But what it is, that is not yet known; what Enter Green. Green. Heaven fave your majefty! and well met, gentlemen: I hope, the king is not yet fhip'd for Ireland. Queen. Why hop'ft thou fo; 'tis better hope, he is; And driven into defpair an enemy's hope, Queen. Now God in heaven forbid ! Green. O, madam, 'tis too true: and what is worse, The lord Northumberland, his young fon Henry, The lords of Rofs, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Busby. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland, And all of that revolted faction, traitors? Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester To Bolingbroke, I have poffeft him my moft ftay can be but short. Meaf. for Meaf. He is poffelt what fum you ne d. Merch. of Venice. I therefore imagine the queen ys thus: 'Tis in reverfion-that I do poffefs. The event is yet in futurity—that ĺ know with full convictionbut 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 poetical and figurative language, is yet, I think, lefs natural than my explanation. ร JOHNSON. might have retir'd his power,] Might have drawn it back. A French fenfe. JOHNSON. Queen, Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe, Queen. Who fhall hinder me? Enter York. Green. Here comes the duke of York. Uncle, for heaven's fake, fpeak comfortable words. Whilft others come to make him lofe at home. 6 Enter a Servant. Ser. My lord, your fon was gone before I came. York. He was why, fo!-go all, which way it will!— my forrow's difmal heir.] The author feems to have used beir in an improper fenfe, an heir being one that inherits by fucceffion, is here put for one that fucceeds, though he fucceeds but in order of time, not in order of defcent. JOHNSON. 7 So fhould I do, I fhould bely my thoughts ; This line is found in three of the quarto's, but is wanting in the folio. STEEVENS. The The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, Get thee to Plashy, to my fifter Glofter; Bid her fend me presently a thousand pound :- Ser. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship: York. What is it, knave? Ser. An hour before I came, the dutchefs dy'd. York. Heaven for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rufhing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do.--I would to heaven, So my 9 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 money for thefe wars ?Come, fifter; coufin, I would fay; pray, pardon me. Go, fellow, get thee home, provide fome carts, [To the fervant. And bring away the armour that is there.- Gentlemen, will you go, and mufter men? If I know Get thee to Play,-] The lordship of Plafhy was a town of the dutchess of Glofter's in Effex. See Hall's Chronicle, p. 13. THEOBALD. 1 9- untruth-] That is, difloyalty, treachery. JOHNSON. Come, fifter; coufin, I would fay ;-] 1 his is one of Shakefpeare's touches of nature. York is talking to the queen his coufin, but the recent death of his fifter is uppermoft in his mind. STEEVENS. Whom Whom confcience and my kindred bids to right. But time will not permit :-all is uneven, [Exeunt York and queen. Bufby. The wind fits fair for news to go to Ireland, For us to levy power, But none returns. 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 wavering commons: for their Lies in their purfes; and whofo empties them, Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol-castle; The earl of Wiltshire is already there. Bufby. Thither will I with you: for little office Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Busby. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever. [Exeunt. SCENE SCENE III. The wilds in Glocefterfbire. Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland. Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? I am a ftranger here in Glofterfhire. Thefe high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, Than hope enjoy'd. By this, the weary lords Enter Harry Percy. North. It is my fon, young Harry Percy, Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you. North. Why, is he not with the queen? Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forfook the court, Broken his ftaff of office, and difpers'd The houfhold of the king. North. What was his reafon? He was not fo refolv'd, when last we fpake together. Percy. |