I read Richard II years ago but never could come to a closer understanding of it until lately...
Bushy: Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows
Which shows like grief itself but is not so,
For sorrow's eye, glazèd 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,
Find 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's not seen,
Or if it be 'tis with false sorrow's eye
Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
Queen: It may be so, but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe'er it be
I cannot but be sad, so heavy sad
As, though on thinking on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
Bushy: ‘Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
Queen: ‘Tis nothing less. Conceit is still derived
From some forefather grief. Mine is not so,
For nothing hath begot my something grief,
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve.
'Tis in reversion that I do possess,
But what it is that is not yet known what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe I wot.
Will come back to say a bit more about it later.