In Brittany, received intelligence,

That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham,
[The son of Richard, earl of Arundel,]1
That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston,

Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
Quoint,-

All these well furnished by the duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
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 broking pawn the blemished crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt,
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg.
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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same. A Room in 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.

1 The line in brackets, which was necessary to complete the sense, has been supplied upon the authority of Holinshed. Something of a similar import must have been omitted by accident in the old copies.

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."

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 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 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;
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like pérspectives,' which, rightly gazed upon,
Show nothing but confusion; eyed awry,
Distinguish form. So your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which, looked 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,

2

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 derived

1 This may have reference to that kind of optical delusion called anamorphosis; which is a perspective projection of a picture, so that at one point of view, it shall appear a confused mass, or different to what it really is; in another, an exact and regular representation. Sometimes it is made to appear confused to the naked eye, and regular when viewed in a glass or mirror of a certain form.

2 The old copies have "on thinking," which is an evident error: we should read, "As though in thinking;" i. e. "though musing, I have no idea of calamity." The involuntary and unaccountable depression of the mind which every one has sometimes felt, is here very forcibly described.

From some forefather 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 shipped 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 shipped?
Green. That he, our hope, might have retired his
power,1

And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land.
The banished Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arrived
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 proclaimed Northumber-
land,

And all the rest of the revolted faction, traitors? 2
Green. We have; whereon the earl of Worcester
Hath broke his staff, resigned his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him
To Bolingbroke

1 Retired, i. e. drawn it back; a French sense.

2 The first quarto, 1597, reads:

"And all the rest of the revolted faction, traitors?"

The folio, and the quarto of 1598 and 1608:

"And the rest of the revolting faction, traitors?"

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-delivered mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined. 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;
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 flattered 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. Heaven for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woful land at once!

I know not what to do.-I would to Heaven
So my untruth' had not provoked him to it)
The king had cut off my head with my brother's 2—
What, are there posts despatched for Ireland?
How shall we do for money for these wars ?—

Come, sister,3-cousin, I would say; pray, pardon

Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, provide

some carts,

And bring away the armor that is there.

[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 wronged; 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, For us to levy power,

But none returns.

1 Disloyalty, treachery.

2 Not one of York's brothers had his head cut off, either by the king or any one else. Gloster, to whose death he probably alludes, was smothered between two beds at Calais.

3 York is talking to the queen, his cousin, but the recent death of his sister is uppermost in his mind.