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.]