We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be

bold.

North. Then thus: - I have from Port lo

Blanc, a bay

i

In Britany, receiv'd intelligence,
That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham,
[The heir of the late Earl of Arundel,]
That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Fran-

cis Quoint,

All these, well furnish'd by the duke of Bre

tagne,

With eight tall ships, three thousand men of

war,

1

Are making hither with all due expedience,
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our
slavish yoke,
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter's gilt,
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg:
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.
Rofs. To horse! to horse! urge doubts to them

i

that fear.

:

Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be [Exeunt.]

there.

The same A Room in the Palace. Enter Queen, BUSHY, and BAGOT. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad:

You promis'd, when you parted with the king,
To lay aside life-harming heaviness,
And entertain a chearful disposition.

Queen. 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: at something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.
Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty

shadows,

Which shew like grief itself, 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,
Shew nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to

wail;

Which look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. 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,
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.
Queen. 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,

though, in 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.

and well

Green. God save your majesty! met, gentlemen: I hope, the king is not yet ship'd 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 ship'd? Green. 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.

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid!
Green. O, madam, 'tis too true: and that is

worse,

The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry

Percy,

The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Nor

thumberland,

And all the rest of the revolting faction

Traitors.

Green. We have: whereupon the earl of

Worcester

Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the houshold-servants fled with him

To Bolingbroke.

し

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my

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.

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 hope lingers in extremity.

Enter YORK.

Green. Here comes the duke of York.

Queen. With signs of war about his aged

neck;

:

O, full of careful business are his looks!
Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words.
York. Should I do so, I should bely my

1

thoughts:

Comfort's in heaven; 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 myself:
Now comes the sick 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,

i

York. He was? Why, so! - go all which

way it will!

The nobles they are fled, the commons they are

cold,

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 lord

ship:

To-day, as I came by, I called there
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
York. What is it, knave?

Ser. An hour before I came, the dutchess

died.

York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful 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 bro

ther's.

What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ire

land?

How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister, - cousin, I would say: pray, par

don me.

Go, fellow, [to the ser.] get thee home, provide

some carts,

And bring away the armour that is there.

[Exit serv.]

Gentlemen, will you go muster men? if I know
How, or which way, to order these affairs,
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen;
The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; the other again
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd;
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.