and all the precious liquor ſpilt,
Is hackt downe, and his ſummer leaues all faded
By Enuies hand, and Murders bloodie axe.
Ah Gaunt, his blood was thine, that bed, that wombe,
That mettall, that ſelſe mould, that ſaſhioned thee,
Made him a man: and though thou liueſt and breatheſt,
Yet art thou ſlaue in him; thou doſt confent
In ſome large meaſure to thy fathers death,
In that thou ſeest thy wretched Brother die,
Who was the modell of thy fathers life:
Call it not Patience, Gaunt, it is Diſpaire,
In suffering thus thy Brother to be ſlaughtred;
Thou ſheweſt the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching ſterne Murder how to butcher thee:
That which in meane men we intitle Patience,
Is pale cold Cowardice in Noble breaſtes.
What ſhall I ſay to ſafegard thy owne life,
The best way is, to vengemy Gloceſters death.

Gaunt. Gods is the quarrell, for Gods ſubstitute,
His deputie annoynted in his fight,
Hath cauſd his death; the which if wrongfully,
Let Heauen reuence, for I may neuer lift

B.

An

The Tragedie of

An angrie arme againſt his minifter.

Duch. Where then alas may I complaine my ſelfe?
Gaunt. To God, the Widowes Champion and defence.
Duch. Why then I will: farewell old Gaunt,
Thou goeſt to Couentry, there to behold
Our Coofin Herford and fell Mowbray fight.

O let my husbands wronges on Herfords Speare,
That it may enter butcher Mowbraies breaſt.
Or if misfortune miſſe the firſt carrier,
Be Mowbraies finnes ſo lieauie in his boſome,
That they may breake his ſoming Courſers backe,
And throw the rider headlong in the liftes,
A catiue recreant to my Coofin Herford.

Farewell old Gaunt, thy ſometimes brothers wife,
With her companion, grieſe muſt end her life,
Gaunt. Sifter farewell, I muſt to Couentrie:

As much good ſtay with thee, as goe with me.
Duch. Yet one word more; grieſe boundeth where it falles.

Not with the empty hollowneſſe, but weight:

I take my leaue before I haue begunne,
For ſorrow endes not when it ſeemeth done:
Commend me to my brother Edmund Yorke;
Loe this is all: nay yet depart not ſo,

Though this be all, do not ſo quickly goe,
I ſhall remember more: Bidd him: ah what?

With all good ſpeed at Plaſhie viſit me.
Alacke and what ſhall good old Yorke there ſee,
But empty Lodgings and vnſurniſht Walles,
Vnpeopled Offices, vntrodden Stones;
And what heare there for welcome, but my grones?
Therefore commend me, let him not come there,
To ſeeke out ſorrow, that dwels euery where;
Defolate, deſolate will I hence and die:
The laſt leaue of thee takes my weeping eye.

Exeunt.

Enter the Lord Marshall and the Duke Amerle.

Mar. My Lord Amerle, is Harry Kerford armde?

Aum. Yea at all poyntes, and longs to enter in.

Mar.

Richard the Second.

Mar. The Duke of Norſtolke ſprightfully and bold,
Staies but the ſummons of the appellants trumpet.

Aum. Why then the Champions are prepared, and ſtay
For no thing but his Maiesties approach.

The trumpets found, and the King enters with his Nobles: when they are set, enter the Duke of Norſtolke in armes defendant.

King. Marshall demand of yonder Champion, —
The cauſe of his ariuall here in armes,
Aske him his name, and orderly proceede
To ſweare him in the iuſtice of his cauſe.

Mar. In Gods name and the Kinges, ſay who thou art,
And why thou commeſt thus Knightly clad in armes?
Againſt what man thou comſt, and what's thy quarrell,
Speake truely on thy Knighthood, and thy oth,
As ſo defend thee heauen and thy valour.

Mow. My name is Thomas Mowbray, D.of Norſtolke,
Who hither come ingaged by my oath,
(Which God defend a Knight ſhould violate)
Both to defend my loyaltie and truth,
To God, my King, and my ſucceeding iſſue,
Againſt the Duke of Herford that appeales me,
And by the grace of God, and this mine arme,
To prooue him in defending of my ſelfe,
A Traitour to my God, my King, and me:
And as I truly fight, defend me heauen.

The Trumpets found, enter Duke of Herford
appellant in armour

King. Marshall aske yonder Knight in armes,
Both who he is, and why he commeth hither
Thus plated in habillements of Warre,
And formally, according to our law,
Depoſe him in the iuſtice of his cauſe.

Mar. What is thy name, & wherefore comſt thou hither,
Before King Richard in his royall lifts?

Againſt whom comes thou? and what's thy quarrell?
Speake like a true Knight, ſo defend thee Heauen.

B 2

Bul.

The Tragedie of

Bul. Harry of Herford, Lancafter, and Darbie
Am I, who readie heere do stand in Armes,
To prooue by Gods grace, and my bodies valour
In lifts, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Morfolke,
That he is a Traitéur foule and dangerous,
To God of heauen, King Richard, and to me:
And as I truly fight, defend me heauen.

Mar. On paine of death no person be so bolde
Or daring, hardie, as to touch the lifts,
Except the Martiall and such officers
Appointed to direct these faire defignes.

Bul. Lord Martiall, let me kiffe my Soueraignes hand.
And bow my knee before his Maiestie,
For Mowbray and my selfe are like two men,
That vow a long and wearie pilgrimage.
Then let vs take a ceremonious leaue,
And louing farewell of our feuerall friends.

Mar. The appellant in all dutie greetes your highnesse,
And craues to kiffe your hand and take his leaue.

King. We will descend and folde him in our armes.
Coofin of Herford, as thy cause is right,
So be thy fortune in this royall fight:
Farewell my bloud, which if to day thou fhead,
Lament we may, but not reuence thee dead.

Bul. O let no noble eie prophane a teare
For me, if I be gorde with Mowbrayes fture:
As confident as is the Falcons flight
Againft a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My lowing Lord I take my leaue of you :
Of you (my noble Coofin) Lord Aumarle,
Not fikke, although I have to do with death,
But luſtie, yong, and cheereely drawing breath.
Loe, as at English feaſts so I regreet
The daintieſt laſt, to make the end moſt sweete.
Oh thou the earthly Author of my bloud,
Whole youthfull ſpirit in me regenerate,
Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me vp,
To reach a victorie about my head,

Adde

King Richard the Second.

