Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul 28
Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be,
As, though in thinking on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 32
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but, my gracious lady.
From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
For nothing hath begot my something grief; 36
'Tis in that I do possess;
But what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I . 40
Green. God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.
Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope he is,
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope: 44
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?
Green. That he, our hope, might have
And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land: 48
The banish'd Bolingbroke himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
Queen. Now God in heaven forbid!