and Queen.]

York

Queen

 BUSHY. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible. 

 GREEN. Besides, our nearness to the King in love Is near the hate of those love not the King. 

 BAGOT. And that is the wavering commons, for their love Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. 

 BUSHY. Wherein the King stands generally condemned. 

 BAGOT. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the King. 

 GREEN. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle. The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. 

 BUSHY. Thither will I with you, for little office Will the hateful commons perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? 

 BAGOT. No, I will to Ireland to his Majesty. Farewell. If heart’s presages be not vain, We three here part that ne’er shall meet again. 

 BUSHY. That’s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. 

 GREEN. Alas, poor Duke! The task he undertakes Is numb’ring sands and drinking oceans dry. Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. 

 BUSHY. Well, we may meet again. 

 BAGOT. I fear me, never. 

 [Exeunt.]

 SCENE III. The Wolds in Gloucestershire.

 Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland with Forces.

Bolingbroke

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