Adde proofe vnto mine armour with thy prayers,
And with thy bleſſings ſteele my launces point,
That it may enter Mowbrayes waxen coate,
And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt,
Euen in the luſtie hauier of his Sonne.

Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous.
Be Swift like lightning in the execution,
And let thy blowes doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the caske
Of thy aduerſe pernicious enemie,
Rowſe vp thy youthfull bloud, be valiant and liue.

Bul. Mine innocence and Saint George to thriue.
Maw. How euer God or fortune caſt my lotte,
There lies or dies true to King Richards throne,
A loyall, iuſt, and vpright Gentleman :

Neuer did captive with a freer heart
Caſt off his Chaines of Bondage, and embrace,
His Golden vncontroled Enfranchisement,
More then my dauncing foule doth celebrate
This feaſt of battle with mine aduerſarie.
Moſt mightie Liege, and my companion Peeres,
Take from my mouth the wifh of happie yeares,
As gentle and as iocund as to iet,
Goe I to fight, truth hath a quiet breſt.

King. Farewell (my Lord) securely I ſpie,
Vertue with valour couched in thine eie,
Order the triall Martiall, and beginne.

Mart. Haire of Herford, Lancafter, and Darby,
Recciue thy launce, and God defend thy right.

Bul. Strong as a tower in hope I cry, Amen.

Mart. Go beare this launce to Thomas D. of Norfolke,
Herald. Harry of Herford, Lancafter, and Darby
Stands heere, for God, his Soueraigne, and himſelfe,
On paine to be found falſe and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolke Thomas Mowbray.

A Traitéur to his God, his King, and him.

And dares him to ſet forwards to the fight.

Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray D. of Norfolke,

On

B 3.

The Tragedie of

On paine to be found falſe and recreant,
Both to befend himſelfe, and to approue
Henry of Herford, Lancaſter, and Darby,
To God, his Soneraigne, and to him diſloyall,
Couragionſly, and with a free deſire,
Attending but the ſignall to begin.

Mart. Sound Trumpets, and let ſoorth Combatants:
Stay, the King hath throwne his warder downe.

King. Let them lay by their Helmets, and their Speares,
And both returne backe to their Chaires againe :
Withdraw with vs, and let the Trumpets found,
While we returne theſe Dukes what we decree,
Draw neere and lift

What with our Counſell we haue done.

For that our kingdomes earth ſhould not be ſoyld

With that deare blood which it hath ſoſtered:

And for our eyes do hate the dire aſpect

Of ciuill wounds ploughd vp with neighbours ſword:

And for we thinke the Eagle-winged pride

Of skie-aspiring and ambitious thoughts

With rival-hating Enuie ſet on you,

To wake our peace, which in our Countries cradle

Drawes the ſweete infant breath of gentle ſleepe,

Which ſo rozzd vp vvith boyſterous vatunde drummes,

With harſh refounding trumpets dreadfull bray,

And grating ſhock of vvrathfull yron armes,

Might from our quiet confines fright faire Peace,

And make vs vvade euen in our kinreds blood :

Therefore vve baniſh you our territories.

You Coofin Herford, vpon paine of life,

Till tvvice ſiue Summers haue enricht our field,

Shall not regreete our faire dominions,

But tread the ſtranger pathes of baniſhment.

Bul. Your vvill be done; this muſt my comfort be,

That Sunne that vvarmes you heere, ſhall ſhine o' me;

And theſe his golden beames vnto you heere lent,

Shall poynt on me, and guild my baniſhment.

Kng. Norſtolke, for theſe remaines a heauier doome,

Which

King Richard the Second.

Which I with ſome vnwillingnes pronounce,

The ſlie flow houres ſhall not determinate

The dateleſſe limit of thy deare exile :

The hopeleſſe word of neuer to returne,

Breath I againſt thee, vpon paine of life.

Mow. A heauie ſentence, my moſt ſoueraine Liege,

And all vnlookt for from your Highnes mouth.

A dearer merit, not ſo deepe a mayme,

As to be caſt ſoorth in the common ayre,

Haue I deſerued at your Highneſſe hands :

The language I haue learnt theſe fourty yeares,

My native English now I muſt forgoe,

And now my tongues vſeis to me no more

Than an vnſtringed violl or a harpe,

Or like a cunning inſtaument caſde vp,

Or being open, put into his hands

That knowes no touch to tune the harmony.

Within my mouth you haue ingaylde my tongue,

Doubly percuſt with my teeth and lippes,

And dull vnſeeling barrenignorance

Is made my Layler to attende on me:

I am too old to fawne vpon an Nurſe,

Too farre in yeares to be a Pupill now.

What is thy ſentence but ſpeechleſſe death;

Which robbes my tongue from breathing native breaths

Kng. It bootes thee not to be compaſsionate,

After our ſentence, playning comes too late.

Mowb. Then thus I turne me from my Countries light,

To dwell in ſolemne ſhades of endleſſe night.

Kng. Returne againe, and take an oth with thee,

Lay on our royall Svord your baniſt hands,

Svveare by the dutie that y'ovve to God,

(Our part therein vve baniſh vvith your ſelues)

To keepe the oath that vve admiſter:

You neuer ſhall, ſo helpe you truth and God,

Embrace each others loue in baniſhment,

Nor neuer looke vpon each others face,

Nor neuer vwrite, regreete, nor reconcile

This

## The Tragedie of

This loving tempeft of your home-bred hate,
Nor neuer by aduifed purpose meete,
To plotie, contriue,or complot any ill,
Gainſt vs, our ſtate, our ſubjeſts, or our land.

Bul. I ſweare.

Mow. And I, to keepe all this.

Bul. Norſolke, ſo fare as to mine enemie:
By this time, had the King permitted vs,
One of our ſoules had wandred in the ayre,
Banifht this frayle Sepulchre of our fleth,
As now our fleth is banifht from this land.
Conſeſſe thy treaſons ere thou fly the Realme,
Since thou haſt farre to go, beare not along.
The cloging burthen of a guiltie ſoule.

Mow. No Bullingbrooke, if euer I were tray tour,
My name be blotted from the Booke of life,
And I from Heauen banifht, as from hence:
But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know,
And all too ſoone (I feare) the King ſhall rew:
Farewell (my Leige) now no way can I ſtray,
Saue backe to England, all the world's my way.

King. Vncle, euen in the glaſſes of thine eyes,
I ſee thy grieued heart: thy ſad aspeſt
Hath from the number of his banifht yeares
Pluckt ſoure away, ſixe frozen Winters ſpent,
Returne with welcome home from banifhment.

Bul. How long a time lies in one little word?
Foure lagging Winters, and ſoure wanton Springs,
End in a word; ſuch is the breach of Kings.

Gaunt. I thank e my Liege, that in regard of mee,
He ſhortens ſoure yeares of my Sonnes exil e,
But little vantage shall I reape thereby:
For ere the ſixeyeares that he hath to ſpend
Can change their moones, and bring their times about,
My oyle-dried lampe, and time he waſted light
Shall be extinet with age and endleſſe night:
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold Death nor let me ſee my Sonne.

King

## Richard the Second.

King. Why Vnckle, thou haſt many yeares to liue.

Gaunt. But not a minute (King) that thou canſt giue:
Shorten my dayes thou canſt with ſullen ſorrow,
And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow.
Thou canſt helpe Time to ſurrow me with age,
But ſtoppe no wrinckle in his pilgrimage:
Thy word is currant with him, for my death,
But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath.

King. Thy Sonne is banifht with good auideuſe,
Whereto thy tongue, a party, verdict gaue,
Why at our iuſtice ſeemſt thou then to lowre?

Gaunt. Things ſweete to taſte, prooue in digetion ſowre.
You vrge me as a Iudge, but I had rather
You would haue bid me argue like a Father.
Oh had't been a ſtranger, not my child,
To ſmooth his fault I would haue been more milde:
A partiall ſlaunder ſought I to auoyde,
And in the ſentence, my owne life deſtroyde.
Alas, I lookt when ſome of you should ſay,
I was too ſtrict to make mine owne away:
But you gaue leaue to my vnwilling tongue,
Againſt my will, to do my ſelfe this wrong.

King. Coofin farewell, and Vnckle bid him so;
Sixe yeares we banifh him, and he ſhall go.

Au. Coofin farewell; what preſence muſt not know
From where you do remaine, let Paper ſhow,

Mar. My Lord, no leaue take I, for I will ride
As farre as land will let me, by your ſide.

Gaunt. Oh to what purpose does t thou hoard thy words,
That thou returneſt no greeting to thy friends?

Bull. I haue too ſew to take my leaue of you,
When the tongues office should be prodigall,
To breath the abundant dolour of the heart.

Gaunt. Thy grieſe is but thy absence for a time.

Bul. Ioy absent, grieſe is preſent for that time.

Gaunt. What is fixe Winters? they are quickly gone.

Bul. To men in joy, but grieſe makes one houre ten.

Gaunt. Call it a trauaile that thou takſt for pleafure.

C.

Bul.

The Tragedie of

Bul. My heart willl figh when I mifcall it so,
Which findes it an inforced pilgrimage.

Gaunt. The fullen paflage of thy wearie fteps,
Elfeme a foyle wherein thou art to fet,
The precious Iewell of thy home returne.

Bul. Nay rather euerie tedious ftride I make,
Will but remember me what deale of world
I wander from the Iewels that I loue,
Muft I not ferue a long apprentifood
To forren paflages, and in the end,
Hauing my freedome, boaf of nothing elfe,
But that I was a iourneyman to griefe?

Gaunt. All places that the eie of heauen vifits,
Are to a wifeman ports and happy hauens.
Teach thy neces fitie to reafon thus,
There is no vertue like neces fitie :
Thinke not the King did banifh thee
But thou the King, who doth the heauier fit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne :
Go, fay I fent thee forth to purchase honours,
And not the King exilde thee; or fuppofe
Deuouring peftilence hangs in our aire,
And thou art flying to a frether clime :
Looke what thy foule holds deere, imagine it
To ly that way thou goest, not whence thou comft
Suppofe the finging birds mufitions,
The graſſe whereon thou treadſt, the prefence ſtrowde,
The flowers, faire Ladies, and thy fteps, no more
Then a delightfull meaſure or a daunce,
For gnarling ſorrow hath leſſe power to bite.
The man that mocks at it and fets it light.
Bul. Oh who can hold a fier in his hand,
By thinking on the froſty Caucafus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feaſt?
Or wallow naked in December ſnow,
By thinking on fantaſtick Summers heat?
Oh no, the apprehenſion of the good

Giues.

Richard the Second.

Giues but the greater feeling to the worse :
Fell forrowes tooth doth neuer rancle more
Then when it bites, but launcheth not the soare.

Gaunt. Come comy my ſonne, Ile bring thee on thy way,
Had I thy youth and caufe, I would not ſtay.

Bul. Then Englands ground farewell, fweete ſoile adiew,
My Mother and my nurse that beares me yet.
Where ere I wander, boaf of this I can,
Though banifht, yet a true borne Engliſhman.

Excunt.

Enter the King with Buſhie, &c. at one door, and the
Lord Aumarle at the other.

King. We did obferue Coofin Aumarle,
How farre brought you high Herford on his way?

Aum. I brought high Herford, if you call him so,
But to the next high way, and there I left him.

King. And fay, what ſtore of parting teares were ſhed?
Aum. Faith none for me, except the Northeast winde,
Which then blew bitterly against our face,
Awakr the ſleepie rewme, and ſo by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a teare.

King. What faid your coofin when you parted with him?
Au. Farewell, and for my heart diſdained that my tongue
Should so prophane the word that taught me craft,
To counterfaite oppreſſion of ſuch griefe,
That words ſeemd buried in my forrowes graue :
Marry would the word Farewell haue lengthned hours,
And added yceres to his ſhort banifhment,
He should haue had a volume of farewels :
But ſince it would not, he had none of me.

King. He is our Coofins Coofin, but his doubt,
When time shall call him home from banifhment,
Whether our kinfman comes to ſee his friends.
Our ſelſe and Buſhie,
Obferued his courtship to the common people,
How he did ſee me to diue into their hearts,
With humble and familiar curſeſe,
With reuerence he did throw away on ſlaues,

C2

Wooing

## The Tragedie of

Wooing poore Craftsmen with the craft of Smiles,
And patient vnderbearing of his fortune,
As were to banish their affects with him,
Off goes his Bonnet to an Oyler-wench,
A brace of Dray men bid God speed him well,
And had the tribute of his fupple knee,
With thanks my Countrey-men, my louing friends,
As were our England in reuerston his,
And he our subiectes next degree in hope.

