What will ensue hereof there’s none can tell.

But by bad courses may be understood

That their events can never fall out good.

Exit

KING RICHARD

Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight.

Bid him repair to us to Ely House

To see this business. Tomorrow next

We will for Ireland, and ’tis time, I trow.

And we create, in absence of ourself,

Our uncle York Lord Governor of England;

For he is just and always loved us well.—

Come on, our Queen; tomorrow must we part.

Be merry, for our time of stay is short.

⌈Flourish.⌉ Exeunt ⌈Bushy at one door; King Richard, the Queen, Aumerle, Green, and Bagot at another door⌉. Northumberland, Willoughby, and Ross remain

NORTHUMBERLAND

Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

ROSS

And living too, for now his son is Duke.

WILLOUGHBY

Barely in title, not in revenues.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Richly in both, if justice had her right.

ROSS

My heart is great, but it must break with silence

Ere’t be disburdened with a liberal tongue.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Nay, speak thy mind, and let him ne’er speak more

That speaks thy words again to do thee harm.

WILLOUGHBY

Tends that that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?

If it be so, out with it boldly, man.

Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.

ROSS

No good at all that I can do for him,

Unless you call it good to pity him,

Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Now afore God, ‘tis shame such wrongs are borne

In him, a royal prince, and many more

Of noble blood in this declining land.

The King is not himself, but basely led

By flatterers; and what they will inform

Merely in hate ’gainst any of us all,

That will the King severely prosecute

’Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

ROSS

The commons hath he pilled with grievous taxes,

And quite lost their hearts. The nobles hath he fined

For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

WILLOUGHBY

And daily new exactions are devised,

As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what.

But what, a’ God’s name, doth become of this?

NORTHUMBERLAND

Wars hath not wasted it; for warred he hath not,

But basely yielded upon compromise

That which his ancestors achieved with blows.

More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.

ROSS

The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

WILLOUGHBY

The King’s grown bankrupt like a broken man.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.

ROSS

He hath not money for these Irish wars,

His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,

But by the robbing of the banished Duke.

NORTHUMBERLAND

His noble kinsman. Most degenerate King!

But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,

Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm.

We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,

And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

ROSS

We see the very wreck that we must suffer,

And unavoided is the danger now

For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Not so: even through the hollow eyes of death

I spy life peering; but I dare not say

How near the tidings of our comfort is.

WILLOUGHBY

Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.

ROSS

Be confident to speak, Northumberland.

We three are but thyself, and, speaking so,

Thy words are but as thoughts. Therefore be bold.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Then thus. I have from Port le Blanc,

A bay in Brittaine, received intelligence

That Harry Duke of Hereford, Reinold Lord Cobham,

Thomas son and heir to the Earl of Arundel

That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,

His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,

Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Thomas Ramston,

Sir John Norbery,

Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Coint,

All these well furnished by the Duke of Brittaine

With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,

Are making hither with all due expedience,

And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.

Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay

The first departing of the King for Ireland.

If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,

Imp out our drooping country’s broken wing,

Redeem from broking pawn the blemished crown,

Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre’s gilt,

And make high majesty look like itself,

Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh.

But if you faint, as fearing to do so,

Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.

ROSS

To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.

WILLOUGHBY

Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

Exeunt

2.2 Enter the Queen, Bushy, and Bagot

BUSHY

Madam, your majesty is too much sad.

You promised when you parted with the King

To lay aside life-harming heaviness

And entertain a cheerful disposition.

QUEEN

To please the King I did; to please myself

I cannot do it. Yet I know no cause

Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,

Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest

As my sweet Richard. Yet again, methinks