Bufby.

SCENE V.

The COURT.

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot,

M

Adam, your Majefty is much too fad :
You promis'd, when you parted with the
King,

To lay aside self-harming heaviness,

And entertain a chearful difpofition.

Queen. To please the King, I did; to please myself,
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 Guest
As my fweet Richard. Yet again, methinks,
Some unborn forrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming tow'rd me; and my inward foul
With nothing trembles, at fomething it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the King.
Bufby. Each fubftance of a grief hath twenty fha-
dows,

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

Shew

The reading, which Dr. Warburton corrects, is itself an innovation. His conjecture gives indeed a better fenfe than that of any copy, but copies must not be needlefly forfaken.

3 Like Perfpectives, which
rightly gaz'd upon,
Shew nothing but confufin;
ey'd awry,

Diftinguish form.] This is a fine fimilitude, and the thing

meant

Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry,
Diftinguish form.So your sweet 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 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 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 ftill deriv'd
From fome fore father grief; mine is not fo;
For nothing hath begot my fomething grief;

Or

felt, is here very forcibly defcribed.

5 For nothing bath begot my fomething grief;

Or fomething bath, the nothing that I grieve. With these lines I know not well what can be done. The Queen's reafoning, as it now ftands, is this. My trouble is not conceit, for conceit is fill derived from fome antecedent caufe, fome forefather grief; but with me the cafe is, that either my real grief hath no real caufe, or Some real cause has produced a fancy'd grief. That is, my grief is not con eit, because it either has not a cafe like conceit, or it has a caufe like con eit. This can hardly ftand. Let us try again, and read thus:

For nothing bath begot my fomething griefs

Not

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 Majefty! 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 shipt?
Green. That he, our hope, 7 might have retir'd his
Power?

And driv'n into despair an enemy's Hope,
Who ftrongly hath fet footing in this Land.
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself;

Not fomething hath the nothing

which I grieve.
That is: My grief is not conceit;
conceit is an imaginary uneafinefs
from feme paft occurrence.
But,

on the contrary, here is real
grief without a real caufe; not a
real caufe with a fanciful forrw.
This, I think, must be the mean-
ing; harsh at the beft, yet better
than contradiction or abfurdity.
6 'Tis in reverfion that I do pof-
Jefs,

But what it is, that is not yet known, &c.] I am about to propofe an interpretation which many will think harfh, and which I do not offer for certain. To es a man, is, in ShakeSpeare, to inform him fuly, to make him comprehend. To be poffed, is, to be fully informed. Of this fenfe the examples are

numerous.

I have poffeft him my most stay Can be but short. Meaf. for Meaf. Is he poffelt what fum you need. Merch. of Venice. I therefore imagine the Queen fays thus:

'Tis in reverfion-that I do poffefs.

The event is yet in futurity-that I know with full conviction-but what it is, that is not yet known. In any other interpretation the muft fay that he pos what is not yet come, which, though it may be allowed to be poetical and figurative language, is yet, I think, lefs natural than my explanation.

D 4

7 Might have retired his power.] Might have drawn it back. A Fren.b fenfe.

And

And with uplifted arms is safe 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'dNorthumberland,
And all of that revolted faction, traitors?

Green. We have; whereon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broke his ftaff, 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 dismal heir.

Now hath my foul brought forth her prodigy,

And I, a gasping 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

My frrow's difnal heir.] The authour feems to have used heir in an improper fense, an heir being one that inherits by fucceffion,

fhould bely my thoughts;

is here put for one that fucceeds, though he fucceeds but in order of time, not in order of defcent.

Comfort's

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 lofe 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 willThe Nobles they are fled, the Commons cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's fide. Get thee to Plafbie, to my fifter Glo'ster; Bid her fend presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring.

8

Serv. My lord, I had forgot

To tell, to day I came by, and call'd there;
But I fhall grieve you to report the rest.

York. What is't?

Serv. An hour before I came, the Dutchefs 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?

8 Get thee to Plashie,- -] The Lordship of Plafbie was a Town of the Dutchess of Gloucefler's in Effex. See Hall's Chic

nicle,

P. 13. Untruth.] alty, treachery.

THEOBALD. That is, Difloy

If