The first departure 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, 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 cheerful disposition.

Queen. To please the king, I did; to please my-
self,

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,
* Supply with new feathers.
+ Gilding.

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.

Bush. "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 wott.

Enter Green.

f

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 retired his power §,

And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land:

* Pictures.

+ Fanciful conception.

+ Know.

§ Drawn it back.

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 Northumberland,

And all the rest of the revolting faction,

Traitors?

Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke.

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 heaven's sake, speak comfortable words.
York. Should I do so, I should belie my 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.

Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. York. He was?-Why, so !-go all which way it will!-

The nobles they are fled, the commons 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.

Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship : To-day, as I came by, I called there ;

But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

York. What is it, knave?

Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess 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 brother's.What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland?How shall we do for money for these wars?— Come, sister,-cousin, I would say: pray, pardon

me.

Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, provide some carts,

And bring away the armour that is there.

[Exit Servant. Gentlemen, will you go muster men? if I know How, or which way, to order these affairs,

Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,

Never believe me.

Both are my kinsmen ;

* Disloyalty.

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.
Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin, I'll
Dispose of you :-Go, muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkley-castle.
1 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. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ire

land,

But none returns.

For us to levy power,

Proportionable to the enemy,

Is all impossible.

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 purses; and whoso empties them,
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con-
demn'd.

Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king.

Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol castle ;

The earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Bushy. Thither will I with you; for little office The hateful commons will perform for us; Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.— Will you go along with us?

Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell if hearts' presages be not vain,

We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task be undertakes