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 Fran-
cis Quoint,-

All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall 30 ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience 31,
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 32 out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt 33,
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. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Queen, BUSHY, and BAGOT.

Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promis'd, when you parted with the king,

30 Stout.

31 Expedition.

32 When the wing feathers of a hawk were dropped or forced out by any accident, it was usual to supply as many as were deficient. This operation was called to imp a hawk.' It is often used metaphorically, as in this instance. The word is said to come from the Saxon impan, to graft, or inoculate. Milton has it in one of his sonnets:

to imp their serpent wings.'

And Dryden :

His navy's molten wings he imp'd once more.'

33 Gilding.

To lay aside life-harming heaviness,

And entertain a cheerful 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 farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: Yet, again, methinks,
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming towards me; and my inward soul
With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.
Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty
shadows,

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 pérspectives 1, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,

It has been shown in a former note that perspective meant optical glasses, to assist the sight in any way. Mr. Henley says that the perspectives here mentioned were round crystal glasses, the convex surface of which was cut into faces like those of the rose-diamond; the concave left uniformly smooth; which if placed as here represented, would exhibit the different appearances described by the poet.' But it may have reference to that kind of optical delusion called anamorphosis; which is a perspective projection of a picture, so that at one point of view it shall appear a confused mass, or different to what it really is, in another, an exact and regular representation. Sometimes it is made to appear confused to the naked eye, and regular when viewed in a glass or mirror of a certain form. A picture of a chancellor of France, presented to the common beholder a multitude of little faces; but if one did look at it through a perspective, there appeared only the single pourtraiture of the chancellor.'-Humane Industry, 1651. This is again alluded to in Twelfth Night, Act v. Sc. 1:—

'A natural perspective, that is, and is not.' Thus also in Henry V :- My lord, you see them perspectively, the cities turned into a maid.' See vol. i. p. 388, note 13.

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 seen:

Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,

Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.
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 conceit3, my gracious lady.
Queen. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd
From some fore-father 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, gentlemen :

I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.

Queen. Why hop'st 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 retir'd his power*,

2 The old copies have on thinking,' which is an evident error: we should read,' As though in thinking;' i. e. though musing, I have no idea of calamity.' The involuntary and unaccountable depression of the mind, which every one has sometimes felt, is here very forcibly described.

3 Fanciful conception.

4 Retir'd, i. e. drawn it back; a French sense.

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 arriv'd
At Ravenspurg.

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,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland,

And all the rest of the revolted faction, traitors 5 ?
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?

I will despair, and be at enmity

5 The first quarto, 1597, reads:

'And all the rest of the revolted faction, traitors?'

The folio, and the quarto of 1598 and 1608:

And the rest of the revolting faction, traitors?'

6 The queen had said before, that some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, was coming toward her.' She talks afterward of her unknown griefs being begotten;' she calls Green the midwife of her woe;' and then means to say in the same metaphorical style, that the arrival of Bolingbroke was the dismal offspring that her foreboding sorrow was big of; which she expresses by calling him her sorrow's dismal heir,' and explains more fully in the following line :

'Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy.'

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 they are 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 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 Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!