Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be,[1119]
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad,[1120]30
As, though on thinking on no thought I think,[1121][1122]
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.[1121][1123]
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
Queen. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived[1124]
From some forefather grief; mine is not so,35
For nothing hath begot my something grief;[1125][1126]
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:[1125][1127]
'Tis in reversion that I do possess;[1125][1128]
But what it is, that is not yet known; what[1125][1129]
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.[1125][1129]40
Enter Green.[1130]
Green. God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:[1131]
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:[1132]
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?45
Green. That he, our hope, might have retired his power,
And driven into despair an enemy's hope,[1133]
Who strongly hath set footing in this land:
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arrived[1134]50
At Ravenspurgh.[1134][1135]
Queen. Now God in heaven forbid!
Green. Ah madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse,[1136]
The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,[1137]
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.55