BUSHY.
Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland
And all the rest revolted faction traitors?
GREEN.
We have, whereupon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broken his staff, resigned 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-delivered mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined.
BUSHY.
Despair not, madam.
QUEEN.
Who shall hinder me?
I will despair and be at enmity
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 God’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, cares, 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 flattered him.
Enter a Servingman.