|ACT II SCENE II
|[Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT]
|Madam, your majesty is too much sad:
|You promised, when you parted with the king,
|To lay aside life-harming heaviness
|And entertain a cheerful disposition.
|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 some thing it grieves,
|More than with parting from my lord the king.
|Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
|Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;
|For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
|Divides one thing entire to many objects;
|Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon
|Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry
|Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
|Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
|Find 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.
|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 on thinking on no thought I think,
|Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
|'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
|'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived
|From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
|For nothing had 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.
|God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
|I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.
|Why hopest 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?
|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:
|The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
|And with uplifted arms is safe arrived
|Now God in heaven forbid!
|Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse,
|The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,
|The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
|With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
|Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland
|And all the rest revolted faction traitors?
|We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester
|Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
|And all the household servants fled with him
|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.
|Despair not, madam.
|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 DUKE OF YORK]
|Here comes the Duke of York.
|With signs of war about his aged neck:
|O, full of careful business are his looks!
|Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words.
|DUKE OF 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, cares 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]
|My lord, your son was gone before I came.
|DUKE OF 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 Gloucester;
|Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:
|Hold, take my ring.
|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.
|DUKE OF YORK
|What is't, knave?
|An hour before I came, the duchess died.
|DUKE OF 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 provoked him to it,
|The king had cut off my head with my brother's.
|What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland?
|How shall we do for money for these wars?
|Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me.
|Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts
|And bring away the armour that is there.
|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 is 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 Berkeley.
|I should to Plashy too;
|But time will not permit: all is uneven,
|And every thing is left at six and seven.
|[Exeunt DUKE OF YORK and QUEEN]
|The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,
|But none returns. For us to levy power
|Proportionable to the enemy
|Is all unpossible.
|Besides, our nearness to the king in love
|Is near the hate of those love not the king.
|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.
|Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd.
|If judgement lie in them, then so do we,
|Because we ever have been near the king.
|Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle:
|The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
|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?
|No; I will to Ireland to his majesty.
|Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain,
|We three here art that ne'er shall meet again.
|That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.
|Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes
|Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry:
|Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
|Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.
|Well, we may meet again.
|I fear me, never.