University of Virginia Library

A Chamber.
Gaunt Sick, to him York.
York.

Now Brother, what cheer?

Gaunt.

Why well, 'tis with me as old Gaunt cou'd wish.

York.

What, Harry sticks with you still; well I hear he's safe in
France and very busie.

Gaunt.

My Blood were never Idle.

York.

I fear too busie; come, he's a par'lous Boy, I smell a confed'racy
betwixt him and his Companions here, Mischief will come
on't, cut him off I say; Let him be Kites-meat—I would hang
a Son, to kill a Traytor.

Gaunt.
Go sleep good York and wake with better thoughts.

York.
Heav'n grant we sleep not all 'till Alarums wake us.

I tell you Brother I lik'd not the manner of his departure, 'twas the
very smooth smiling Face of Infant Rebellion; with what familiar
Courtesie did he caress the Rabble?

What reverence did he throw away on Slaves?
Off goes his Bonnet to an Oysterwench,
A Brace of Dray-men bid God speed him well
And had the Tribute of his supple knee,
Then shakes a Shoo-maker by the waxt Thumbs,
With thanks my Country-men, my Friends, my Brothers,
Then comes a Peal of sighs wou'd knock a Church down,
Roguery, mechanick Roguery! rank Treason,

Gaunt.
My sickness grows upon me, set me higher.

York.

Villany takes its time, all goes worse and worse in Ireland,
Rebellion is there on the Wing, and here in the Egg; yet still
the Court dances after the French Pipe, Eternal Apes of Vanity:
Mutiny stirring, Discipline asleep, Knaves in Office, all's wrong;
make much of your Sickness Brother: if it be Mortal, 'tis worth a
Duke-dome.

Gaunt.
How happy Heav'n were my approaching death
Cou'd my last words prevail upon the King,
Whose easie gentle Nature has expos'd
His unexperienc'd Youth to flatterers frauds;
Yet at this hour, I hope to bend his Ear
To Councel, for the Tongues of dying men
Enforce attention like deep Harmony:
Where words are scarce, th'are seldom spent in Vain,
For they breath Truth, that breath their Words in Pain.

Enter King, Queen, Northumberland, Ross, Willoughby, Piercye, &c. With Guards and Attendants.
Queen.
How fares our Noble Uncle Lancaster?

King.
How is't with aged Gaunt?

Gaunt.
Ag'd as your Highness says, and Gaunt indeed.
Gaunt, as a Grave whose Womb holds nought but Bones,

King.
Can sick men play so nicely with their Names?

Gaunt.
Since thou dost seek to kill my Name in me,
I mock my Name great King to flatter thee.

King.
Should dying men then, flatter those that Live?

Gaunt.
No, no, Men living flatter those that dye.

King.
Thou now a dying sayst, thou flatter'st me.

Gaunt.
Oh! no, Thou dyest though I the sicker am,

King.
I am in health breath, free but see thee ill

Gaunt.
Now he that made me knows I see thee ill.
Thy death-bed is no less than the whole Land,
Whereon thou ly'st in Reputation sick.
Yet hurri'd on by a malignant fate
Commit'st thy annoynted Body to the Cure
Of those Physitians that first Poyson'd thee!
Upon thy Youth a Swarm of flatterers hang
And with their fulsome weight are daily found
To bend thy yielding Glories to the ground.

King.
Judge Heav'n how poor a thing is Majesty,
Be thou thy self the Judge, when thou sick Wight
Presuming on an Agues Priviledge
Dar'st with thy Frozen admonition,
Make pale our Cheek, but I excuse thy weakness.

Gaunt.
Think not the Ryot of your Court can last,
Tho fed with the dear Life blood of your Realms;
For vanity at last preys of it self.
This Earth of Majesty, this seat of Mars,
This Fortress built by Nature in the Floods,
Whose Rocky shores beat back the foaming Sedge,
This England Conqu'rour of the Neighbring Lands,
Makes now a shameful Conquest on it self.

