The Tragedy of King Richard II, William Shakespeare [most inspirational books of all time TXT] 📗

for these Irish wars,
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
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 wrack that we must suffer;
And unavoided is the danger now,
For suffering so the causes of our wrack.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
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.

WILLOUGHBY.
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.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay
In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence
That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,
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 Britaine,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And shortly 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 slavish yoke,
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt,
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay and be secret, and myself will go.

ROSS.
To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.

WILLOUGHBY.
Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

[Exeunt.]


SCENE II. The Same. A Room in the Castle.

[Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT.]

BUSHY.
Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.
You promis'd, when you parted with the king,
To lay aside life-harming heaviness,
And entertain a cheerful disposition.

QUEEN.
To please the King, I did; to please myself
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,
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;
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,
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;
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 s,ad
As, though in 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,
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.

[Enter GREEN.]

GREEN.
God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
I hope the King is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.

QUEEN.
Why hop'st 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?

GREEN.
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
At Ravenspurgh.

QUEEN.
Now God in heaven forbid!

GREEN.
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.

BUSHY.
Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland
And all the rest revolted faction traitors?

GREEN.
We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him
To Bolingbroke.

QUEEN.
So, Green, 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,
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,
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.
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,
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.]

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 they are cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;
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.

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, -
So my untruth had not provok'd him to it, -
The king had cut off my head 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. -
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 disorderly thrust into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen:
T'one is 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. Gentlemen, go muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkeley Castle.
I should to Plashy too:
But time will not permit. All is uneven,
And everything 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 unpossible.

GREEN.
Besides, our nearness to the king in love
Is near the hate of those love not the king.

BAGOT.
And that is the wavering commons; for their love
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 will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle.
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

BUSHY.
Thither will I with you; for little office
Will the hateful commons 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.
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.

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.
Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever.

BUSHY.
Well, we may meet again.

BAGOT.
I fear me, never.

[Exeunt.]


SCENE III. The Wolds in Gloucestershire.

[Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces.]

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;
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 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.

BOLINGBROKE.
Of much less value is my company
Than your good words. But who comes here?

[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?

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.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,
To offer service to the Duke of Hereford;
And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover
What power the Duke of York had levied there;
Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
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.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
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