bushy: the wind sits fair for news to go for ireland, but none returns. for us to levy power proportionable to the enemy is all unpossible. besides, our nearness to the king in love is near the hate of those love not the king. and that s the wavering commons, for their love lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, by so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. wherein the king stands generally condemned. if judgment lie in them, then so do we, because we ever have been near the king. well, i will for refuge straight to bristol castle. thither will i with you, will you go along with us? no, i will to wales to rouse the troops. the men there will stay loyal to his majesty. farewell. if heart s presages be not vain, we three here part that ne er shall meet again. that s as york thrives to beat back bolingbroke. alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry. where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. farewell at once for once, f
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