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 broken pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter's guilt,
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away, with me, in post to Revenspurg :
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 there.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

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 myself,
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
Save bidding farewell to so sweat 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:

Imp out-] As this expression frequently occurs in our author, it may not be amiss to explain the original meaning of it. When the wing-feathers of a hawk were dropped, or forced out by any accident, it was usual to supply as many as were deficient. This operation was called to imp a hawk.-STERVENS.

For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like pérspectives," 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 griefs, more than himself, to wail;
Which, look'd on as it is, is naught 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; and 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;

Like perspectives, &c.] The perspectives, here mentioned, were not pictures, but round crystal glasses, the convex surface of which was cut into faces, like those of the rose-diamond; the concave left uniformly smooth. These crystals-which were sometimes mounted on tortoise-shell box-lids,'and sometimes fixed into ivory cases-if placed as here represented, would exhibit the dif 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.

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 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 revolted 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.

I will despair, and be at enmity

Who shall hinder me?

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;

sense.

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

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 they are 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."

Get thee to Plashy,] The lordship of Plashy, was a town of the duchess of of Gloster's in Essex.

t 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.-RITSON.

What, are there no 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
And bring away the armour that is there.-

[carts, [Exit Servant.

Gentlemen, will you go muster men? if I know
How, or which way, to order these affairs,
Thus disorderly thrust 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 :-Gentlemen, 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 Ireland, 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

Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,

By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

[love

Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally condemn'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 Will the hateful commons perform for us;

* 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. STEEVENS.