King Richard the Second

SCENE 2. Windsor Castle

Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT

  BUSHY. Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.

    You promis'd, when you parted with the King,

    To lay aside life-harming heaviness

    And entertain a cheerful disposition.

  QUEEN. To please the King, I did; to please myself

    I cannot do it; yet I know no cause

    Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,

    Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest

    As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks

    Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,

    Is coming towards me, and my inward soul

    With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves

    More than with parting from my lord the King.

  BUSHY. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,

    Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;

    For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,

    Divides one thing entire to many objects,

    Like perspectives which, rightly gaz'd upon,

    Show nothing but confusion-ey'd awry,

    Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,

    Looking awry upon your lord's departure,

    Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail;

    Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows

    Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,

    More than your lord's departure weep not-more is not seen;

    Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,

    Which for things true weeps things imaginary.

  QUEEN. It may be so; but yet my inward soul

    Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe'er it be,

    I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad

    As-though, on thinking, on no thought I think-

    Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

  BUSHY. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

  QUEEN. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd

    From some forefather grief; mine is not so,

    For nothing hath begot my something grief,

    Or something hath the nothing that I grieve;

    'Tis in reversion that I do possess-

    But what it is that is not yet known what,

    I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

Enter GREEN

  GREEN. God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen.

    I hope the King is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.

  QUEEN. Why hopest thou so? 'Tis better hope he is;

    For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.

    Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?

  GREEN. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power

    And driven into despair an enemy's hope

    Who strongly hath set footing in this land.

    The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,

    And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd

    At Ravenspurgh.

  QUEEN. Now God in heaven forbid!

  GREEN. Ah, madam, 'tis too true; and that is worse,

    The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,

    The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,

    With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

  BUSHY. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland

    And all the rest revolted faction traitors?

  GREEN. We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester

    Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship,

    And all the household servants fled 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?

    I will despair, and be at enmity

    With cozening hope-he is a flatterer,

    A parasite, a keeper-back of death,

    Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,

    Which false hope lingers in extremity.

Enter YORK

  GREEN. Here comes the Duke of York.

  QUEEN. With signs of war about his aged neck.

    O, full of careful business are his looks!

    Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words.

  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, cares, 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 SERVINGMAN

  SERVINGMAN. My lord, your son was gone before I came.

  YORK. He was-why so go all which way it will!

    The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold

    And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.

    Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;

    Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.

    Hold, take my ring.

  SERVINGMAN. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,

    To-day, as I came by, I called there-

    But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

  YORK. What is't, knave?

  SERVINGMAN. An hour before I came, the Duchess died.

  YORK. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes

    Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!

    I know not what to do. I would to God,

    So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,

    The King had cut off my head with my brother's.

    What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland?

    How shall we do for money for these wars?

    Come, sister-cousin, I would say-pray, pardon me.

    Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts,

    And bring away the armour that is there.

Exit SERVINGMAN

    Gentlemen, will you go muster men?

    If I know how or which way to order these affairs

    Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,

    Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.

    T'one is my sovereign, whom both my oath

    And duty bids defend; t'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. Gentlemen, go muster up your men

    And meet me presently at Berkeley.

    I should to Plashy too,

    But time will not permit. All is uneven,

    And everything 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 unpossible.

  GREEN. Besides, our nearness to the King in love

    Is near the hate of those love not the King.

  BAGOT. And that is 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 condemn'd.

  BAGOT. If judgment lie in them, then so do we,

    Because we ever have been near the King.

  GREEN. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle.

    The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

  BUSHY. Thither will I with you; for little office

    Will the hateful commons perform for us,

    Except Eke curs to tear us all to pieces.

    Will you go along with us?

  BAGOT. No; I will 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 Bolingbroke.

  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.

    Farewell at once-for once, for all, and ever.

  BUSHY. Well, we may meet again.

  BAGOT. I fear me, never. Exeunt

SCENE 3. Gloucestershire

Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, forces

  BOLINGBROKE. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

  NORTHUMBERLAND. Believe me, noble lord,

    I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.

    These high wild hills and rough uneven ways

    Draws out our miles, and makes 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 Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found

    In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,

    Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd

    The tediousness and process of my travel.

