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As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what :
Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him.
Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars,
North. His noble kinsman : most degenerate king !
Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer ; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of
death, I spy life peering ; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is.
Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost
Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland :
North. Then thus :—I have from Port le Blanc, a
bay In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence, That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, The son of Richard Earl of Arundel, 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 broken pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter'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.
SCENE II.-The same. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.
Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please myself,
dows, 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 perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon, Show 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. 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,
Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
Queen. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd
Enter GREEN. Green. God save your majesty!—and well met, gen
tlemen : I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.
Queen. Why hop'st thou so ? 'tis better hope, he is;
Queen. Now God in heaven forbid !
Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign’d his stewardship, 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; 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?
Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck;
York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth,