SCENE III. YORK. A ROOM IN THE ARCHBISHOP'S PALACE. Enter the Archbishop of York, the Lords Hastings, Mowbray, and Lord Bardolph. Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and known our means; And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms; Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file To five and twenty thousand men of choice; And our supplies live largely in the hope Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns With an incensed fire of injuries. L. Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, standeth thus; Whether our present five and twenty thousand L. Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point; But if without him we be thought too feeble, My judgment is, we should not step too far Till we had his assistance by the hand: For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this, Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted. Arch. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed, It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. L. Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply, Flattering himself with project of a power Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt, To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. L. Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war;Indeed the instant action, (a cause on foot,) Lives so in hope, as in an early spring We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit, What do we then, but draw anew the model To build at all? Much more, in this great work, (Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down, And set another up,) should we survey The plot of situation, and the model; Consent upon a sure foundation; Question surveyors; know our own estate, To weigh against his opposite; or else, Like one, that draws the model of a house Hast. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair birth,) Should be stillborn, and that we now possess'd I think, we are a body strong enough, Even as we are, to equal with the king. L. Bard. What! is the king but five and twenty thousand? Hast. To us, no more; nay, not so much, lord Bardolph. For his divisions, as the times do brawl, Are in three heads: one power against the French, And one against Glendower; perforce, a third Must take up us: So is the unfirm king In three divided; and his coffers sound With hollow poverty and emptiness. Arch. That he should draw his several strengths together, And come against us in full puissance, Need not be dreaded. Hast. If he should do so, He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh Baying him at the heels: never fear that. L. Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither? Hast. The duke of Lancaster, and Westmoreland: Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice. Arch. Let us on; And publish the occasion of our arms. The commonwealth is sick of their own choice, Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart. times? They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die, Are now become enamour'd on his grave: Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, When through proud London he came sighing on Cry'st now, O earth, give us that king again, on? Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be [Exeunt. gone. |