| ACT II SCENE II | The Palace. | |
| [Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT] |
| BUSHY | 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. |
| QUEEN | To please the king I did; to please myself | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| 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. |
| BUSHY | Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, |
| Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; | 15 |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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; | 25 |
| 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 | 30 |
| As, though on 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 derived |
| From some forefather grief; mine is not so, | 35 |
| 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. | 40 |
| [Enter GREEN] |
| GREEN | God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen: |
| I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. |
| QUEEN | 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? | 45 |
| 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: |
| The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, |
| And with uplifted arms is safe arrived | 50 |
| At Ravenspurgh. |
| QUEEN | Now God in heaven forbid! |
| GREEN | Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse, |
| The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, |
| The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, | 55 |
| With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. |
| BUSHY | Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland |
| And all the rest revolted faction traitors? |
| GREEN | We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester |
| Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, | 60 |
| 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, | 65 |
| 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 | 70 |
| 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] |
| GREEN | Here comes the Duke of York. | 75 |
| QUEEN | 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, | 80 |
| 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: | 85 |
| Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; |
| Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. |
| [Enter a Servant] |
| 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, | 90 |
| 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. |
| Servant | My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, | 95 |
| 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? |
| Servant | An hour before I came, the duchess died. |
| DUKE OF YORK | God for his mercy! what a tide of woes | 100 |
| 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? | 105 |
| 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. |
[Exit Servant] |
| Gentlemen, will you go muster men? | 110 |
| 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 | 115 |
| 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, | 120 |
| 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] |
| BUSHY | The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, | 125 |
| But none returns. For us to levy power |
| Proportionable to the enemy |
| Is all unpossible. |
| GREEN | Besides, our nearness to the king in love |
| Is near the hate of those love not the king. | 130 |
| 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 condemn'd. |
| BAGOT | If judgement lie in them, then so do we, | 135 |
| Because we ever have been near the king. |
| GREEN | Well, I will 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, | 140 |
| Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. |
| Will you go along with us? |
| BAGOT | 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. | 145 |
| BUSHY | That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. |
| GREEN | 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. | 150 |
| BUSHY | Well, we may meet again. |
| BAGOT | I fear me, never. |
| [Exeunt] |
