West.
Health and fair greeting from our General,
The Prince, Lord John, and Duke of Lancaster.

York.
Say on, my Lord of Westmorland, in peace:
What doth concern your coming?

West.
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 bloody youth, goaded with rage,
And countenanc'd by boys and beggary;
I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd,
In his true, native, and most proper shape,
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;* ^note




Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself,
Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war?

York.
Wherefore do I this? so 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 most 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:
Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
We have the summary of all our griefs,
When time shall serve, to shew 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† ^note.

West.
When ever yet was your appeal deny'd?
Wherein have you been galled by 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 just,

You shall enjoy them; every thing set off
That might so much as think you enemies.

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

West.
That argues but the shame of your offence:
A rotten case abides no handling.

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

West.
This will I shew the General. Please you, Lords,
In sight of both our battles, we may meet
And either end in peace; which heav'n so frame!
Or to the place of difference call the swords,
Which must decide it.

York.
My Lord, we will do so. [Exit West.

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