ROSS He hath not money for these Irish wars,
His burdenous taxation notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banished Duke.
NORTHUMBERLAND His noble kinsman—most degenerate King!
But lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm.
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails
And yet we strike not but securely perish.
ROSS We see the very wreck that we must suffer
And unavoided is the danger now
For suffering so the causes of our wreck
NORTHUMBERLAND Not so. Even through the hollow eyes of death
I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.
WILLOUGHBY Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours.
ROSS Be confident to speak, Northumberland.
We three are but thyself, and speaking so
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold. (2.1.259-276)
Now they’ve started it’s all pouring out, the corruption and cruelty, and also the sheer incompetence of the King. One more specific from Ross: he hath not money for these Irish wars, you know, the ones he’s off on tomorrow. Even with the burdenous taxations that he’s been imposing, the only way that he can pay for them is by what he’s just done, robbing the banished Duke, stealing Bolingbroke’s inheritance. Another sign of his degeneracy, adds Northumberland, to steal from his noble kinsman.
But now the scene is going to shift, from the airing of grievances and the sharing of complaints into plotting, and Northumberland steers it by being not more specific but instead more abstract. Implicit in his extended conceit is the ship, the ship of state, but he doesn’t use the word, instead evoking it more allusively. We hear the noise of the tempest, the singing (or howling) of the winds, but we don’t take action to find shelter; we are driven and pounded by the winds, which sit sore upon our sails, and yet we strike not; we don’t take the drastic action of lowering our sails, perhaps changing course, but rather securely perish, deluded that we’re safe and so continuing on into disaster and ruin. Ross picks up the conceit, and he makes clear that he knows what Northumberland’s getting at: we can see what’s going to happen, the very wreck that we must suffer, but it’s unavoidable; after all, we’ve put up with it for so long; we’ve stood by and suffered the causes of our wreck. We’re doomed, doomed.
Not so, replies Northumberland, and on those two little words, the play turns. Even though it all looks desperate (and his striking conceit is of looking out through the eye sockets of a skull, the hollow eyes of death; the skull will come back again later in the play) I spy life peering. There’s hope. Then a step back: but I dare not say how near the tidings of our comfort is, how close at hand there’s news that will change things for the better. (Our comfort almost suggests our saviour.) But what he’s really saying here is, can I trust you? this is where our lives are at stake. From now on this is, potentially, treason. Willoughby isn’t going to let him stop, with a mild rebuke: we’ve been honest with you, perhaps to our cost; let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours. And Ross backs him up: be confident to speak. We’re all in this together, we’re all thinking the same thing. We three are but thyself, so it’s not as if you’re even really speaking to us at all; you’re just thinking out loud to yourself. Be bold.
(There’s perhaps a little legal quibble here, in the distinction between words and thoughts. ‘Misprision of treason’ was a crime, knowing that someone else had treasonous intentions (albeit less grave than high or petty treason), and sometimes it’s suggested that even thinking treasonous thoughts would fall into this category. For Ross to say that Northumberland isn’t speaking, merely thinking, is a reminder both of the seriousness of what they’re doing—treason’s in the offing—and an attempt to downplay it.)
