Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong ? Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first; K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter? O, my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if not, I pleas'd Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time His charters, and his customary rights; His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, K. Rich Tnink 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, farewell: 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 aim repair to us to Ely-house, To see this business: To-morrow next Be merry, [Flourish. [Exeunt King, Queen, BUSHY, AUMERLE, GREEN, and BAGOT. North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke. Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue. North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. Ross. 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 th' duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear, to hear of good towards 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 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows: More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him. Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! 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. Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. I North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. of death, Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. North. Then thus:-I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Britanny, receiv'd intelligence. That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, [The son of Richard earl of Arundel,] That late broke from the duke of Exeter, His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, Are making hither with all due expedience, Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. A room in the palace. Enter Queen, BUSHY, and BAGOT. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: Queen. To please the king, I did; to please myself, |