Greene. Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts.
Now for the Rebels which stand out in Ireland,
Expedient mannage must be made (my Liege)
Ere further ley sure yeeld them further meanes.
For their aduantage, and your highnesse loffe.

King. We will our selfe in person to this Warre,
And for our Coffers, with too great a Court
And liberall larges, are growne somewhat light;
We are infort to farme our roiall Realme,
The revenue whereof shall furnish vs :
For our affaires in hand if that come short,
Our subfultures at home shall have blankeke Charters;
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They shall subscribe them for large summes of Gold,
And fend them after to supply our wants,
For we will make for Ireland presently.

Enter Bushie with newes.

Bush. Old John of Gaunt is grievous fickle, my Lord;
Sodainely taken, and hath sent post haft:
To intreat your Maieſtie to visit him.

Kno. Where lies he?

Bush. At Ely houſe.

King. Now put it (God) into the Philifitions minde,
To helpe him to his Graues immediately:

The lyning of his Coffers shall make coates,
To decke our Souldiers for theſe Trish Warres.

Come Gentlemen, let all goe visit him,

Pray God we may make haſte, and come too late :

Amen.

Exeunt.
Ent.

## King Richard the Second.

Enter John of Gaunt fickle with the Duke of Torke, &c.

Gaunt. Will the King come, that I may breath my last,
In holſome counſell to his vnſtayed youth?

Torke. Vex not your ſelfe, nor strive not with your breath
For all in vaine comes counſell to his care.

Gaunt. Oh, but they ſay, the tongues of dying men,
Inſorce attention like deepe harmonie :
Where words are ſcarce, they are ſeldome ſpent in vaine,
For they breath trueth that breath their words in paine.

He that no more muſt ſay, is ſiltened more
Then they whom youth and eafe hath taught to gloſe.

More are mens ends market, then their liues before:

The fetting Sunne, and Muſicke at the gloſe,

As the laſt taſte of ſweetes is ſweeteſt laſt,
Writ in remembrance, more then things long paſt.

Though Richar, my liues counſell would not heare,
My deaths ſad tale may yet vndeafeth his eare.

Torke- No, it is ſlopt with other flattering ſounds,
As pray ſes of his ſtate: then there are found
Laſciuous Meeters, to whose venom found-
The open eare of youth doth alwayes ſiſten.

Report of ſafions in proud ſtate,
Whofe manerſs ſtill our tardie apſih nation

Limps after in bafe imitation.
Where doth the world thruff toorth a vanitie,
So it be new, there's no reſpect how vile;

That is not quickly buzd into his eares?

Then all too late comes Counſell to be heard.

Where Will doth mutinie with Witteres regard.

Direet not him whose way him ſelſe will chouſe,

Tis breath thou lackt, and that breath wilt thou looſe.

Gaunt. Mee thinkes I am a Prophet new inſpirde,
And thus expiring, do foretell of him;

His rafh ſierce blaze of riot cannot laſt :

For violent fires ſoone burne out them ſelues,

Small flowers laſt long, but ſodaine ſtormes are ſloſ:

He tires betimes, that ſpurs too ſaſt betimes.

C 3

With

## The Tragedie of

With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder,
Light Vanitie, infatiate cormorant.

Consuming meanes soone prayes vpon it selfe:
This royall throne of Kings, this Sceptered Hee,
This earth of Maiestie, this feate of Mars,
This other Eden, demie Paradice,

This Foretresse built by Nature for her selfe,
Against infection, and the hand of Warre;
This happy breede of Men, this little World,
This precious Stone set in the filuer Sea,
Which ferues it in the office of a Wall,

Or as a Moate defensiueto a house,
Against the enuie of leffe happier Lands:

This blessed plotte, this Earth, this Realme, this England,
This Nurfe, this teeming wombe of royall Kings,
Feard by their breed, and famous by their birth,
Renowned in their decedes as farre from home,

For chriſtian ſeruice and true chivalrie,
As is the Sepulchre in stubborne Iewrie,

Of the worldes ransome, bleſſed Maries ſonne:
This land of such deare ſoules, this deare deare land;

Deare for her reputation through the world,
Is now leaced out (I die pronouncing it)

Like to a Tenement, or pelting Farme.

England bound in with the triumphant Sea,
Whose rockie ſhoare beates backe the enuious ſiege
Of watry Neptune, is now bound in with ſhame,
With Inkie blottes, and rotten Parchment bonds.

That England that was wont to conquere others,
Hath made a ſhamefull conquelt of it ſelfe:

Ah would the scandall vanilht with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death;

Torke. The King is come, deale mildly with his youth,
For young hot Colts being rag'de, do rage the more.

Enter the King and Queene, &c.

Queene. How fares our noble Uncle Lancafter?

King. What comfort man? how iſt with aged Gaunt?

Gaunt.

## King Richard the Second.

Gaunt. O how that name befits my composition,
Old Gaunt in decede, and gaunt in being old,
Within me Griefe hath kept a tedious ſaſt.

And who abstaines from meat, that is not gaunt?

For sleeping England, long time haue I watcht,

Watching breedes leanenefſe, leanenefſe is all gaunt:
The pleasure that some Fathers feede vpon,

Is my strict ſaſt, I meane my Childrens lookes,

And therein, faſting haſt thou made me gaunt.

Gaunt am I for the graue, gaunt as a graue,

Whose hollow wombe inherites nought but bones.

King. Can ſicke men play so nicely with their names?

Gaunt. No, miſerie makes ſport to mocke it ſelſe.

Since thourdott ſeeke to kill my name in me,

O mocke my name (great King) to flatter thee.

King. Should dying men flatter thofe that liue?

Gaunt. No, no; men liuing, flatter thofe that die.

King. Thou now a dying ſayt, thou flatterest me.

Gaunt. Oh no, thou diest, though I the ſicker be.

King. I am in health, I breath, I see thee ill.

Gaunt. Now he that made me, knowes I see thee ill,

Ill in my ſelfe to fee, and in thee feeing ill,

Thy death-bed is no leſſer then the land:

Wherein thou lieſt in reputation ſicke,

And thou too careſſe patient as thou art,

Committ thy annoynted body to the cure.

Of thofe Phifitions that ſieſt wounded thee:

A thouſand Flatterers ſit within thy Crowne,
Whose compaſſe is no bigger then thy head,

And yet enraged in so ſmall a verge,

The waſte is no whit leſſer then thy lande.

Oh had thy Grandſire with a Prophets eye,
Seene how his ſonnes ſoone should destroy his ſonnes,
From ſoorth thy reach he would haue laide thy ſhame,

Depofing thee before thou wert poſſeſt,

Which art poſſeſt now to depoſe thy ſelfe.

Why Coofin, wert thou regent of the world,

It were a ſhame to let this Land by Leafe:

Bat

## The Tragedie of

But for thy world enjoying but this land,
Is it not more then shame to shame it so?
Land-lord of England art thou now not, not King,
Thy state of law is bondflaue to the law,
And thou.

King. Ah lunaticke leane-witted foole,
Prefuming on an Agues priuledge,
Dareft vith thy frozen admonition
Makepale our cheeke, chafing the royall blood
With furie from his native refidence.
Novv by my Seates right roy all Maieſtie
Wert thou not brother to great Edwards fonne,
This tonguethat runnes so roundly in thy head,
Should runne thy head from thy vnreuerent shoulders.

Gaunt. Oh ſpare me not my brother Edwards fonne,
For that I was his father Edwards fonne:
That blood already, like the Pellican,
Haſt thou tapt and drunkenly carowt:
My brother Gloeſter, plaine well meaning ſoule,
Whom faire befall in heauen mongſt happy ſoules,
May be a preſident and witnes good,
That thou reſpect not spilling Edwards blood.
Ioyne with the preſent ficknes that I haue,
And thy vnkindnes be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too long witherred flower.
Liuie in thy ſhame, but die not ſhame vith thee:
These Wordes hereafter, thy tormentors be:
Conuay me to my bed, then to my graue,
Loue they to liue, that loue and honour haue.

King. And let them die, that age and fullens haue,
For both haſt thou, and both become the graue.

Torne. I do beſeech your Maieſtie impute his words
To wayward fickelynes and age in him :
Heloues you on my life, and holdes you deere,
As Harry Duke of Herford, were he heere.

King. Right, you faſ true; as Herſords loue, ſo his:
As theirs, ſo mine, and be as it is.

North.

## Richard the Second.

North. My Liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Ma-

King. What ſayes hee?

(Maieſtie.)

North. Nothing, all is ſayd;
His tongue is now a stringleſſe inſtrument,
Wordes, life, and all, old Lancaſter hath ſpent.

Torne. Be Torke the next that muſt be banckrout ſo,
Though Death be poore, it ends a mortall wo.

King. The ripeſt Fruite firſt falles, and ſo doth he;
His time is ſpent, our pilgimage muſt be:
So much for that. Now for our Irish Warres:
We muſt ſupplant those rough rug-headed kernes,
Which liue like venome, where no venome eſſe
But onely they, haue priuledge to liue.

And for these great affayres do aske some charge,
Towards our aſiſtance we do ſeaze to vs,
The Plate, Coyne, Reueneues, and moueables
Whereof our Vnckle Gaunt did ſtand poſſeſt.

Torne. How long ſhall I be patient? Ah how long
Shall tender duetie make me ſuffer wrong?
Not Gloeſters death, nor Herſords baniſhment,
Nor Gaunts rebukes, nor Englands priuate wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poore Bullingbrooke
About his marriage, nor my owne diſgrace,
Haue euer made me ſower my patient cheeke,
Or bend one wrinkle on my Soueraignes face:
I am the laſt of the noble Edwards ſonnes,
Of whom thy father Prince of Wales was firſt.
In Warre, was neuer Lion ragde more fierce:
In Peace, was neuer gentle Lamb more milde
Then was that young and princely Gentleman :
His face thou haſt, for euen ſo lookt he,
Accompliſht with a number of thy hours;

But when he frowned, it was againſt the French,
And not againſt his Friendes: his noble hand
Did winne what he did ſpend, and ſpent not that
Which his triumphant Fathers hand had wonne:
His hands were guiltie of no kinred blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kinne.

D

Oh

BOUN

## The Tragedie of

Oh Richard! Yorke is too farre gone with griefe,
Or else he neuer would compare betweene.

King. Why Vnckle, what's the matter?

Torke. Oh my liege, pardon me if you pleafe,
If not, I pleafd, not to be pardoned, am content with all:
Seeke you to feize and gripe into your hands,
The royalties and rights of banifht Herford:
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Herford line?
Was not Gaunt iust? and is not Harry true?

Did not the one deferue to haue an heyre?
Is not his heyre a well deferuing ſonne?

Take Herfordes rights away, and take from time
His Charters and his customarie rights;

Let not to morrow then enſue to day:

Be not thy ſelfe; For how art thou a King,
But by faire ſequence, and ſucceſſion?

Now afore God, God forbid I ſay true,
If your doe wrongfully ſeize Herfordes right,
Call in the Letters patents that he hath:

By his attournies generall to ſue:

His liuery, and deny his offered homage,
You plucke a thouſand dangers on your head,
You loſe a thouſand well diſpoſed hearts,
And pricke my tender patience to those thoughts,
Which honour and allegiance cannot thinke.

King. Thinke what you will, we ſeize into our hands,
His plate, his goods, his money and his land.

Tork. Ile not be by the while, my liege farewell,
What will inſue hereof, there's none can tell :

But by bad courſes may be underſood,

That their events can neither fall out good.

Exeunt.

King. Go But ſuic, to the Earle of Wilſhire straight,
Bid him repayre to vs to Ely houſe;

To ſee this buſineſſe to morrow next

We will for Ireland; and this time I trow;
And we create in abſence of our ſelfe,

Our Vnckle Youke, Lord Gouernour of England;
For he is iuſt, and always loued vs well:

Come

## Richard the Second.

Come on our Queene, to morrow muſt we part;
Be merry, for our time of stay is short.

Exeunt King and Queene. Manet North.

North. Well Lords, the Duke of Lancaſter is dead.

Rouſe. And liuing too, for now his ſonne is Duke.

Wulough. Barely in title, not in reuengewes.

North. Richly in both, if iuſtice had her right.

Rouſe. My heart is great, but it muſt breake with ſilence,
Er't be disburdened with a liberall tongue.

North. Nay ſpeake thy mind, & let him nere ſpeak more,
That ſpeakes thy words againe, to do thee harme.

Wulough. Tend's that thou wouldſt ſpeake, to the D. of
If it be so, out with it boldly man,

(Herford?

Quicke is mine care to heare of good towards him.

Rouſe. No good at all, that I can doe for him :
Vnleſſe you call it good, to pitty him,
Bereft and gelded of his Patrimonie.

