Boling.
How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?

North.
I am a stranger here in Glo'stershire:
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome:
And yet your fair discourse has been as sugar,

Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way,
From Ravenspurg to Cotshold, will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your Company;
Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd
The tediousness and process of my travel:
But theirs is sweetned with the hope to have
The present benefit that I possess:
And hope to joy, is little less in joy,
Than hope enjoy'd. By this, the weary lords
Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done,
By sight of what I have, your noble company.

Boling.
Of much less value is my company,
Than your good words: but who comes here? Enter Percy.

North.
It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester: whencesoever,
Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy.
I thought, my lord, t'have learn'd his health of you,

North.
Why, is he not with the Queen?

Percy.
No, my good lord, he hath forsook the Court,
Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd
The Houshold of the King.

North.
What was his reason?
He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake together.

Percy.
Because your lordship was proclaimed Traitor.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg,
To offer service to the Duke of Hereford;
And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover
What Pow'r the Duke of York had levy'd there;
Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurg.

North.
Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?

Percy.
No, my good lord; for that is not forgot,
Which ne'er I did remember; to my knowledge,
I never in my life did look on him.

North.
Then learn to know him now; this is the Duke.

Percy.
My gracious lord, I tender you my service,
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,
Which elder days shall ripen and confirm
To more approved service and desert.

Boling.
I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure,
I count my self in nothing else so happy,
As in a soul remembring my good friends;
And as my Fortune ripens with thy love,
It shall be still thy true love's recompence.
My heart this cov'nant makes, my hand thus seals it.

North.
How far is it to Berkley? and what stir
Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

Percy.
There stands the Castle by yond tuft of trees,
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard;
And in it are the lords, York, Berkley, Seymour;
None else of name, and noble estimate. Enter Ross and Willoughby.

North.
Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby,
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

Boling.
Welcome, my lords; I wot, your love pursues
A banish'd traitor; all my Treasury
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd,
Shall be your love and labour's recompence.

Ross.
Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

Willo.
And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

Boling.
Evermore, thanks;—(th' exchequer of the poor)
Which, 'till my infant-fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. But who now comes here? Enter Berkley.

North.
It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess.

Berk.
My lord of Hereford, my message is to you.

Boling.
My lord, my answer is to Lancaster;
And I am come to seek that Name in England,

And I must find that Title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you say.

Berk.
Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning
To raze one Title of your honour out.
To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,)
From the most glorious of this Land,
The Duke of York, to know, what pricks you on
To take advantage of ^{6 note}the absent time,
And fright our native peace with self-born arms.

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