    But theirs is sweet'ned 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.

  BOLINGBROKE. Of much less value is my company

    Than your good words. But who comes here?

Enter HARRY PERCY

  NORTHUMBERLAND. It 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.

  NORTHUMBERLAND. 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.

  NORTHUMBERLAND. 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 Ravenspurgh,

    To offer service to the Duke of Hereford;

    And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover

    What power the Duke of York had levied there;

    Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.

  NORTHUMBERLAND. 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.

  NORTHUMBERLAND. 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.

  BOLINGBROKE. 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.

  NORTHUMBERLAND. How far is it to Berkeley? 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, Berkeley, and Seymour-

    None else of name and noble estimate.

Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY

  NORTHUMBERLAND. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,

    Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

  BOLINGBROKE. 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.

  WILLOUGHBY. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

  BOLINGBROKE. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;

    Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,

    Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

Enter BERKELEY

  NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.

  BERKELEY. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.

  BOLINGBROKE. 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.

  BERKELEY. 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 gracious 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-borne arms.

Enter YORK, attended

  BOLINGBROKE. I shall not need transport my words by you;

    Here comes his Grace in person. My noble uncle!

  YORK. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,

    Whose duty is deceivable and false.

  BOLINGBROKE. 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

    So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,

    Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war

    And ostentation of despised arms?

    Com'st thou because the anointed King is hence?

    Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind,

    And in my loyal bosom lies his power.

    Were I but now lord of such hot youth

    As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself

    Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,

    From forth the ranks of many thousand French,

    O, then how quickly should this arm of mine,

    Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise the

    And minister correction to thy fault!

  BOLINGBROKE My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;

    On what condition stands it and wherein?

  YORK. Even in condition of the worst degree-

    In gross rebellion and detested treason.

    Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come

    Before the expiration of thy time,

    In braving arms against thy sovereign.

  BOLINGBROKE. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;

    But as I come, I come for Lancaster.

    And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace

    Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.

    You are my father, for methinks in you

    I see old Gaunt alive. O, then, my father,

    Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd

    A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties

    Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away

    To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?

    If that my cousin king be King in England,

    It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.

    You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin;

    Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,

    He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father

    To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.

    I am denied to sue my livery here,

    And yet my letters patents give me leave.

    My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold;

    And these and all are all amiss employ'd.

    What would you have me do? I am a subject,

    And I challenge law-attorneys are denied me;

    And therefore personally I lay my claim

    To my inheritance of free descent.

  NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath been too much abused.

  ROSS. It stands your Grace upon to do him right.

  WILLOUGHBY. Base men by his endowments are made great.

  YORK. My lords of England, let me tell you this:

    I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs,

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

    But in this kind to come, in braving arms,

    Be his own carver and cut out his way,

    To find out right with wrong-it may not be;

    And you that do abet him in this kind

    Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.

  NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is

    But for his own; and for the right of that

    We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;

    And let him never see joy that breaks that oath!

  YORK. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms.

    I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,

    Because my power is weak and all ill left;

    But if I could, by Him that gave me life,

    I would attach you all and make you stoop

    Unto the sovereign mercy of the King;

    But since I cannot, be it known unto you

    I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;

    Unless you please to enter in the castle,

    And there repose you for this night.

  BOLINGBROKE. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.

    But we must win your Grace to go with us

    To Bristow Castle, which they say is held

    By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,

    The caterpillars of the commonwealth,

    Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.

  YORK. It may be I will go with you; but yet I'll pause,

    For I am loath to break our country's laws.

    Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are.

    Things past redress are now with me past care. Exeunt

SCENE 4. A camp in Wales

Enter EARL OF SALISBURY and a WELSH CAPTAIN

  CAPTAIN. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days

    And hardly kept our countrymen together,

    And yet we hear no tidings from the King;

    Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.

  SALISBURY. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman;

    The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.

  CAPTAIN. 'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay.

    The bay trees in our country are all wither'd,

    And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;

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

    And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;

    Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap-

    The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,

    The other to enjoy by rage and war.

    These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.

    Farewell. Our co