North. Now afore God this ſhame, ſuch wrongs are born
In him a royall Prince, and many mo

Of noble blood in this declining land :
The King is not himſelfe, but bacely led
By flatterers, and what they will informe,
Meereely in hate againſt any of vs all,

That will the King ſeuerely ſoſecute,
Againſt vs, our liues, our children, and our heires.

Rouſe. The Commons hath he pild with grieuous taxes,
And quite loft their hearts. The Nobles hath he fin'd
For auncient quarrels, and quite loft their hearts.

Wulough. And dayly new exaſtions are deuide,
As Blanckes, Beneuolences, and I wot not what.

North. But what a Gods name doth become of this?

Willo. Warres hath not waſted it; for war'd he hath not,
But bacely yeelded upon compromife,

That which his noble Aunceſtors atchiude with blowes:
More hath he ſpent in peace, then they in Warres.

Rouſe. The Earle of Wilſhire hath the Realme in ſarne.

Willoe. The King's growne banckrout like a broken man.

D2

North.

The Tragedie of

North. Reproach and defolution hangeth ouer him.
Roffe. He hath not Money for these Irish Warres,
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banisht Duke.

North. His noble kinsman most degenerate King :
But Lords, we heare this fearfull tempeſt ſing,
Yet feeke no ſhelter to auoyd the ſtorme.
We fee the Winde ſit ſore vpon our Sayles,
And yet we strike not, but securely perſiſt.

Roffe. We fee the very Wracke that we muſt ſuffer,
And vnauoied is the danger now,
For ſuffering ſo the cauſes of our wracke.

North. Not ſo, euen through the hollow eyes of death,
I eſpie life peering ; but I are not ſay,
How neere the tidings of our comfort is.

Wil. Nay let vs ſhare thy thoughts, as thou doſt ours:
Roffe. Be confident to ſpeake Northumberland,
We three are but thy ſelfe; and ſpeaking ſo,
Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold.

North. Then thus : I haue from Le Port Blan
(A Bay in Brittaniu) receiue intelligence,
That Harry Duke of Herforde, Raynold L. Cobham,
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter
His brother Archbifhop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Iohn Ramſton,
Sir Iohn Norbery, fir Robert Waterton, & Francis Coines,
All theſe, well ſurniſhed by the Duke of Brittaine,
With eight tall Ships, three thouſand men of Warre,
Are making hither with all due expediencie,
And ſhortly meane to touch our Northern ſhore:
Perhaps they had ere this, but that they ſtay
The firſt departing of the King for Ireland :
If then we ſhall ſhake off our Countries ſlauiſh yoke,
Impe out our drowping Countries broken wing,
Redeeme from broken pawne the blemiſht Crowne,
Wipe off the duſt that hides our Scepters guilt,
And make high Maiestie looke like it ſelfe,
Away with me in poſt to Rauenſpurghs

But

King Richard the Second.

But if you faint, as fearing to do ſo,
Stay, and be ſecret, and my ſelfe will go.

Roffe. To horſe, to horſe, vrge doubts to them that ſeare.

Wilf. Hold out my horſe, and I will firſt be there.

Exeunt.

Enter the Queene, Buſhie, and Bagot.

Buſh. Madam, your Maiestie is too much fadd,
You promiſt when you parted with the King,
To lay aſide halfe-harming heauineſſe,
And entertaine a chearefull diſpoſition.

Queene. To pleafe the King I did, to pleafe my ſelfe
I cannot doo it; yet I know no cauſe
Why I should welcome ſuch a gueſt as Grieſe,
Saue bidding farewell to ſo ſweete a gueſt,
As my ſweete Richard : yet againe me thinkes
Some vnborne Sorrow ripe in Fortunes wombe,
Is comming towards me and my inward ſoule,
With nothing trembles, at ſome thing it griecues,
More then with parting from my Lord the King.

Buſh. Each ſubſtance of a grieſe hath twenty ſhadowes,
Which ſhewes like grieſe it ſelfe, but is not ſo:
For Sorrowes eyes glazed with blinding teares,
Deuides one thing entire to many obiects.
Like perſpectiues, which rightly gazde vpon,
Shew nothing but confusion, eyde awry,
Distinguiſh forme : to your ſweete Maiestie,
Looking awry vpon your Lords departure,
Finde ſhapes of grieſe more then himſelfe to waile,
Which lookt on as it is, is naught but ſhadowes
Of what it is not, then thrice (gracious Queene)
More then your Lordes departure weepe not, more is not
Or if it be, tis with falſe Sorrowes eyes,
Which for things true, weepe things imaginarie.

Queene. It may be ſo, but yet my inward ſoule
Perſwades me it is otherwife : how ere it be,
I cannot but be ſad ; to heauie ſad,
As though on thinking on no thought I thinke,
Makes me with heauie nothing faint and ſhrinke.

P 3

Buſhie

The Tragedie of

Bunh. Tis nothing but conceite(my gracious Lady.)
Queene. Tis nothing leſſe, Conceite is ſill deriude.
From ſome forefather Grieſe, mine is not ſo;
For nothing hath begot my ſomething grieſe,
Or ſomething hath the nothing that I grieue,
Tis in reuerſion that I do poſſeſſe :
But what it is, that is not yet knowne, what
I cannot name, tis nameleſſe woe I wot.

Greene. God faue your Maiestie, & well met Gentlemen,
I hope the King is not yet ſhipt for Ireland.

Queene. Why hopeſt thou ſo? tis better hope he is,
For his deſignes craueth haſte, his haſte good hope:
Then wherefore doſt thou hope he is not ſhipt?

Greene. That he our hope might haue retirde his power,
And driven into deſpaire an enemies hope,
Who strongly hath fet footing in this land,
The banilſt Bullingbrooke repeales him ſelſe,
And with vplifted armes is ſafe ariuote at Rauenſpurgh,
Queene. Now God in heauen forbid.

Greene. Ah Madam, tis too true; and that is worſe:
The Lord Northumberland, his young ſonne H. Piercie,
The Lords of Roffe, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerfull friendes, are ſled to him.

Bunh. Why haue you not proclaimde Northumberland
And the reſt of the revolting faction, traytours?

Greene. We haue, wherevpon the Earle of Worcester
Hath broke his Staffe, reſign'd his Stewardſhip,
And al the houſhold ſeruants ſled with him to Bullingbrook

Queene. So Greene, thou art the Midwife of my woe,
And Bullingbrooke, my ſorrowes diſmall heire:
Now hath my ſoule brought ſoorth her prodigie,
And I a gafping new delivered mother,
Haue woe to woe, ſorrow to ſorrow ioynd.

