[dows,

With nothing trembles: at something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.
Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty sha-
Which shew like grief itself, but are not so:
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perspectives, which, rightly gazed upon,
Shew nothing but confusion; eyed awry,
Distinguish forin: 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 nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice gracious queen.
More than your lord's departure weep not; more's not
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.
[seen:
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,

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
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 gentle

men :

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? Green. That he, our hope, might have retired his 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

At Ravenspurg.
Queen.

Now God in heaven forbid!

[power,

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 NorthumberAnd all the rest of the revolting 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 himi

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.

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 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 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 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 lordships"

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 wes
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 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 homie, provide

some carts,

And bring away the armour that is there.

[Exit Servant.
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'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'l
Dispose of you.-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 returus. 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 comnions; for their

love

Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,
By so inuch fills their hearts with deadly hate.
Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con-
demn'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 cffice

The hateful commons will perform for us;
Except like curs to tear us all in pieces.
Will you go along with us?

Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty.
Farewell; if heart's presages be not vain,

We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes, Is-numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot.

I fear me, never.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 111.- The Wilds in Glostershire.

Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBER-
LAND, with Forces.

Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?
North. Believe me, noble lord,

I am a stranger here in Glostershire.

These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome;
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and délectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way
From Ravenspure to Cotswold, will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company;
Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled
The tediousness and process of my travel:
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have
The present benefit, which I possess:

And hope to joy, is little less in joy,

Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords

Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath done
By sight of what I have, your noble company.
Boling. Of much less value is my company,
Than your good words. But who comes here!
Enter HARRY PERCY.

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.-
Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.

North. Why, is he not with the queen?

Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, Broken his staff of office, and dispersed

The household of the king.

North.

What was his reason?

He was not so resolved, when last we spake together.

Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg,

To offer service to the duke of Hereford;
And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover

What power the duke of York had levied there;
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg.

North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy?
Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot,
Which ne'er I did remember to my knowledge,
I never in my life did look on him.

[duke. North. Then learn to know him now; this is the Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm

To more approvéd service and desert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompense:

My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir Keeps good old York there, with his men of war?

Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard: And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour; None else of name, and noble estimate.

Enter ROSS and WILLOUGHBY.

North. Here comes the lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

Boling. Welcome, my lords: I wot, your love pursues A banish'd traitor; all my treasury

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd,
Shall be your love and labour's recompense.

Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.
Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.
Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

Enter BERKLEY.

North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess.