Bus.
Madam, your majesty is too much ^note sad:
You promis'd, when you parted with the king,

To lay aside life-harming ^note heaviness,
And entertain a chearful disposition.

Que.
To please the king, I did; to please myself,
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 towards me; and my inward soul
With nothing trembles, yet at something grieves ^note,
More than with parting from my lord the king.

Bus.
Each substance14Q0582 of a grief hath ^note twenty shadows,
Which shew like grief itself, but are not ^note so:
For sorrow's eye ^note, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perspectives, which, wrily ^note gaz'd upon,
Shew nothing but confusion, ey'd aright, ^note
Distinguish ^note form: so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds ^note shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which, look'd on as they are, are ^note nought but shadows
Of what they are not ^note. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not; more's not seen:
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye ^note,
Which, for things true, weeps ^note things imaginary.

Que.
It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me, it is otherwise: Howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad,
As though ^{note note}, in thinking, on no thought I think,
'T makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

Bus.
'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

Que.
'Tis nothing less: conceit it still deriv'd

From some fore-father grief; mine is not so; ^note
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.

Gre.
God save ^note your majesty!—and well met, gentlemen:—
I hope, the king is not yet ship'd for Ireland.

Que.
Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope, he is;
For his design craves ^note haste, his haste ^note good hope;
Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not ship'd?

Gre.
That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power,
And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land:
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
At Ravenspurg.

Que.
Now God in heaven forbid!

Gre.
Ah, madam ^note, 'tis too true: and that is worse,—
The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry ^note,
The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

Bus.
Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland,
And all ^note the rest of the revolting ^note faction,
Traitors?

Gre.
We have: whereon ^note the earl of Worcester
Hath broke his ^note staff, resign'd his stewardship,
And all the houshold servants fled with him. ^note

Que.
So, Green, thou art the midwife to my ^note woe,
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;

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

Bus.
Despair not, madam.

Que.
Who shall hinder me?
I will despair, and be at enmity
With coz'ning hope ^note; he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper-back of death;
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false hope lingers ^note in extremity. Enter York.

Gre.
Here comes the duke of York.

Que.
With signs of war about his aged neck;
O, full of careful business are his looks!—
Uncle, for God's ^note sake, comfortable ^note words.

Yor.
Comfort's in heaven;14Q0583 and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives, but crosses, care ^note, and grief.
Your husband he is gone to save far off,
Whilst others come to make him lose ^note at home:
Here am I left to underprop his land,
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:—
Now comes the sick ^note hour that his surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Enter a Servant.

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

Yor.
He was?—Why, so! go all which way it will!
The nobles they are fled, the commons cold ^note,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.—
Sirrah,
Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster;
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:—
Hold, take my † ring.

Ser.
My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship:

To-day, as I came by, I called ^note there;—
But I shall grieve you, to report the rest.

Yor.
What is it, knave?

Ser.
An hour before I came, the dutchess dy'd.

Yor.
God for ^note his mercy! what a tide of woes
Comes ^note rushing on this woful land at once!
I know not what to do:—I would to God,
(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 ^note dispatch'd for Ireland?—
How shall we do for money for these wars?—
Come, sister,—cousin, I would say; pray, pardon me.—
Go, fellow ^note, [to the Ser.] get thee home, provide some carts,
And bring away the armour that is there.—
Gentlemen, will you muster ^note men? if I know
How, or which way, to order these affairs
Thus most disorderly thrust into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen;—
Th' one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th' other again,
He is my kinsman, 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,14Q0584
And meet me presently at Berkley ^note, gentlemen.—
I should to Plashy too;—
But time will not permit: All is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven. [Exeunt York, and Queen.

Bus.
The wind sits fair for news to go to ^note Ireland,
But none returns. For us to levy power,
Proportionable to the enemy,

Is all unpossible ^note.

Gre.
Besides, our nearness to the king in love,
Is near the hate of those love not the king.

Bag.
And that's the wavering commons: for their love
Lies in their purses; and whoso empties ^note them,
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

Bus.
Wherein ^note the king stands generally condemn'd.

Bag.
If judgment lye in them, then so do we,
Because we ever have been ^note near the king.

Gre.
Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol castle;
The earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Bus.
Thither will I with you: for little office
The hateful commons will ^note perform for us;
Except, like curs, to tear us all in pieces ^note.—
Will you go along with us?

Bag.
No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty.
Farewel: if heart's presages be not vain,
We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again.

Bus.
That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

Bag.
Alas ^note, poor duke! the task he undertakes
Is—numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry;
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
Farewel ^note at once, for once, for all, and ever.

Bus. ^note
Well, we ^note may meet again.

Bag.
I fear me, never. [Exeunt.

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