Act 2 - Scene 2
Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT
Madam, your majesty is too much sad:
You promised, when you parted with the king,
To lay aside life-
And entertain a cheerful disposition.
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,
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.
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;
eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perspectives, which rightly
Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
upon your lord's departure,
Find 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.
It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad; so
As, though on thinking on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived
From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
For nothing had begot
my something grief;
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:
'Tis in reversion that I do possess;
what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.
God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.
Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is;
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope:
dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?
That he, our hope, might have retired his power,
And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
hath set footing in this land:
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arrived
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