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Changes to a forest in Yorkshire.
Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, Hastings, and

Colevile.
York. Hat is this forest call'd?

Hast. 'Tis Gaultree forest.
York. Here stand, my Lords, and send discoverers
To know the numbers of our enemies, [forth,

Haft. We have sent forth already.
York. 'Tis well done.
My friends and brethren in these

great affairs,
I must acquaint you, that I have receiv'd
New-dated letters from Northumberland ;
Their cold intent, tenor, and substance thus:
Here doth he wilh his person, with such powers
As might hold fortance with his quality;
Thę which he could not levy; whereupon
He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes,
To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers,
That your attempts may over-live the hazard
And fearful meetings of their opposite.

Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch And dash themselves to pieces.

[ground, Enter a Messenger. Hajt. Now, what news?

Mes West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, In goodly form conies on the enemy : And by the ground they hide, I judge their number Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand.

Mowb. The just proportion that we gave them out. Let us way on, and face them in the field.

SCENE II. Enter Westmorland. York. What well-appointed leader fronts us here? Mowb. I think it is my Lord of Westmorland.

Weft. Health and fair greeting from our general, The Prince, Lord John, and Duke of Lancaster. York. Say on, my Lord of Westmorland, in peace: VOL. IV. Dd

What

What doth concern your coming ?

· Weft. Then, my Lord, Unto your

Grace do I in chief address The substance of my speech. If that rebellion Came like itself, in base and abject routs, Led on by heady youth, goaded with rage, And countenance'd by boys and beggary; I say, if damn'd commotion fo appear'd In his true, native, and most proper fhape, You, reverend father, and these Noble Lords, Had not been here to dress the ugly form Of base and bloody insurrection With your fair honours. You, my Lord Archbishop, Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd, Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch’d, Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutorid; Whose white investments figure innocence, . The dove and very blessed Spirit of peace ; Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself, Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace, Into the harsh and boilt'rous tongue of war Turning your books to glaves, your ink to blood, Your pens to faunces, and your tongue divine * To a loud trumpet and a point of war?

York. Wherefore do I this ? fo the question stands. Briefly, to this end: we are all diseas'd, And with our surfeiting and wanton hours, Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, And we must bleed for it: of which disease Our late King Richard being infected, dy'd. But, my molt Noble Lord of Westmorland, I take not on me here as a physician : Nor do I, as an enemy to peace, Troop in the throngs of military men: But rather shew a while like fearful war, To dict rank minds, fick of happiness; And purge th' obitructions which begin to stop Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly, I have in equal balance juftly weigh'd What wrongs ourarms may do, what wrongs we suffer; sind find our griefs heavier than our offences.

* i. e, preaching in the mecknifs of the gospel,

We

We fee which way the stream of time doth run,
And are inforce'd from our most quiet sphere,
By the rough torrent of occasion;
And have the summary of all our griefs,
When time shall serve, to thew in articles ;
Which long ere this we offer'd to the King,
And might by no suit gain our audience.
When we are wrong’d, and would unfold our griefs,
We are deny'd access unto his person,
Ev'n by those men that most have done us wrong.
The danger of the days but newly gone,
(Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet-appearing blood), and the examples
Of every minute's instance, present now,
Have put us in these il1-beseeming arms:
Not to break peace, or any branch of it;
But to establish here a peace indeed,
Concurring both in name and quality.

Weft. When ever yet was your appeal deny'd ?
Wherein have you been galled by the King?
What Peer hath been suborn’d to grate on you,
That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forge'd rebellion with a feal divine,
And consecrate Commotion's civil edge?

York. My brother general, the commonwealth,
To brother born an houshold-cruelty,
I make my quarrel in particular.

West. There is no need of any such redress;
Or if there were, it not belongs to you.

Mowb. Why not to him in part, and to us all,
That feel the bruises of the days before;
And suffer the condition of thefe times
To lay an heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honours ?

Weft. O my good Lord Mowbray,
Construe the times to their neceflities,
And you shall say indeed it is the time,
And not the King, that doth you injuries.
Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,
Or from the King, or in the present time,
That
you

should have an inch of any ground To build a grief on. Were you not restor’d Dd 2

To

To all the Duke of Norfolk's seigniories,
Your noble and right-well-remember'd father?

Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father lost,
That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me?
The King, that lov'd him, as the state stood then,
Was, force perforce, compellid to banish him.
And then, when Harry Bolingbroke and he
Being mounted, and both roused in their seats,
Their neighing coursers daring of the fpur,
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
Their eyes of fire sparkling through fights of steel,
And the loud trumpet blowing them together;
Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke;
0, when the King did throw his warder down,
His ow

life hung upon the staff he threw;
Then threw he down himself, and all their lives,
That by indictment, or by dint of sword,
Have fince miscarried under Bolingbroke.

West. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now, you know
The Earl of Hereford was reputed then [not what.
In England the most valiant gentleman.
Who knows on whom Fortune would then have smil'd?
But if

your father had been victor there, He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry; For all the country in a general voice Cry'd hate upon him; all their prayers and love Were set on Hereford, whom they doated on, And bless’d, and grace’d, indeed, more than the King. But this is mere digression from my purpose. Here come I from our princely General, To know your griefs; to tell you from his Grace, That he will give you audience; and wherein It shall appear that your demands are jutt, You shall enjoy them; every thing set off, That might so much as think you enemies.

Mowb. But he hath force'd us to compel this offer, And it proceeds from policy, not love.

Weft. Mowbray, you over-ween to take it so :
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear,
For, lo! within a ken, our army lies;
Upon mine honour, all too confident

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To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
"Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best ;
Then reason wills our hearts should be as good.
Say you not then, our offer is compellid.

Mowb. Well; by my will, we shall admit no parley,
West. That

argues
but the shame of

your

offence : rotten case abides no handling.

Haft. Hath the Prince John a full commission,
In very ample virtue of his father,
To hear and absolutely to determine
Of what conditions we shall stand

Weft. That is intended in the General's name :
I muse you make so flight a question.

York. Then take, my Lord of Westmorland, this
For this contains our general grievances: schedule,
Each several article herein redress’d,
All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are insinew'd to this action,
Acquitted by a true substantial form;
And present executions of our wills
To us, and to our properties, confind;
We come within our lawful banks again,
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.

West. This will I show the General.
In light of both our battles, we may meet; [Lords,
And either end in peace, (which Heav'n fo frame !),
Or to the place of difference call the swords,
Which must decide it.
York. My Lord, we will do so.

[Exit Weft.
S CE N E III.
Alow). There is a thing within my bosom tells me,
That no conditions of our peace can stand.

Haft. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace
Upon fuch large terms, and so abfolute,
As our conditions shall insist upon,
Our

peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains..
Mow). Ay, but our valuation shall be such,
That ev'ry flight and false-deriv'd cause,
Yea, ev'ry idle, nice and wanton reason,

Shall

Please you,

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