Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders.

Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's

son,

For that I was his father Edward's son;
That blood already, like the pelican,

Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd:
My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul,
(Whom fair befal in heaven 'mong'st happy
souls!)

May be a precedent and witness good,

That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood:
Join with the present sickness that I have;
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,

To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower.
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with

thee!

These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Love they to live, that love and honour have. [Exit, borne out by his attendants.] K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens have;

For both hast thou, and both become the grave. York. I do beseech your majesty, impute his words

To wayward sicklinefs and age in him:

He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here.
K. Rich. Right; you say true: as Hereford's-
love, so his..

As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.

K. Rich. What says he?

North. Nay, nothing; all is said:

His

His tongue is now a stringlefs instrument; Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.> York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt

so!

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;

His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be:
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars:
We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns;
Which live like venom, where no venom else,
But only they, hath privilege to live.

And, for these great affairs do ask some charge,
Towards our assistance, we do seize to us
The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.
York. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how
long

Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment,
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private
wrongs, J

Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first;
In war was never lion rag'd more fierce,
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely gentleman:
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;
But, when he frown'd, it was against the French,
And not against his friends: his noble hand
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won.
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood,
Vol. IV.
C

But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
O, Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or else he never would
compare between.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter?
York O, my liege,

Pardon me, if you please; if not, I pleas'd
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal,

Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands,
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford ?"
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time
His charters, and his customary rights;
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day
Be not thyself, for how art thou a king,
But by fair sequence and succession?
Now, afore God, (God forbid, I say true!)
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,
Call in the letters patents that he hath
By his attornies-general to sue

His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

९

K. Rich. Think what you will; we seize into our hands

His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. York. I'll not be by, the while: My liege, farewel:

What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood,

That their events can never fall out good. [Exit.] K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight;

Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,

To see this businefs: Tomorrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow;
And we create, in absence of ourself,
Our uncle York lord governor of England,
For he is just, and always lov'd us well.
Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish.]
[Exeunt King, Queen, Bus. AUM. GRE. and

BAG.

North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is

dead.

Rofs. And living too; for now his son

duke.

Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.
North. Richly in both, if justice had her right.
Rofs. My heart is great; but it must break
with silence,

Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more,

That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm! Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of Hereford?

If it be so, out with it boldly, man;

Quick is mine ear, to hear of good towards him,
Rofs. No good at all, that I can do for him;
Unless you call it good, to pity him,
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such wrongs are borne,

In him a royal prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land.
The king is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers, and what they will inform,
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
That will the king severely prosecute
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs,

Rofs. The commons hath he pill'd with grie

vous taxes,

And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fin'd For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

-

Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd; As blanks, benevolences and I wot not what: But what, o'God's name, doth become of this? North Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not,

But basely, yielded upon compromise

That which his ancestors atchiey'd with blows: More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. Rofs. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in

farm.

Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a brok

en, man...*

North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him. .

Rofs. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. North. His noble kinsman.

rate king!

Most degene

But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,.
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm:
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.
Rofs. We see the very wreck that we must

suffer;

And unavoided is the danger now.
For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes
of death,

I spy life peering; but I dare not say,
How near the tidings of our comfort is.
Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou
dost ours.

Rofs. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: