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Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,
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 ?
ferent appearances described by the poet. The word shadows is here used, in opposition to substance, for reflected images, and not as the dark forms of bodies, occasioned by their interception of the light that falls upon them. Henley.
Green. That he, our hope, might have retir’d
Queen. Now God in heaven forbid !
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: whereon the earl of Worcester
Bushy. Despair not, madam.
Who shall hinder me?
- might have retir'd his power,] Might have drawn it back. A French sense. VOL. v.
Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck;
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, I had forgot to tell your lordship:
York. What is it, knave
York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
8 Get thee to Plashy,] The lordship of Plashy, was a town of the duchess of Gloster's in Essex.
I know not what to do:- I would to God,
me.Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, pro
vide 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;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. I 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
!- untruth-] That is, disloyalty, treachery.
" The king had cut off my head with my brother's.] None of York's brothers had his head cut off, either by the King or any one else. The Duke of Gloster, to whose death he probably alludes, was secretly murdered at Calais, being smothered between two beds.
2 Come, sister,—cousin, I would say:) This is one of Shakspeare's touches of nature. York is talking to the Queen his cousin, but the recent death of his sister is uppermost in his mind.
But none returns. For us to levy power,
Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love,
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 heart's presages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bo
lingbroke. Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is—numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and
ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot.
I fear me, never.