Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

K. Rich. Think what you will, we seize into our hands

His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.

York. I'll not be by, the while; my Liege, farewel: What will enfue hereof, there's none can tell. Bit by bad courfes may be understood, That their events can never fall out good.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Go, Bufhy, to the Earl of Wiltshire ftraight,

Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,

To fee this bufinefs done. To-morrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow...
And we create, in abfence of ourfelf,
Our uncle York Lord-governor of England,
For he is juft, and always lov'd us well.
Come on, our Queen; to-morrow must we part;
Be merry, for our time of Stay is fhort.

[Flourish. [Exeunt King, Queen, &c.

SCENE IV.

Manent Northumberland, Willoughby, and Rofs.

North. Well, Lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. Refs. And living too, for now his fon is Duke. Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.

North. Richly in both, if juftice had her right. Rofs. My heart is great; but it must break with filence,

Ere't be difburden'd with a lib'ral tongue.

North. Nay, fpeak thy mind; and let him ne'er fpeak more,

That fpeaks thy words again to do thee harm.
Willo. Tends, what you'd fpeak, to the Duke of
Hereford?

If it be fo, out with it boldly, man:

Quick is mine ear to hear of good tow'rds him.
Ref. No good at all that I can do for him,

Unless you call it good to pity him,

Bereft

Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

"North. Now, afore heav'n, it's fhame, fuch wrongs

are borne

In him a royal Prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining Land;
The King is not himself, but bafely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform
Merely in hate 'gainst any of us all,
That will the King feverely profecute

'Gainft us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. Refs. The Commons hath he pill'd with grievous Taxes,

And loft their hearts; the Nobles he hath fin'd
For ancient quarrels, and quite loft their hearts.
Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd;
As Blanks, Benevolences, I wot not what?
But what o' God's name doth become of this?
North. Wars have not wafted it, for warr'd he hath

not,

But bafely yielded upon compromise

That, which his Ancestors atchiev'd with blows;
More hath he fpent in peace, than they in wars.

Rofs. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the Realm in farm.
Willo. The King's grown bankrupt, like a broken

man.

North. Reproach, and diffolution, hangeth over him. Rofs. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke.

North. His noble Kinfman. Moft degenerate King! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempeft fing, Yet feek no fhelter to avoid the ftorm:

We fee the wind fit fore upon our fails,

I

' And yet we strike not, but fecurely perish.

Rofs. We fee the very wreck, that we must fuffer;

wind.

To ftrike the fails, is, to contract them when there is too much

And unavoided is the danger now,

For fuff'ring fo the caufes of our wreck.

North. Not fo; ev'n through the hollow eyes of Death Four I dare not fay,

I fpy life peering; but I dare not fay,

How near the tidings of our comfort is.

Willo. Nay, let us fhare thy thoughts, as thou dost

& ours.

Rofs. Be confident to fpeak, Northumberland We three are but thyself, and speaking fo," Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold. North. Then thus, my friends. I have from Port le Blanc,

A bay in Bretagne, had intelligence,

That Harry Hereford, Rainald lord Cobham,
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Rainfton,

Sir John Norberie, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
Coines,

All thefe, well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall fhips, three thoufand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And fhortly mean to touch our northern fhore;
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the King for Ireland.
If then we fhall fhake off our flavish yoak,
Imp out our drooping Country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking Pawn the blemish'd Crown,
Wipe off the duft that hides our Scepter's gilt,
And make high Majefty look like itself.
Away with me in poft to Ravenfpurgis por omi yardi
But if you faint, as fearing to do fo, At Mag bean ad bipor.
Stay, and be fecret, and myfelf will go,

demo ay Rofs. To horfe, to horfe; urge Doubts to them that

fear.

Willo. Hold out my horfe, and I will first be there.

Job od Enter Queen, Bufhy, and Bagot,

Busby. MAdam, your Majefty is much too fad :

You promis'd, when you parted with the
King,

To lay afide felf-harming heaviness,
And entertain a chearful difpofition.

Queen. To please the King, I did; to please myself, I cannot do it; yet I know no cause,

Why I should welcome fuch a guest as grief;
Save bidding farewel to fo fweet a Guest
As my fweet Richard. Yet again, methinks,
Some unborn forrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming tow'rd me; and my inward foul

With nothing trembles, at fomething it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the King.
Bufby. Each fubftance of a grief hath twenty fha-
dows,

Which fhew like grief itself, but are not fo:
For forrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
3 Like Perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,

Shew

The reading, which Dr. Warburton corrects, is itself an innovation. His conjecture gives indeed a better fenfe than that of any copy, but copies must not be needlefly forfaken. 9 bra

Like Perfpectives, which rightly gaz'd upon, Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry, blur!

Diftinguish form.] This is a fine fimilitude, and the thing D 3

meant

Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry
Diftinguifh form. So your fweet Majefty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds fhapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which look'd on, as it is, is nought but fhadows
Of what it is not; gracious Queen, then weep not
More than your lord's departure; more's not feen;
Or if it be, 'tis with falfe forrow's eye,"
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.
Queen. It may be fo; but yet my inward foul
Perfuades me otherwife. Howe'er it be,
I cannot but be fad; fo heavy-fad,

*As, though, on thinking, on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. Bufhy.Tis nothing but Conceit, my gracious lady. Queen. 'Tis nothing lefs; Conceit is ftill deriv'd From fome fore-father grief; mine is not fo; 5 For nothing hath begot my fomething grief;

Or

felt, is here very forcibly defcribed.

5 For nothing hath begot my fomething grief;

Or Jomething bath, the nothing that I grieve.]

With thefe lines I know not well what can be done. The Queen's reafoning, as it now ftands, is this. My trouble is not conceit, for conceit is fill derived from fome antecedent caufe, fome forefather grief; but with me the cafe is, that either my real grief hath no real caufe, or fome real caufe has produced a fancy'd grief. That is, my grief is not conceit, because it either has not a caufe like conceit, or it has a caufe like conceit. This can hardly stand. Let us try again, and read thus: For nothing bath begot my fomething grief; Not