Lan.
You're well encounterd here, my cousin Mowbray;
Good day to you, my gentle Lord Archbishop,
And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of York, I grieve to see you here.
That man that sits within a monarch's heart,
And ripens in the sun-shine of his favour,
Would he abuse the count'nance of the King,
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach,
In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop,
It is ev'n so. Are you not, my Lord,
To us, the Speaker in his Parliament:
To us, th' imagin'd voice of Heav'n itself;

The very opener and intelligencer,
Between the grace, the sanctities of heav'n,
And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
But you misuse the rev'rence of your place,
Employ the countenance and grace of heav'n,
As a false favourite doth his Prince's name,
In deeds dishon'rable? You've taken up,
Under the counterfeited zeal of heav'n,
The subjects of his substitute, my father;
And both against the peace of heav'n and him,
Have here upswarm'd them.

York.
Good my Lord of Lancaster,
I am not here against your father's peace:
But, as I told my Lord of Westmorland,
The time mis-order'd doth in common sense
Croud us and crush us to this monstrous form,
To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace
The parcels and particulars of our grief,
The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court:
Whereon this Hydra son of war is born,
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep,
With grant of our most just and right desire;
And true obedience, of this madness cur'd,
Stoop tamely to the foot of Majesty.

Mowb.
If not, we ready are to try our fortunes,
To the last man.

Hast.
And though we here fall down,
We have supplies to second our attempt:
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them.
And so success of mischief shall be borne,
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up,
While England shall have generation.

Lan.
You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow,
To sound the bottom of the after-times.

West.
Pleaseth your Grace, to answer them directly,
How far forth you do like their articles?

Lan.
I like them all, and do allow them well:
And swear here, by the honour of my blood,
My father's purposes have been mistook,
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning and authority.

My Lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd;
Upon my life they shall. If this may please you,
Discharge your pow'rs into their several counties,
As we will ours; and here between the armies
Let's drink together friendly, and embrace;
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home,
Of our restored love and amity. Some wine.

York.
I take your Princely word, for these redresses.

Lan.
I give it you; and will maintain my word;
And thereupon I drink unto your Grace. [Drinks.

Hast.
Go, captain, and deliver to the army
This news of peace; let them have pay, and part:
I know it will well please them. Hie thee, captain. [Exit Colevile.

York.
To you, my noble Lord of Westmorland. [Drinks.

West.
I pledge your Grace: and if you knew what pains
I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace,
You would drink freely; but my love to ye
Shall shew itself more openly, hereafter.

York.
I do not doubt you.

West.
I am glad of it.
Health to my Lord and gentle cousin Mowbray.

Mowb.
You wish me health in very happy season,
For I am on the sudden something ill.

York.
Against ill chances men are ever merry,
But heaviness fore-runs the good event.
Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.

Mowb.
So much the worse, if your own rule be true. [A Shout.

Lan.
The word of peace is render'd; hark! they shout.

Mowb.
This had been chearful, after victory.

York.
A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
For then both parties nobly are subdu'd,
And neither party loser* ^note.

Lan.
Go, my Lord.
And let our army be discharged too; [Exit West.
And good my Lord, so please you, let our trains
March by us, that we may peruse the men
We should have cop'd withal.

York.
Go, good Lord Hastings:
And ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. [Exit Hastings.

Previous section

Next section