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Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds shapes of griefs, 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.

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.

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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 Northum

berland, 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.

- might have retir'd his power,] Might have drawn it back. A French sense. VOL. v.

M

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, 8 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!

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,
(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, 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

land,

!- 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,
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 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.

Exeunt.

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