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 namelefs woe, I wot,

SCENE VI.

Enter Green.

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 fhipt? Green. That he, our hope, 'might have retir'd his Power?

And driv'n into defpair 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 unerfinefs from fome paft occurrence.

But,

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

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

numerous.

I have poffeft him my most fay Can be but short. Meal. for Meaf. Is he poffeft what fum you need.

Merch, of Venice. I therefore imagine the Queen fays thus:

'Tis in reverfion
paliefs.

that I do

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

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

D 4

And

And with uplifted arms is fafe arriv¿sed ni a'zoìmho At Ravenfpurgeshon and asvil gnidron arodW Queen. Now God in heav'n forbid bd basdtur woY Green. O, Madam, 'tis too true; and what is worfe, The lord Northumberland, his young fon Pertys 9757 The lords of Rofs, Beaumond, and Willoughby,ow on N With all their pow'rful friends, are fled to him ov 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, refign'd his Stewardship; And all the houfhold fervants filed with him II Sas A To Bolingbroke.

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe, And Bolingbroke my forrow's difmal heir.

Now hath my foul brought forth her prodigy,
And I, a gafping new-deliver'd mother,
Have woe to woe, forrow to forrow, join'd.
Busby, Defpair not, Madam,

Queen. Who fhall hinder me ?

I will defpair, 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.

SCENE VII.

Enter York.

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.ud bað
York. Should I do fo, I fhould bely my thoughts;

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; fo
Who, weak with age, cannot fupport my felf.
Now comes the fick hour, that his furfeit made;
Now fhall he try his friends, that flatter'd him.
Santigo mD6L »

oforoW Iz
W to Enter a Servant.

,,

Serv. My lord, your fon was gone before I came. York. He was why, fogo 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'fter; Bid her fend 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 fhall grieve you to report the reft.
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 rufhing 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 posts dispatch'd for Ireland?
How shall 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 Plafhie,
The Lordship of Plafbie was a
Town of the Dutchefs of Glou-
eefter's in Effex. See Hale's Chro-

nicle, p. 13.
Untruth.

alty, treachery.

THEOBALD. That is, Diloy

If

If I know how to order thefe affairs,
Disorderly thus thruft into my hands,

Never believe me. They
They are both my kinfmen;
The one my Sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th' other again

My kinfman is, One whom the King hath wrong'd;
Whom confcience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, fomewhat we must do.-Come, coufin, I'll
Difpofe of you.-Go mufter up your men,
And meet me prefently at Berkley caftle
I fhould to Plafhie too;

But time will not permit. All is uneven,

And every thing is left at fix and feven.

[Exeunt York and Queen

SCENE VIII.

Bufky. The wind fits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns; for us to levy Power,

Proportionable to the enemy,

Is all impoffible.

Green. Befides, our Nearness to the King in Love Is near the Hate of thofe, love not the King.

Bagot. And that's the wav'ring Commons, for their
love

Lies in their purfes; and who empties them,
By fo much fills their hearts with deadly hate,
Busby. Wherein the King ftands generally condemn'd,
Bagot. If judgment lye in them, then fo do we;
Because we have been ever near the King.

Green. Well; I'll for Refuge straight to Bristol Caftle; The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Buby. Thither will I with you; for little office
The hateful Commons will perform for us;
Except, like curs, to tear us all in pieces:
Will you go with us?

Bagot. No, I'll to Ireland to his Majesty.

Farewel.

Farewel. If heart's Prefages be not vain,
We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again.
Busby. That's as York thrives, to beat back Boling-

broke.

Green. Alas, poor Duke! the tafk he undertakes Is numb'ring fands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his fide fights, thoufands will fly. Bushy. Farewel at once, for once, for all and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again.

Bagot. I fear me, never.

SCENE IX.

[Exeunt.

Changes to a wild Profpect in Glocestershire,

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland.

H%%%

Boling,OW far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?
North. I am a ftranger here in Glo'ftershire.
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearifome,
And yet your fair difcourfe has been as fugar,
Making the hard way fweet and delectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way,
From Ravenfpurg to Cotfhold, will be found
In Rofs and Willoughby, wanting your Company;
Which, I proteft, hath very much beguil'd
The tedioufnefs and procefs of my travel;
But theirs is fweetned with the hope to have
The prefent benefit that I poffefs;

And hope to joy, is little lefs in joy,
Than hope enjoy'd. By this, the weary lords
Shall make their way feem fhort, as mine hath done,
By fight of what I have, your noble company,

Boling. Of much lefs value is my company,
Than your good words, But who comes here?

Enter