death. More welcome is the stroke of death to me Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls And plague injustice with the pains of hell. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd. Uncle, you say the queen is at your house; For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated: Tell her I send to her my kind commends; Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd With letters of your love to her at large. Thank, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away. To fight with Glendower and his complices: Awhile to work, and after holiday. Barkloughly castle call they this at hand? Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air, After your late tossing on the breaking seas? Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy To stand upon my kingdom once again. Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs: As a long-parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting, So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favours with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense; But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way, Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet Which with usurping steps do trample thee: Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords: This earth shall have a feeling and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you king Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. The means that heaven yields must be embraced, And not neglected; else, if heaven would, And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse, The proffer'd means of succor and redress. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great in substance and in power. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not That when the searching eye of heaven is hid, Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen In murders and in outrage, boldly here; But when from under this terrestrial ball He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines