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S CE N E V.

The COURT.

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot, Busby. Adam, your

You promis'd, when you parted with the

King,
To lay aside felf-harming heaviness,
And entertain a chearful disposition.

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 farewel to so sweet a Guest
As my sweet Richard. Yet again, methinks,
Some unborn forrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming tow'rd me; and my inward soul
• With nothing trembles, at something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the King.
Busby. Each substance of a grief hath twenty sha-

dows,
Which shew like grief it self, but are not so:
For forrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like Perspectives, which, rightly gaz’d upon,

Shew

way,

. With nothing trembles, yet The reading, which Dr. War

at something grieves.] The burton corrects, is itself an innofollowing line requires that this vation. His conjecture gives inshould be read jult the contrary deed a better sense than that of

any copy, but copies must not be With something trembl's, get needleily forsaken. at nothing grieves.

3 Like Perspectives, which WARBURTON. rightly gazd upon, All the old editions read, Shew nothing but confufi.n; my inward foul

ey'd awry, With nothing trembles; at fome Distinguish firm.] This is a thing it grieves,

fine fimilitule, and the thing D3

meant

Shew nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,
Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty;
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail ;
Which look'd on, as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not; gracious Queen, then weep not
More than your lord's departure; more's not seen :
Or if it be, 'tis with false forrow's eye,
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.

Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Perfuades me 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.

Buffy. 'Tis nothing but Conceit, my gracious lady.

Queen. 'Tis nothing less; Conceit is still deriv'd
From fome fore father grief; mine is not so ;
s For nothing hath begot my something grief;

Or

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meant is this. Amongst mathe- felt, is here very forcibly de-
mai cal recreations, there is one fcrib: d.
in Opriis, in which a figure is s for nothing bath beget 1719
drawn, wherein all the rules of something grief;
Priptive are vertet: so that, Or fomething hath, the nothing
if held in the same position with that I grieve.
thole pictures which are drawn With these lines I know not well
according to the rules of Per- what can be done. The Queen's
Spective, it can prefent nothing reasoning, as it now ftands, is
but confufion: and to be seen in this. My trouble is not co: ceit,
form, and under a regular Ap- for conceit is fill de ived from
pearance, it must be look'd upon fome antecedent cause, fomi fore-
from a contrary station : or, as father grief ; but with me the
Shukrypear says, el awry. case is, that either my real grief

WARBURTON. hath no real cause, or some real 4 As, zlough, on thinking, on canle bas produced a fancy'd grief.

no thought I think.) We That is, my grief is not con eit, fhould read, as though in think- because it either has not a ca:fe zig: That is, though mi fing I like conceit, or it has a cause like bare no diftin 7 idea of calami'y. con eit. This can hardly stand. Te involuntary and unaccount Let us try again, and read thus: able depreffion of the mind, For nothing hath begot my fomewhich every one has sometime th.ng grieji

Not

Or something hath, the nothing that I grieve;
Oslis in reversion That I do poffefs ;
But what it is, that is not yet known, what
I cannot name, 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

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Enter Green. Green. Heav'n save your Majesty! and well met,

gentlemen : I hope, the King is not yet shipt for Ireland.

Queen. Why hop'st thou so ? ’tis better hope, he is :
For his designs crave hafte, his halte good hope :
Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipt?
Green. That he, our hope, ? might have retir’d his

Power ?
And driv'n into despair an enemy's Hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this Land.
The banilh'd Bolingbroke repeals himself;
Not something hath the nothing numerous.
wbich I grieve.

I have pofleft him my most Any That is: My grief is not conceit; Can be but short. Meas. for Meas, conceit is an imaginary uneasiness Is he posielt what sum you need. from fome paft occurrence. But,

Merch. of Venice. on the contrary, here is real I therefore imagine the Queen grief without a real cause; not a fays thus : recl cause with a fanciful forr zu. 'lis in reverfion that I do This, I think, must be the mean pollefs.ing; harth at the best, yet better The event is yet in futurity—that than contradiction or absurdity. I know with full conviction-but 6 'Tis in reverfion that I do polo what it is, that is not yet known. Jefi,

In any other interpretation The But what it is, that is not get must say that she rolls what is

krorun, &c.] I am about not yet come, which, though it to propose an interpretation may be allowed to be poetical and which many will think harsh, and figurative language, is yet, I which I do not offer for certain. think, less natural than my exTo p Dels a man, is, in Shake- planation. peare, to inf rm bim fuly, to 7 Might have retired his power.) make him comprehend. To be Might have drawn it back. A porcled, is, to be fully informel. Fren, b senfe. Of this sense the examples are

And

D A

And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
At Ravenspurg.

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 Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their pow'rful friends, are fled to him.

Bushy. 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, resign'd his Stewardship; And all the houshold servants fled with him To Bolingbroke.

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe, And Boling broke * 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, forrow to sorrow, join'd.

Busby. Despair not, Madam.

Queen. Who shall hinder me?
I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope ; he is a Aatterer,
A parasite, a keeper back of death;
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which falle hopes linger, in extremity.

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Green. Here comes the Duke of York.

Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck ;
Oh, full of careful business are his looks !
Uncle, for hew'n's fake, comfortable words.

York. Should I do fo, I should bely my thoughts ;

* Myfirror' difnal leir.) The is here put for one that succeeds, authour seems to have used heir though he succeids but in order of in an improper fenfi, an heir he- time, not in order of descent. ing one that inhirits by fucielain,

Comfort's

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

Enter & 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 fed, the Commons cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
Get thee to Plafhie, s to my sister Glo'ster ;
Bid her send presently a thousand pound:
Hold, take my ring.

Serv. 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 belore I came, the Dutchess dy'd.

York. Heav'n for his mercy, what a ride 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 pofta dispatch'd for Ireland ?
How shall we do for mony for these wars ?
Come, fifter; cousin, I would say ; pray, pardon me. -
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts,

[To the Servant. And bring away the armour that is there. --Gentlemen, will you go and muster men ? & Ce thee 10 Plathie, -] nicle, p. 13;

THEOBALDI The L rdhip o: Plaisie was a

Untruth.] That is, DilloTcwn of the D.tchess of Glor- alty, treachery. le; er’s in Flix, See Hal.'s Chic

If

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