Richard II | Act 2.2

The palace.

[Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT]

BUSHY
Madam, your majesty is too much sad:
You promised, when you parted with the king,
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 shows like grief itself, but is not so.

QUEEN      It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is otherwise…

[Enter GREEN]

GREEN
God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
I hope the king is not yet shipp’d for Ireland.

QUEEN      Why hopest 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 retired his power,
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 arrived
At Ravenspurgh.

QUEEN      Now God in heaven forbid!

GREEN      Ah, madam, ’tis too true: and that is worse,
The Lord Northumberland, his son young 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 revolted faction traitors?

GREEN      We have: whereupon 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.

[Enter DUKE OF 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 God’s sake, speak comfortable words.

DUKE OF 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, cares and grief.
Your husband, he is gone to save far off,
Whilst others come to make him lose at home:
The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford’s side.
I know not what to do..
Gentlemen, will you go muster men?
If I know how or which way to order these affairs
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
Never believe me.
Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I’ll
Dispose of you.
Gentlemen, go, muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkeley.
But time will not permit: all is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven.

[Exeunt DUKE OF YORK and QUEEN]

BUSHY       The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,
But none returns. For us to levy power
Proportionable to the enemy
Is all unpossible.

GREEN       Besides, our nearness to the king in love
Is near the hate of those love not the king.

BAGOT
     And that’s the wavering commons: for their love
Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

BUSHY
    Wherein the king stands generally condemn’d.

BAGOT       If judgement lie in them, then so do we,
Because we ever have been near the king.

GREEN      Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle:
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

BUSHY      Thither will I with you; for little office
The hateful commons will perform for us,
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
Will you go along with us?

BAGOT      No; I will to Ireland to his majesty.
Farewell: if heart’s presages be not vain,
We three here art that ne’er shall meet again.

BUSHY
     That’s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

GREEN      Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes
Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry:
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.

BUSHY       Well, we may meet again.

BAGOT      I fear me, never.

 

[Exeunt] Act 2.1 | Act 2.3


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Updated: April 28, 2021 — 7:55 am