York.
Now will I stake (my Liege) my Soul upon't;
Old Gaunt is hearty in his wishes for you,
And what he speaks, is out of honest Zeal,
And tho thy Anger prove to me as Mortal,
As is to him this sickness, yet blunt York
Must Eccho to his words and cry,
Thou art abus'd and flatter'd.

King.
Gentle Uncle,
Excuse the sallies of my youthful Blood,
I know y'are Loyal both and mean us well,
Nor shall we be unmindful to redress,
(However difficult) our States corruption,
And purge the Vanities that Crown'd our Court.

Gaunt.
My gracious Liege your Pardon, this bold duty,
Was all that stood betwixt my Grave and me,
Your Sycophants bred from your Child-hood with you,
Have such advantage had to work upon you,
That scarce your failings can be call'd your faults;
Now to Heav'ns care and your own Piety,
I leave my sacred Lord, and may you have
In life that peace that waits me in the Grave.

King.
Thanks my good Uncle, bear him to his Bed,
[Exit Gaunt.
Attend him well, and if a Princes Prayers
Have more than common interest with Heav'n,
Our Realm shall yet enjoy his honest Councel.
And now my Souldiers for our Irish Wars,
We must suppress these rough prevailing Kerns,
That live like Venom, where no Venom else
But only they have priviledg to live.
But first our Uncle Gaunt being indispos'd,
We do create his Brother both in Blood
And Loyalty our Uncle York,
Lord Governour of England, in our absence
Observe me Lords, and pay him that respect
You give our Royal Presence.

[Enter Northumberland.
North.
My Liege old Gaunt commends him to your Highness.

King.
What says our Uncle?

North.
Nothing; all is said.
His Tongue is now a stringless instrument,
But call'd on your lov'd name and blest you dying.

King.
The ripest fruit falls first and so doe's He,
His course is done, our Pilgrimage to come,
So much for that; return we to our War
And cause our Coffers with too great a Court
And liberal Largess, are grown somewhat Light:
Prest with this exigence, we for a time
Do seize on our dead Uncles large Revenues
In Herford's absence.

York.

O my Liege pardon me if you please, if not, I please not

to be pardon'd, spare to seize the Royalties and Rights of banisht
Herford, I fear already he's too apt t'engage against your Power,
and these proceedings will give countenance and growth to his
Designs, forbear to draw such Dangers on your Head.

King.
Be Heav'n our judge we mean him nothing fowl
But shortly will with interest restore
The Loan our sudden streights make necessary.—
Weep not my Love nor drown with boding Tears,
Our springing Conquest, bear our absence well,
Nor think that I have joy to part with Thee,
Tho never vacant Swain in silent Bowers,
Cou'd boast a passion so sincere as mine,
Yet where the int'rest of the Subject calls,
We wave the dearest Transports of our Love
Flying from Beauty' Arms to rugged War;
Conscience our first, and Thou our second Care.

[Exeunt.
Manent, Morthumberland, Piercy, Ross, Willoughby.
North.
Well Lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

Will.
And living too if Justice had her right,
For Herford then were more than a bare Name,
Who now succeeds departed Gaunt in nothing,
But in his mind's rich Virtues, the Kings pleas'd
To have occasion for his temporal wealth!
O my heart swells, but let it burst with silence,
Ere it be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.

Perc.
Now rot the tongue that scants a Subjects freedom,
Loosers at least are priviledgd to talk,
And who accounts not Herfords looss his own
Deserves not the esteem if Herford's friend.
There's none of us here present but did weep
At parting, and if there be any one
Whose tears are not converted now to fire
He is a Crocadile.

North.
The fate of Bullingbrook will soon be ours,
We hear the Tempest sing yet seek no shelter,
We see our wreck and yet securely perish,
A sure, but willful Fate—for had ye Spirits
But worthy to receive it, I cou'd say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.

Pierc.
Give us thy thoughts and rate 'em as thou wilt,
Here's Blood for'em, but point us to the veins
That hold the richest, we will empty those,
To purchase 'em.

