Bushy.
Madam, your Majesty is much too sad:
You promis'd, when you parted with the King,
To lay aside self-harming heaviness,
And entertain a chearful disposition.

Queen.
To please the King, I did; to please my self,
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause,
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief;
Save bidding farewel to so sweet a Guest
As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks,
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming tow'rd me; and my inward soul

With nothing trembles, yet at something grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the King.

Bushy.
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
Which shew like grief it self, but are not so:
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire, to many objects;
Like Perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,(8) ^note

Queen.
It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me otherwise: how-e'er it be,
I cannot but be sad; so heavy-sad,

As, though, on thinking, on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

Bushy.
'Tis nothing but Conceit, my gracious lady.

Queen.
'Tis nothing less; Conceit is still deriv'd
From some fore-father grief; mine is not so;
For nothing hath begot my something grief;
Or something hath, the nothing that I grieve;
'Tis in reversion That I do possess;
But what it is, that is not yet known, what
I cannot name, 'tis nameless woe, I wot. Enter Green.

Green.
Heav'n save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
I hope, the King is not yet shipt for Ireland.

Queen.
Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope, he is:
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope:
Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipt?

Green.
That he, our hope, might have retir'd his Power;
And driv'n into despair an enemy's Hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this Land.
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself;
And with up-lifted arms is safe arriv'd
At Ravenspurg.

Queen.
Now God in heav'n forbid!

Green.
O, Madam, 'tis too true; and what is worse,
The lord Northumberland, his young son Percy,
The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their pow'rful friends, are fled to him.

Bushy.
Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland,
And all of that revolted faction, traitors?

Green.
We have: whereon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his Stewardship;
And all the houshold servants fled with him
To Bolingbroke.

Queen.
So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe,
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,

And I, a gasping new-delivered mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.

Bushy.
Despair not, Madam.

Queen.
Who shall hinder me?
I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper back of death,
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false hopes linger, in extremity. Enter York.

Green.
Here comes the Duke of York.

Queen.
With signs of war about his aged neck;
Oh, full of careful business are his looks!
Uncle, for heav'n's sake, comfortable words.

York.
Should I do so, I should bely my thoughts;
Comfort's in heav'n, and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives but Crosses, Care, and Grief.
Your husband he is gone to save far off,
Whilst others come to make him lose at home.
Here am I left to underprop his Land;
Who, weak with age, cannot support my self.
Now comes the sick hour, that his surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends, that flatter'd him. Enter a Servant.

Serv.
My lord, your son was gone before I came.

York.
He was; why, so, go all, which way it will:
The Nobles they are fled, the Commons cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
Get thee to Plashie,(9) ^note to my sister Glo'ster;
Bid her send presently a thousand pound:
Hold, take my ring.

Serv.
My lord, I had forgot
To tell, to day I came by, and call'd there;
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

York.
What is't?

Serv.
An hour before I came, the Dutchess dy'd.

York.
Heav'n for his mercy, what a tide of woes
Come rushing on this woful land at once!
I know not what to do: I would to heav'n,
(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it)
The King had cut off my head with my brother's.
What, are there Posts dispatch'd for Ireland?
How shall we do for mony for these wars?
Come, sister; (cousin, I would say;) pray, pardon me.
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts, [To the Servant.
And bring away the armour that is there.
Gentlemen, will you go and muster men?
If I know how to order these affairs,
Disorderly thus thrust into my hands,
Never believe me. They are both my kinsmen;
The one my Soveraign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th'other again
My kinsman is, One whom the King hath wrong'd;
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must do: come, cousin, I'll
Dispose of you. Go muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Barkley castle:
I should to Plashie too;—
But time will not permit. All is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven. [Exeunt York and 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 impossible.

Green.
Besides, our Nearness to the King in Love
Is near the Hate of those, love not the King.

Bagot.
And that's the wav'ring Commons, for their love
Lies in their purses; and who empties them,
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

Bushy.
Wherein the King stands gen'rally condemn'd.

Bagot.
If judgment lye in them, then so do we;
Because we have been ever near the King.

Green.
Well; I'll for Refuge strait to Bristol-castle;
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Bushy.
Thither will I with you; for little office
The hateful Commons will perform for us;
Except, like curs, to tear us all in pieces:
Will you go with us?

Bagot.
No: I'll to Ireland to his Majesty.
Farewel: if hearts 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 flye.

Bushy.
Farewel at once, for once, for all, and ever.

Green.
Well, we may meet again.

Bagot.
I fear me, never. [Exeunt.

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