North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. Ross. My heart is great; but it must break with silence,

Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more, That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm! Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the Duke of Hereford?

If it be so, out with it boldly, man;

Quick is mine ear, to hear of good towards him.
Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him,
Unless you call it good, to pity him,
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

North. Now, afore heaven, 'his shame, such
wrongs are borne,
In him a royal Prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land.
The King is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform,
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
That will the King severely prosecute

'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our

heirs.

Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with griev ous taxes,

And lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fin'd For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd; As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o 'God's name, doth become of this? North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not,

But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows:
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars.

Ross. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

Willo. The King's grown bankrupt, like a broken man.

North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth

over him.

Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, Ilis burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke.

North. His noble kinsman : — Most degenerate
King!

But, Lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm:
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish,
Ross, We see the very wreck that we must
suffer;

And unavoided is the danger now,
For suffering to the causes of our wreck,
North, Not so; even through the hollow eyes
of death,

I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.
Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou
dost ours,

Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
We three are but thyself: and, speaking so,
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, he
bold,

North. Then thus: I have from Port le
Blanc, a bay
In Britany, receiv'd intelligence,

That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham,
The son of Richard 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
Francis Quoint,

All these, well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
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.
Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them

that fear.

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

there.

SCENE II.

The same. A Room in the Palace,

Enter Queen, Busny, and Bacot,

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 cheerful 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 farewell 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 show 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,
Show 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,

As,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.

Green. God save your Majesty! and well met

Gentlemen :

I hope, the King is not yet shipp'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 shipp'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 fafe 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 Northum-
berland,

And all the rest of the revolting faction
Traitors?

Green. We have: where on the Earl of Wor

Hath broke his staff,

cester

resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him

To Bolingbroke.