Bunh. Diſpaire not Madam.
Queene. Who ſhall hinder me?
I will diſpaire and be at enmity

With couetous Hope, he is a flatterer,
A parafite, a keeper backe of death,

Who

King Richard the Second.

Who gently would diſſolve the bands of life,
Which falſe Hope lingers in extreamitie..

Greene. Here comes the Duke of Yorke.

Queene. With ſignes of Warre about his aged necke:
Oh full of carefull buſineſſe are his lookes:

Vnckle, for Gods ſake ſpeake comfortable wordes.

Torke. Should I do ſo, I should bely my thoughts,
Comfort's in heauen, and we are on the earth,
Where nothing liues but croſſes, care, and grieſe.

Your Husband he is gone to ſaue farre off;
Whilſt others come to make him loofe at home :

Heere am I left to vnderprop his land,
Who weake with age, cannot ſupport my ſelſe.

Now comes the ſicke houre that his ſurſet made,
Now ſhall he trie his Friendes that flattered him.

Seruingman. My Lord, your ſonne was gone before I came,
Torke. He was, why ſo; go all which way it will :

The Nobles they are ſled, the Commons they are cold,
And will (I ſeare) revolt on Herfords ſide.
Sirra, get thee to Plaſhie to my ſifter Gloceſter,
Bid her ſend me prefently a thouſand pound,
Hold take my Ring,

Seruing. My Lord, I had forgot to tell your Lordſhip,
To day I came by and called there,
But I ſhall grieue you to report the reſt.

Tork. What i'ſt knaue?

Seruingm. An houre before I came, the Dutchefſe died.
Torke. God for his mercie! what a tyde of woes

Comes rufing on this woſull Land at once?

I know not what to doe : I would to God

(So my vntruth had not prouokt him to it)
The King had cut off my head with my brothers,
What, are there two Poſts diſpatcht for Ireland?
How ſhall we do for money for these Warres?

Come Sifter, Coofin I would ſay; pray pardon me:
Goe fellow, get thee home, provide ſome Carts,
And bring away the Armour that is there.

Gentlemen, will you go muſter men?

15

## The Tragedie of

If I know how or which way to order these affayres,
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,
Neuer beleeeue mee: both are my kinfemen;
T'one is my Soueraigne, whom both my oath
And dutie bids defend: t'other againe,
Is my Kinfman, whom the King hath wrong'd,
Whom Conscience and my Kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must doe: come Coofin,
Ile diſpoe of you: Gentlemen, goe muſter vp your men,
And meete me prefentely at Barckly:
I should to Plaſhie too, but time will not permit:
All is vneuen, and euery thing is left at ſixe and ſeauen.

*Excenuit Duk*, & *Queene*: manent *Bушhie and Greene*.

*Bушh*. The Wind fits faire for newes to go for Ireland,
But none returnes. For vs to leuie power
Proportionable to the enemie, is all vnpoſſible.

*Greene*. Besides, our neereneſſe to the King in loue,
Is neere the hate of thate loue not the King.

*Bag*. And that is the wauering Commons; for their loue
Lies in their Purſes, and who ſo empties them,
By ſo much filles their hearts with deadly hate.

*Bушh*. Wherein the King ſtands generally condemn'd.

*Bag*. If iudgement lie in them, then ſo do we,
Because we euer haue beene neere the King.

*Greene*. Well, I will for refuge ſtraight to Brift Caſtle,
The Earle of Wiltshire is already there.

*Bушh*. Thither will I with you, for little office
Will the hatefull Commons performe for vs,
Except like Curres, to teare vs all in peeces:
Will you goe along with vs?

*Bag*. No, I will to Ireland to his Maieſtie:
Farewell, if hearts prefages be not vaine,
We three heere part, that nere ſhall meete againe.

*Bnſh*. Thats as Yorke thiues to beat backe Bullingbrook.

*Greene*. Alas, poore Duke, the taske he vndertakes,
Is numbring Sands, and drinking Oceans dry,
Where one on his ſide fights, thouſands will flie:
Farewell at once, for once, for all and euer.

Bnſh.

## King Richard the Second.

*Bушh*. Well, we may meete againe.

*Bag*. If I feare me neuer.

*Enter Hereford: Northumberland.*

*Bull*. How farre is it my Lord to Barckly now?

*North*. Beleeue me noble Lord,
I am a ſtranger in Gloceſtshire,
These high wild hils and rough vneuen wayes,
Drawes out our miles, and makes them wearisome,
And yet your faire diſcourse hath beene as sugar,
Making the hard waye ſweete and delectable:
But I bethinke me what a weary way,
From Rauenſpurgh to Cotſhall will be found,
In Roffe and Willoughby wanting your company,
Which I proteſt hath very much beguild
The tediouſneſſe and proceſſe of my trauell:
But theirs is ſweetened with the hope to haue
The preſent benefite that I poſſeſſe,
And hope to ioy is little leſſe in ioy,
Then hope inioyed: by this the weary Lords
Shall make their waye ſeeme ſhort, as mine hath done,
By fight of what I haue, your noble companie.

*Bul*. Of much leſſe value is my company,
Then your good words. But who comes here?
*Enter Harry Perſie.*

*North*. It is my ſonne, yong Harry Perſie,
Sent from my brother Worcester whenceſoever:
Harry, how fares your Vnackle? (of you,
*H. Per*. I had thought my Lord to haue learned his health
*North*. Why ? is he not with the Queene?
*H. Per*. No my good Lord, he hath forſooke the Court,
Broken his ſtaffe of office, and diſperſt
The household of the King.

*North*. What was his reaſon ? he was not so reſolute,
When laſt we ſpake together.

*H. Per*. Because your Lordship was proclaimed traytour,
But he my Lord, is gone to Rauenſpurgh,
To offer ſeruice to the Duke of Herford,
And ſent me ouer by Barckly to diſcouer,

E

What

## The Tragedie of

What power the duke of Yorke had leuied there,

Then with directions ; to repaire to Rauenfpurgh.

North. Hane you forgot the duke of Herford, boy?

H. Per. No my good Lord for that is not forgot

Which ne're I did remember to my knowledge

I neuer in my life did locke on him.

North. Then learnne to know him now, this is the Duke.

