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42  Green. Well, I'll 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 numbering 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.

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

North. Believe me, noble lord,

I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire:

These high wild hills and rough uneven ways

Draws out our miles and makes them wearisome;

But yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,

Making the hard way sweet and delectable.

But I bethink me what a weary way

