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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 flatter'd him.

Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came.

York. He was? Why, so! go all which way it will!

The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold,

And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.

Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;

Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.

Hold, take my ring.

Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship:

To-day, as I came by, I called there;

But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

York. What is 't, knave?

Serv. An hour before I came the duchess died.

York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes

Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!

I know not what to do: I would to God,—

So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,—

The king had cut off my head with my brother's.

What! are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland?

How shall we do for money for these wars?

Come, sister,—cousin, I would say,—pray, pardon me.—

Go, fellow, get thee home; provide some carts

 79 crosses: contrary circumstances

101 untruth: disloyalty

