And say, what store of parting tears were shed?
Faith, none for me, except the north-east wind,
Which then grew bitterly against our faces,
Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
–Richard II, 1.4, 5-9
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows
Which shows like grief itself but is not so.
For sorrow’s eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects—
Like perspectives, which, rightly gazed upon,
Show nothing but confusion; eyed awry,
Distinguish form. So your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your Lord’s departure,
Finds shapes of grief more than himself to wail,
Which, looked on as it is, is naught but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,
More than your lord’s departure weep not: more is not seen,
Or if it be, tis with false sorrow’s eye,
Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
–Richard II, 2.2, 14-27