Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
Have ever made me fow'r my patient cheek;
Or bend one wrinkle on my Sovereign's face.
I am the last of noble Edward's fons,

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 haft, for even fo 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,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
Oh, 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 feize, 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 juft, and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir ?
Is not his heir a well-deferving fon?

Take Hereford's Rights away, and take from time
His Charters, and his cuftomary Rights.

Let not to morrow then enfue to day;

Be not thy felf.

For how art thou a King,

But by fair fequence and fucceffion?

If you do wrongfully feize Hereford's Right,
Call in his letters patents that he hath,

By his attorneys-general to fue

His livery, and deny his offer'd homage;

You pluck a thousand dangers on your head;

B 3.

You

You lofe a thousand well-difpofed hearts;

And prick my tender patience to thofe thoughts,
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

K. Rich. Think, what you will; we feize 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 enfue thereof, there's none can tell. But by bad courses may be understood,

That their events can never fall out good.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Go, Busby, to the Earl of Wiltshire ftrait,

Bid him repair to us to Ely-House,

To fee this bufinefs done: To morrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow.

And we create, in abfence of our self,
Our uncle York Lord-governor of England:
For he is juft, and always lov'd us well.
Come on, our Queen; to morrow must we part;
Be merry, for our time of Stay is fhort.

[Flouride. [Exeunt, King, Queen, &c.

Manent Northumberland, Willoughby, and Rofs.

North. Well, Lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.
Rofs. And living too, for now his fon is Duke.
Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.

North. Richly in both, if juftice had her right.
Rofs. My heart is great; but it mult break with

filence.

Ere't be disburthen'd with a lib'ral tongue.

North. Nay, fpeak your mind; and let him ne'er fpeak

more,

That fpeaks thy words again to do thee harm.

Willo. Tends, what you'd speak, to the Duke of Hereford ?

If it be fo, 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.

Nerth.

North. Now, afore heav'n, it's fhame, fuch wrongs

are borne

In him a royal Prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining Land
The King is not himself, but bafely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform
Merely in hate 'gainst any of us all,
That will the King feverely profecute

'Gainft us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
Rofs. The Commons hath he pill'd with grievous Taxes,
And loft their hearts; the Nobles hath he fin'd
For ancient quarrels, and quite loft their hearts.
Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd;
As Blanks, Benevolences, I wot not what;
But what o'God's name doth become of this?
North. Wars have not wafted it, for warr'd he hath
not,

But bafely yielded upon compromife

That, which his Ancestors atchiev'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 broken

man.

North. Reproach, and diffolution, hangeth over him. Rofs. He hath not mony for these Irish wars, (His burthenous taxations notwithstanding) But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke.

North. His noble Kinfman-moft degenerate King! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempeft fing, Yet feek no fhelter to avoid the ftorm:

We see the wind fit fore upon our fails,

And yet we ftrike not, but fecurely perish.

Rofs. We fee the very wreck, that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now,

For fuff'ring fo the causes of our wreck.

North, Not fo: ev'n through the hollow eyes of Death

I fpy life peering; but I dare not fay,

How near the tidings of our comfort is.

Willo. Nay, let us fhare thy thoughts, as thou dost

ours.

B 4

Rofs.

Rofs. Be confident to speak, Northumberland; We three are but thy felf, and speaking fo,

Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold. North. Then thus, my friends, I have from Port lo Blanc,

A bay in Bretagne, had intelligence,

That Harry Hereford, Rainald lord Cobham,
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Rainfton,

Sir John Norberie, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
Coines,

All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne
With eight tall fhips, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And fhortly mean to touch our northern shore;
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the King for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our flavish yoak,
Imp out our drooping Country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking Pawn the blemish'd Crown,
Wipe off the duft that hides our Scepter's gilt,
And make high Majefty look like it felf:
Away with me in pott to Ravenfpurg.

But if you faint, as fearing to do fo,

Stay, and be fecret, and my felf will go.

Rofs. To horfe, to horfe, urge Doubts to them that fear.

Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will firft be there.

SCENE the Court.

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.

[Exeunt.

Bully. MAdam, your Majefty is much too fad ;

You promis'd, when you parted with the

King,

To lay afide felf-harming heaviness,

And entertain a chearful difpofition.

Queen. To please the King, I did; to please my self,

I

I cannot do it; yet I know no cause,
Why I should welcome fuch a guest as grief;
Save bidding farewel to fo fweet a Guest
As my fweet Richard: yet again, methinks, .
Some unborn forrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming tow'rd me; and my inward foul
With nothing trembles, yet at fomething grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the King.
Bushy. Each fubftance of a grief hath twenty fhadows,
Which fhew like grief it self, but are not so:
For forrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire,, to many objects;-
Like Perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon, (4)
Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry,
Diftinguish form.So your fweet Majefty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,

Finds fhapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which look'd on, as it is, is nought but fhadows
Of what it is not; gracious Queen, then weep not
More than your lord's departure; more's not feen :-
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,

Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary..
Queen. It may be fo; but yet my inward foul
Berfuades me otherwife: howe'er it be,

I cannot but be fad; fo heavy-fad,.

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

(4) Like Peripectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,,
Shew Nothing but Confufion; ey'd awry,

Diftinguish Form.] This is a very fine Similitude, and the Thing meant is This. Amongst Mathematical Recreations, This which your Mafters in Optics amufe themselves with, holds a principal Place. They draw a Figure, in which all the Rules of Perspective are directly inverted: fo that, confequently, if held in the fame Pofition with thofe Pictures which are drawn, according to the Rules of Perspective, it must present Nothing but Confufion and to be feen in Form, and under a regular Appearance, it must be look'd upon from a contrary Station: or, as Shakespeare fays, ey'd awry. Thefe kind of Pictures are now very common; but not so, I believe, in our Author's Time, tho' he fo well understood their Nature. Mr. Warburton,

B:5

Makes