Rofs. To horfe, to horfe! urge doubts to them that fear.
Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Court.

Enter Queen, Busby, and Bagot.

Busby. Madam, your majesty is much too fad :
You promis'd, when you parted with the king,
To lay afide life-harming heaviness,
And entertain a chearful difpofitión.

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 farewell to fo' sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: Yet again, methinks,
Some unborn forrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming toward me; and my inward foul
With nothing trembles: at fomething it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.

Bushy. Each fubftance of a grief hath twenty fhadows,
Which fhew like grief itself, but are not so:
For forrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
P Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry,
Diftinguish form: fo your fweet majefty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds fhapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;

• With nothing trembles :]-At what hath yet no existence. P Like perfpectives,]-Like pictures pafted on an indented board, which, if held in a dire pofition, nothing appears but confufion; if obliquely, you perceive the intended images.

Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but fhadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not; 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
Persuades me, it is otherwife: Howe'er it be,
I cannot but be fad; so heavy sad,

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

Busby. "Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
Queen. 'Tis nothing lefs: conceit is still deriv'd

From fome fore-father grief; mine is not fo;

For nothing hath begot my fomething grief; Or fomething hath the nothing that I grieve: ''Tis in reverfion that I do poffefs;

But what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

Enter Green.

Green. Heaven fave your majesty! - and well met, gentlemen :

I hope, the king is not yet fhip'd for Ireland.

Queen. Why hop'st thou fo? 'tis better hope, he is; For his defigns crave hafte, his hafte good hope; Then wherefore doft thou hope, he is not fhip'd? Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his And driven into defpair an enemy's hope,

power,

though, in thinking, on no thought I think,]-though I have not an idea of any distinct calamity.

For nothing bath, &c.]-Whether the cause of this my premature concern be real or imaginary, it can never be properly afcribed to conceit, whofe constant basis is fome paft occurrence.

• 'Tis in reverfion that I do poffefs ;-What I thus feverely anticipate is yet in embryo. tretir'd]-drawn back.

Who

u

Who ftrongly hath fet footing in this land:
The banish'd Bolingbroke " repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is fafe arriv'd
At Ravenfpurg.

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid !

Green. O, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse,The lord Northumberland, his young fon Henry, The lords of Rofs, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Busby. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland, And the rest of the revolted faction, traitors? Green. We have: whereupon the earl of Worcester Hath broke his ftaff, refign'd his stewardship, And all the houfhold fervants fled with him To Bolingbroke.

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe, And Bolingbroke my forrow's dismal heir:

Now hath my foul brought forth her prodigy;

And I, a gafping new-deliver'd mother,

Have woe to woe, forrow to forrow join'd.
Bushy. Despair not, madam.

Queen. Who fhall hinder me?

I will defpair, and be at enmity

With cozening hope: he is a flatterer,
A parafite, a keeper-back of death,

Who gently would diffolve the bands of life,
Which falfe hope lingers in extremity.

'Enter York.

Green. Here comes the duke of York.

Queen. With figns of war about his aged neck; Oh, full of careful business are his looks!

Uncle, for heaven's fake, speak comfortable words.

u

exile.

repeals himself,]-hath recalled himself, abrogated his fentence of

York.

York. Should I do fo, I fhould bely my thoughts:
Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives, but croffes, care, and grief.
Your husband he is gone to fave far off,

Whilst others come to make him lofe at home:
Here am I left to underprop his land;
Who, weak with age, cannot fupport myself:-
Now comes the fick hour that his furfeit made;
Now fhall he try his friends that flatter'd him.

Enter a Servant.

Ser. My lord, your fon was gone before I came. York. He was?—Why, fo!-go all which way it will !— The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's fide.

Sirrah,

W

Get thee to Plashy, to my fifter Glofter;

Bid her fend 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, and called there ;-

But I fhall grieve thee to report the reft.

York. What is it, knave?

Ser. An hour before I came, the dutchefs dy'd. York. Heaven 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 heaven,

X

(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it)
The king had cut off my head with my brother's.
What, are there pofts difpatch'd for Ireland?-
How fhall we do for money for these wars?-

'Come, fifter,-coufin, I would fay; pray, pardon me.

Play,]-a town in Effex, belonging to the Dutchess of Glofter.

untruth]-treachery, difloyalty.

Come, fifter,]-Thinking on the late Dutchess.

VOL. III.

D d

Go,

Go, fellow, get thee home, provide fome carts,
[To the fervant.

And bring away the armour that is there.-
Gentlemen, will you go mufter men? if I know
How, or which way, to order thefe affairs,
Thus diforderly thruft into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinfien
The one's my fovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; the other again,
Is my kinfman, whom the king hath wrong'd;
Whom confcience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, fomewhat we must do.-Come, coufin, I'll
Dispose of you :- Go, mufter up your men,
And meet me prefently at Berkley, gentlemen.
I should to Plafhy too;-

But time will not permit :-All is uneven,
And every thing is left at fix and feven.

[Exeunt York and Queen.

Busby. The wind fits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power,

Proportionable to the enemy,

Is all unpoffible.

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

Bagot. And that's the wavering commons; for their love Lies in their purfes; and whofo empties them,

By fo much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

Busby. Wherein the king ftands generally condemn'd. Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then fo do we, Because we have been ever near the king.

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