GREEN Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle.
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
BUSHY Thither will I with you, for little office
Will the hateful commons perform for us,
Except, like curs, to tear us all in pieces.
Will you go along with us?
BAGOT No, I will to Ireland, to his majesty.
Farewell. If heart’s presages be not vain,
We three here part that ne’er shall meet again.
BUSHY That’s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.
GREEN Alas, poor Duke, the task he undertakes
Is numb’ring sands and drinking oceans dry.
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
Farewell at once—for once, for all and ever.
BUSHY Well, we may meet again.
BAGOT I fear me never. Exeunt. (2.2.134-148)
Even the King’s most loyal supporters and companions are no longer presenting a united front, but (two of them at least) are thinking how they may best save themselves. Bushy for refuge straight to Bristol Castle, not even staying to put up a fight, let alone mustering troops. The Earl of Wiltshire is already there, the fourth of Richard’s favourites, mentioned again although he never appears in the play. (This might be for casting reasons; it also means that Bushy, Bagot, and Green are matched by Northumberland, Ross, and Willoughby; two trios make a neater pattern.) I’m coming with you, says Bushy; we’re not going to get any service or sympathy from the common people when they catch up with us, but rather, like dogs, they’ll tear us all to pieces. They hate us as much as we hate them. Bagot remains most loyal to the King, perhaps the idealist, perhaps just stupid, in denial about the seriousness of the situation and how it’s likely to end. I’m going to Ireland, to his majesty. I’m not optimistic, he adds; my heart tells me that if we three here part we shall never meet again. We might, just, if York manages to repel Bolingbroke’s invasion, suggests Bushy. But Green is the realist, as well as the most decisive: York hasn’t got a hope, the poor Duke. He might as well attempt to number sands, count the grains of sand on a beach, or drink oceans dry. For every one that he manages to persuade to fight on his side, thousands will fly, run away, refuse to fight, even if they don’t outright fight in opposition. So, farewell, this very moment, to us all, and for all time. We may meet again? (Bushy is not giving up). I fear me never: Bagot’s got the message really. He knows that he’s on a hopeless fool’s errand, going to Ireland. But he’ll try. And that’s the end of the scene, which began with a woeful Queen, collapsed into a torrent of bad news, and now ends with foreboding, pessimism and the dissolution of this hitherto tight trio of Richard’s supporters and companions. The band’s split up, the party’s well and truly over.
