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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!


For heaven'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, care, 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 Servant.

Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came.
York. He was ?-Why, so!-go all which way it


The nobles they are fled, the commons cold †,

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

Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster;
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound :-
Hold, take my ring.

+"the commons they are cold,"-MALONE.

8 Get thee to Plashy,] The lordship of Plashy was a town of the duchess of Gloster's in Essex. Its history and antiquities were published some years ago by Mr. Gough; but this work does not appear to have been consulted by the commentators.

Serv. 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 it, knave?

Serv. 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 posts despatch'd for Ireland +?—
How shall we do for money for these wars?—

Come, sister, cousin, I would say: pray, pardon me.-— Go, fellow, [to the Servant,] 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,

Never believe me.

Both are my kinsmen ;

The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; the 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 :-Go, muster up your men §,


untruth] That is, disloyalty, treachery.

None of

The king had cut off my head with my brother's.] York's brothers had his head cut off, either by the king or any one else. The duke of Gloster, to whose death he probably alludes, was secretly murdered at Calais, being smothered between two beds.

+ "What, are there no posts," &c.-MALONE.

2 Come, sister,-cousin, I would say:] This is one of Shakspeare's touches of nature. York is talking to the queen his cousin, but the recent death of his sister is uppermost in his mind. "Thus disorderly thrust "-MALONE.


§ Gentlemen, go," &c.-MALONE.

And meet me presently at Berkley-castle.
I should to Plashy too ;-

But time will not permit :-All is uneven,
And every thing 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 impossible.

Green. 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


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'll for refuge straight to Bristol-castle;

The earl of Wiltshire is already there.

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'll 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 Boling-


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. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot.

I fear me, never.


"Will the hateful commons -MALONE.


The Wilds in Glostershire.


Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?
North. Believe me, noble lord,

I am a stranger here in Glostershire.

These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome:
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and délectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way
From Ravenspurg 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 sweeten'd 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.
Boling. Of much less value is my company,
Than your good words. But who comes here?


North. 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.

North. 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.


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 Ravenspurg, To offer service to the duke of Hereford; And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover What power the duke of York had levied there; Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg.

North. 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.

North. 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.

Boling. 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.
North. How far is it to Berkley? 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, Berkley, and Seymour;
None else of name, and noble estimate.

Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY.

North. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

Boling. 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.

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