Green.
Here comes the Duke of York.

Queen.
With signs of war about his aged neck;
Oh, full of careful business are his looks!
Uncle, for heav'n's sake, comfortable words.

York.
Should I do so, I should bely my thoughts;

Comfort's in heav'n, and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives but Crosses, Care, 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 this Land;
Who, weak with age, cannot support my self.
Now comes the sick hour, that his surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends, that flatter'd him. Enter a Servant.

Serv.
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 cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
Get thee to Plashie,^{8 note} to my sister Glo'ster;
Bid her send presently a thousand pound:
Hold, take my ring.

Serv.
My lord, I had forgot
To tell, to day I came by, and call'd there;
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

York.
What is't?

Serv.
An hour before I came, the Dutchess dy'd.

York.
Heav'n for his mercy, what a tide of woes
Come rushing on this woful land at once!
I know not what to do. I would to heav'n,
So my * ^noteuntruth had not provok'd him to it,
The King had cut off my head with my brother's.
What, are there posts dispatch'd for Ireland?
How shall we do for mony for these wars?
Come, sister; cousin, I would say; pray, pardon me.—
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts, [To the Servant.
And bring away the armour that is there.
—Gentlemen, will you go and muster men?

If I know how to order these affairs,
Disorderly thus thrust into my hands,
Never believe me. They are both my kinsmen;
The one my Sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th' other again
My kinsman is, One 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.—Go muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkley castle—
I should to Plashie too;—
But time will not permit. All is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven. [Exeunt York and Queen.

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