His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Rainfton,

Sir John Norberie, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
Coines,

All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And fhortly mean to touch our northern fhore;
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the King for Ireland,
If then we shall shake off our flavish yoak,
Imp out our drooping Country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking Pawn the blemish'd Crown,
Wipe off the duft that hides our Scepter's gilt,
And make high Majefty look like it felf:
Away with me in poft to Ravenfpurg.
But if you faint, as fearing to do fo,

Stay, and be fecret, and my felf will go.

[fear.

Rofs. To horfe, to horfe; urge Doubts to them that Willo. Hold out my horfe, and I will first be there.

[Exeunt.

Bufby. M Adam, your Majefty is much too fad

You promis'd, when you parted with the
King,

To lay afide felf-harming heavinefs,
And entertain a chearful difpofition.

Queen. To please the King, I did; to please my self, I cannot do it; yet I know no cause,

Why I should welcome fuch a gueft as grief;
Save bidding farewel to fo fweet a Gueft
As my fweet Richard: yet again, methinks,
Some unborn forrow, ripe in fortune's womb,

Is coming tow'rd me; and my inward foul 3 With fomething trembles, yet at nothing grieves, More than with parting from my lord the King.

Busby. Each fubftance of a grief hath twenty fhadows, Which fhew like grief it felf, but are not fo: For forrow's eye, glaz'd with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire, to many objects; + Like Perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon, Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry, Distinguish form.So your fweet Majefty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Finds fhapes of grief, more than himself, to wail Which look'd on, as it is, is nought but fhadows Of what it is not; gracious Queen, then weep not More than your lord's departure; more's not feen: Or if it be, 'tis with falfe forrow's eye, Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary. Queen. It may be fo; but yet my inward foul Perfuades me otherwife: howe'er it be, I cannot but be fad; fo heavy-fad,

;

As, though, on thinking, on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and fhrink.
Busby. 'Tis nothing but Conceit, my gracious lady.
Queen. 'Tis nothing lefs; Conceit is still deriv'd
From fome fore-father grief; mine is not so;

With nothing trembles, yet at fomething grieves,] The fol lowing line requires that this fhould be read juft the contrary

way,

With fomething trembles, yet at nothing grieves.

4 Like Perfpectives, which rightly gaz'd upon,
Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry,

Diftinguifb form] This is a fine fimilitude, and the thing meant is this. Amongst mathematical recreations, there is one in Optics, in which a figure is drawn, wherein all the rules of Perfpective are inverted: fo that, if held in the fame position with thofe pictures which are drawn according to the rules of Perfpestive, it can prefent nothing but confufion: and to be feen in form, and under a regular Appearance, it must be look'd upon from a contrary ftation: or, as Shakespear lays, ey'd awry.

D 2

For

For nothing hath begot my fomething grief;
Or fomething hath, the nothing that I grieve;
'Tis in reverfion That I do poffefs;

But what it is, that is not yet known, what
I cannot name, 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

Green. Heav'n fave your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen:

I hope, the King is not yet fhipt for Ireland.

Queen. Why hop'ft thou fo? 'tis better hope, he is:
For his defigns crave hafte, his hafte good hope:
Then wherefore doft thou hope, he is not fhipt?
Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his
Power;

And driv'n into defpair an enemy's Hope,
Who ftrongly hath fet footing in this Land.
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself;
And with uplifted arms is fafe arriv'd
At Ravenfpurg.

Queen. Now God in heav'n forbid !

Green. O, Madam, 'tis too true; and what is worse, The lord Northumberland, his young fon Percy, The lords of Rofs, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their pow'rful friends, are fled to him. Busby. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland, And all of that revolted faction, traitors?

Green. We have: whereon the Earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, refign'd his Stewardship; And all the houshold fervants fled with him To Bolingbroke.

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe, And Bolingbroke my forrow's difmal heir:

Now hath my foul brought forth her prodigy,
And I, a gafping new-deliver'd mother,

Have woe to woe, forrow to forrow, join'd.
Busby. Defpair not, Madam.
Queen. Who fhall hinder me?
I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,
A parafite, a keeper back of death;

Who gently would diffolve the bands of life,
Which falfe hopes linger, in extremity.

Green. Here comes the Duke of York. Queen. With figns of war about his aged neck; Oh, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for heav'n's fake, comfortable words.

York. Should I do fo, I fhould bely my thoughts; Comfort's in heav'n, and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but Croffes, Care, and Grief. Your husband he is gone to fave far off, Whilft others come to make him lose at home, Here am I left to underprop this Land; Who, weak with age, cannot fupport my self. Now comes the fick hour, that his furfeit made; Now shall he try his friends, that flatter'd him.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. My lord, your fon was gone before I came. York. He was; why, fo, go all, which way it will: The Nobles they are fled, the Commons cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's fide. Get thee to Plafbie, to my fifter Glo'fter; Bid her send presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring.

5 Should I do fo, &c.] This line added from the first Edition.

Serm. My lord, I had forgot

To tell, to day I came by, and call'd there;
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
York. What is't?

Serv. An hour before I came, the Dutchess dy'd.
York. Heav'n for his mercy, what a tide of woes
Come rushing on this woful land at once!
I know not what to do: I would to heav'n,
(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it)
The King had cut off my head with my
brother's.
What, are there pofts difpatch'd for Ireland?
How fhall we do for mony for these wars?
Come, fifter; (coufin, I would fay ;) pray, pardon me.
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide fome carts,

[To the Servant.
And bring away the armour that is there.
Gentlemen, will you go and mufter men?
If I know how to order thefe affairs,
Disorderly thus thruft into my hands,

Never believe me. They are both my kinfmén;
The one my Sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th' other again

My kinfman is, One whom the King hath wrong'd;
Whom confcience and my kindred bids to right,
Well, fomewhat we must do: come, coufin, I'll
Difpofe of you. Go mufter up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkley caftle:
I fhould to Plafbie too;

But time will not permit. All is uneven,
And every thing is left at fix and feven.

S C C E

[Exeunt York and Queen.

Busby. The wind fits fair for news to go to Ireland,

But none returns; for us to levy Power,

Proportionable to the enemy,

Is all impoffible.

Green.