North.
Hold generous Youth.
This gallantry unlocks my inmost Brest,
Seizing a secret dearer than my heart.
Attend me Lords, I have from Port le Blanc
This very day receiv'd intelligence,
That our wrong'd Herford with Lord Rainold Cobham,
Sir Thomas Arpingham, bold Sir John Rainston,
Sir Robert Waterton, Quaint, Norbery,
With eight tall Ships, three thousand men in Arms,
Design with speed to touch our Northern shore,
If then you have a spark of British glory,
To imp our drooping Countries broken Wing,
Joyn hands with me and post to Ravenspurg.

Ross.
Now business stirs and life is worth our while.

Will.
Nature her self of late hath broke her Order,
Then why should we continue our dull Round?
Rivers themselves refuse their wonted course,
Start wide or turn on their own Fountain heads;
Our Lawrels all are blasted, rambling Meteors
Affright the fixst inhabitants of Heav'n.
The pale fac't Moon looks bloody on the Earth,
And lean-lookt Prophets whisper dreadful change.

Pierc.
Away, let's post to th' North, and see for once
A Sun rise there; the glorious Bulling-brook.
For our Return will not pass a thought,
For if our Courtiers passage be withstood,
We'll make our selves a Sea and sail in Blood.

[Exeunt.
Enter Queen Attended.
Lady.
Despair not Madam.

Queen.
Who shall hinder me?
I will despair and be at enmity,
With flattering hope, he is a Couzener,
A Parasite, a keeper back of Death,
That wou'd dissolve at once our pain and Life,
Which lingring hope holds long upon the Rack;
Yet Murders at the last the cruel'st way.

Lady.
Here comes the Duke.

[Enter York and Servants.
Queen.
With signs of War about his aged neck,
And full of careful business are his looks.

York.

Death and confusion! oh!—set my Corsleet right, fetch
my commanding Sword: scour up the brown Bills, Arm, Arm,
Arm.

Queen.

Now Uncle for Heav'ns sake speak comfort.

York.

Comforts in Heav'n, and we are on the Earth, nothing but
crosses on this side of the Moon; my heart stews in Choller, I shall
dissolve to a Gelly. That your Husband shou'd have no more wit
than to go a Knight Erranting whilst Rogues seize all at home, and
that I shou'd have no more wit than to be his Deputy at such a proper
time: to undertake to support a crazy Government, that can
scarce carry my own Fat: Well Sirrah, have you given my Son
orders to strengthen his Forces? if he prove a Flincher too.—

Gent.
My Lord I know not how he stands affected,
Not well, I fear, because at my Arrival
He was withdrawn, at least pretended so
So that I cou'd not give him your Commands.

York.

Why so? go all which way it will, the Nobles are all fled,
and hide themselves like my ungracious Rascal, or else strike in
with the Rebels; the Commons find our Exchequer empty and
revolt too, and a blessed bargain I have on't.

Queen.
Alass my Bank and Jewels are dispos'd off
For the Kings wants already, and to wait
Till fresh recruits come from our Fathers Court,
I fear will lose our Cause.

York.
Get thee to Plashy to my Sister Gloster,
Her Coffers I am sure are strongly lin'd,
Bid her send me presently 50000. Nobles.
Hold—take my Ring, fly if thou lov'st thy Head.

Gent.
My Lord I had forgot to tell you that to day
Passing by there I was inform'd—
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

York.
What is't Knave?

Gent.
An hour before I came the Dutches Dy'd,
Her Son your Nephew ere her Blood was cold,
Makes all secure and flies to Bullingbrook.

York.

Death what a tide of woes break upon us at once. Perverse

Woman to take this time to Die in, and the varlet her Son
too to take this time to play the villain in: wou'd to Heav'n the
King had cut off my Head as he did my Brothers, Come Sister
—Couzen I would say, pray Pardon me, if I know how to order
these perplext Affairs, I am a Sturgeon. Gentlemen go Muster
up your Men, and meet me at Barkley Castle. I should to
Plashie too, but time will not suffer; the Wind's cross too, and
will let us hear nothing from Ireland, nor boots it much, if they
have no better News for us, than we have for them. All's wrong,
Oh! fie, hot! hot!

[Exeunt.