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 banished 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 Harry Percy,
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
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.