The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works
Page 296
QUEEN To please the king I did – to please myself
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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
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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.
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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,
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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’s not seen,
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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,
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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,
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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.
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Enter GREENE.
GREENE
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?
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GREENE
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
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At Ravenspurgh.
QUEEN Now God in heaven forbid!
GREENE 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.
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BUSHY Why have you not proclaim’d Northumberland
And all the rest revolted faction traitors?
GREENE We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broken his staff, resign’d his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him
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To Bolingbroke.
QUEEN So, Greene, 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,
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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,
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Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false Hope lingers in extremity.
Enter YORK.
GREENE Here comes the Duke of York.
QUEEN With signs of war about his aged neck;
O, full of careful business are his looks!
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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,
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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.
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Enter a Servant.
SERVANT 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 cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Herford’s side.
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester,
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Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.
Hold, take my ring.
SERVANT 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.
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YORK What is’t, knave?
SERVANT 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,
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So my untruth had not provok’d him to it,
The king had cut my head off 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.
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Go, fellow, 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,
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Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen:
Th’one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th’other again
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong’d,
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
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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,
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And everything is left at six and seven.
Exeunt York and Queen.
BUSHY The wind sits fair for news to go for Ireland,
But none returns. For us to levy power
Proportionable to the enemy
Is all unpossible.
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GREENE Besides, our nearness to the king in love
Is near the hate of those love not the king.
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.
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BUSHY Wherein the king stands generally condemn’d.
BAGOT If judgment lie in them, then so do w
e,
Because we ever have been near the king.
GREENE
Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow castle,
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
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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 will to Ireland to his Majesty.
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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.
GREENE Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes
Is numb’ring sands and drinking oceans dry;
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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.
2.3 Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND.
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,
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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 Cotshall will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,
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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
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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?
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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?
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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.
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But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh
To offer service to the Duke of Herford,
And sent me over by Berkeley to discover
What power the Duke of York had levied there,
Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.
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NORTHUMBERLAND
Have you forgot the Duke of Herford, 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.
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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
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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.
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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 –
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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.