H. Per. My gratious Lord, I tender you my seruice,

Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,

Which elder dayes shall ripen and confirme.

To more approued seruice and desert.

Bull. I thanke thee gentle Perſi, and be sure,

I count my selfe in nothing else so happy,

As in a foule remembring my good friends :

And as my fortune ripens with thy loue,

It shall be full thy true loues recompence,

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

North. How farre is it to Barkley, and what flurre

Keepes good old Yorke there with his men of warre?

H. Per. There ſtandes the Castle by you tuft of trees,

Mann'd with three hundred men, as I haue heard :

And in it are the Lordes of Yorke, Barkley, and Seynior,

None else of name and noble estimation.

Nor. Here come the Lords of Rofle and Willoughby,

Bloudy with ſpurring, fiery red with haſte.

Bull. Welcome my Lords, I wot your loue purſues

A banisht traitour : all my treasury

Is yet but vnfelt thankes, vvlich more enricht,

Shall be your loue and labours recompence.

Rofle. Your prefence makes vs rich, most noble Lord.

Will. And farre furmounts our labour to attraine it.

Bull. Euermore thanke's the Exchequier of the poore,

Which till my infant fortune comes to yeares,

Standes for my bounty : but who comes heere?

North. It is my Lord of Barkley, as I gueſſe.

Barkley. My Lord of Herford, my mellage is to you.

Bull. My Lovers my anſwere is to Lane, stir,

And I am come to feeke that name in England.

And

## Richard the Second.

And I must finde that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to ought you fay.

Barke. Miftake me not my Lord, t is not my meaning
Torace one title of your Honour out:

To you my Lord I come, what Lord you will,

From the moſt glerious of this land,

The Duke of Torke, to know what prickes you on,

Totake aduantage of the abſent time,

And fright our native peace with ſelbe-borne Armes?

Bul. I shall not need transport my words by you,
Heere comes his Grace in person : My noble Vnckle t

Torke. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
Whose duty is deceiueable and false.

Bul. My gracious Vnckle!

Torke. Tut, tut, grace me no grace, nor vnckle me no vnc-
I am no Traitors vnckle ; and that word Grace
(kle,

In an vngratious mouth, is but prophane:

Why haue those banisht and forbidden legs

Darde once to touch a duſt of Englands ground?

But more than why? Why haue they darde to march

So many myles vpon her peacefull boſome,

Fryting her pale-facde Villages with Warre,

And of ſentation of deſpited Armes?

Comſt thou becauſe th'annoynted King is hence?

Why foolish boy, the King is left behind,

And in my loyall boſome lyes his power :

Were I but now Lord of such hot youth,

As when braue Gaunt thy father, and thy ſelfe,

Reſcued the blacke Prince that young Mars of men,

From foorth the ranckes of many thousands French,

O then how quickly should this arme of mine,

Now prisoner to the Paulſey, chaſtife thee,

And minifter correction to thy fault!

Bull. My gratious Vnckle, let me know my fault,
On what condition stands it, and wherein?

Torke. Euen in condition of the worst degree,
In groſſe rebellion, and detested treaſon :

Thou art a banisht man, and heere art come,

E 2

Before

The Tragedie of

Before the expiration of thy time,
In brauing armes against my Soueraigne.

But. As I was banisht, I was banisht Herford,
But as I come, I come for Lancafter:
And noble Vnckle, I beseech your Grace,
Looke on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
You are my Father, or me thinkes in yo

I see old Gaunt aliue. Oh then Father,
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
A wandering Vagabond, my rights and royalties
Pluckt from my Armes perforce, and giuen away

To vptart Vnthrifts? wherefore was I borne?

If that my Coofin King be King of England,
It must be graunited I am Duke of Lancafter:
You haue a Sonne, Amerle, my noble Coofin,
Had you first died, and he been thus trod downe,
He should haue found his Vnckle Gaunt a father,
To rouze his wronges, and chafe them to the Bay.

I am denied to sue my liuerie heere,
And yet my letters pattents give me leaue.

My fathers goodes are all diftrain'd and fold,
And thefe, and all, are all amisse employed.

What would you haue me doe? I am a Subiect,
And I challenge Law, Attarnies are deniden me,
And therefore personally I lay my claime

To my inheritance of free deſcent.

North. The noble Duke hath been too much abusde.

Rouſe. It standes your Grace upon, to do him right.

Willough. Bafe men by his endowments are made great

I haue had feeling of my Coofins wronges,

And labour'd all I could to do him right,

But in this kind, to come in brauing Armes,

To find out right with wrong, it may not be:

And you that do abette him in this kind,

Cherish Rebellion, and are Rebels all.

North. The noble Duke hath ſworne, his comming is

But

King Richard the Second.

But for his owne; and for the right of that,
We all haue strongly ſworne to give him ayde :

And let him ne're see ioy that breaks that oath.

Yorke. Well, well, I fee the ilſue of these Armes;
I cannot mende it, I muſt needes confefſe,
Because my power is weake, and all ill left :

But if I could, by him that gaue me life,
I would attach you all, and make you ſloope

Vnto the ſoueraigne mercy of the King:

But ſince I cannot, be it knowne to you,
I do remaine as newter; so fare you well,
Vnleſſe you pleafe to enter in the Castle,

And there repofe you for this night.

But. An offer Vnckle that we will accept,
But we muſt winne your Grace to go with vs
To Bristow Castle, which they ſay is held.

By Buſhe, Bagot, and their complicies,
The Caterpillers of the Common-wealth;

Which I haue ſworne to weede and plucke away.

Yorke. It may be I will go with you; but yet I paſſe,
For I am loth to breake our Countries Lawes :

Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are,

Things paſt redreſſe, are now with me paſt care.

Enter Earle of Salisburie, and a Welch Captaine.

Welch. My Lord of Salisburie, we haue ſtaide ten dayes.

And hardly kept our Countrymen together;

And yet we heare no tidings from the King,

Therefore we will difſperse our ſelues: farewell.

Salis. Stay yet another day, thou truſty Welchman,

The King reſoſeth all his confidence in thee.

Welch. Tis thought the King is dead, we will not stay,

The Bay-trees in our Countrey all are withered,

And Meteors fright the fixed Starres of heaven:

The pale-fac'd Moone looks bloody on the earth,

And leane-look't Prophets whisper ſcarefull change,

Rich men looke fadde, and Ruffians daunce and leape,

The one in ſeare to loose what they enjoy.

The