Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him. Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, 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 I spy life peering; but I dare not say Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. North. Then thus:-I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received intelligence, That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham [The son of Richard earl of Arundel], That late broke from the duke of Exeter, Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, Perish by confidence in our security, VOL. IV. G With eight tall* ships, three thousand men of war, Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be [Exeunt. there. SCENE II. The same. A room in the palace. Enter Queen, Busby, and Bagot. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promis'd, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition. Queen. To please the king, I did; to please my. I cannot do it; yet I know no cause • Stout. Supply with new feathers. + Expedition. $ Gilding. Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Which show like grief itself, but are not so: Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary. As,-though, in thinking, on no thought I think,- Bushy. "Tis nothing but conceitt, my gracious lady. Queen. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv❜d But what it is, that is not yet known; what • Pictures. + Fanciful conception. Enter Green. Green. God save your majesty!—and well met, gentlemen: I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. And driven into despair an enemy's hope, 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, And all the rest of the revolting faction, Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, 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? Drawn it back. 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 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: Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:- 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, 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. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes |