Had I thy youth, and caufe, I would not stay.
Boling Then, England's ground, farewel! fweet foil, adieu!
My mother and my nurfe, which bears me yet.
Where-e'er I wander, boaft of this I can,
Thou banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman.
Enter King Richard, Bagot and Green at one door, and the Lord Aumerle at the other.
K. Rich. WE did indeed obferve - Coufin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his
Aum. Í brought high Hereford, if you call him fo, But to the next high-way, and there I left him.
K. Rich. And fay, what ftore of parting tears were fhed? Aum. 'Faith, none by me; except the north-eaft wind (Which then blew bitterly against our faces)
Awak'd the fleepy rheum, and fo by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
K. Rich. What faid your coufin when you parted with Aum. Farewel
And for my heart difdained that my tongue
Should fo prophane the word, That taught me craft
To counterfeit oppreffion of fuch grief,
That words feem'd buried in my forrow's grave.
But would the word farewel have lengthen'd hours
And added years to his fhort banishment,
He should have had a volume of farewels;
But fince it would not, he had none of me.
K. Rich. He is our kinfman, coufin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinfman come to fee his friends. Our felf, and Busby, Bagot here, and Green, Obfery'd his courtship to the common people:
How he did feem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtefie;
What reverence he did throw away on flaves;
Wooing poor crafts-men with the craft of fmiles,
And patient under-bearing of his fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affections with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyfter-wench;
A brace of dray-men bid God speed him well,
And had the tribute of his fupple knee,
With thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;
As were our England in reverfion his,
And he our fubjects' next degree in hope.
Green. Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts!
Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland,
Expedient manage muft be made, my Liege;
Ere further leifure yield them further means
For their advantage, and your Highness' lofs.
K. Rich. We will our felf in person to this war;
And, for our coffers with too great a court
And liberal largefs are grown fomewhat light,
We are inforc'd to farm our royal realm,
The revenue whereof fhall furnish us
For our affairs in hand; if they come short,
Our fubftitutes at home fhall have blank charters:
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They fhall fubfcribe them for large fums of gold,
And send them after to fupply our wants:
For we will make for Ireland prefently.
Bufby. Old John of Gaunt is fick, my Lord, Suddenly taken, and hath fent poft hafte
T' intreat your Majefty to visit him.
K. Rich. Where lyes he?
Bushy. At Ely-boufe.
K. Rich. Now put it, heav'n, in his phyfician's mind, To help him to his grave immediately!
The lining of his coffers fhall make coats
To deck our foldiers for these Irish wars.
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him:
Pray heav'n we may make hafte, and come too late!
Enter Gaunt fick, with the Duke of York.
ILL the King come, that I may breathe my last
In wholesome counsel to his unftay'd youth?
York. Vex not your self, and strive not with your For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
[breath, Gaunt. Oh but, they fay, the tongues of dying men Inforce attention like deep harmony:
Where words are fcarce, they're feldom spent in vain ;
For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.
York. His ear is stopt with other flatt'ring charms,
As praifes of his ftate; there are befide
Lafcivious meeters, to whofe venom'd found
The open ear of youth doth always liften:
Report of fashions in proud Italy,
Whose manners ftill our tardy apifh nation
Limps after, in bafe aukward imitation.
He that no more muft fay, is liften'd more
Than they whom youth and eafe have taught to glose.
More are mens ends mark'd than their lives before:
The fetting fun, and mufick in the clofe.
As the laft talte of fweets is sweetest laft,
Writ in remembrance, more than things long paft
Though Richard my life's counfel would not hear,
My death's fad tale may yet undeaf his ear.
Tork. His ear,
Where doth the world thruft forth a vanity,
(So it be new, there's no refpect how vile,)
That is not quickly buzz'd into his cars ?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
Gaunt. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir'd,
And thus expiring do foretel of him,
His rafh, fierce blaze of riot cannot laft;
For violent fires foon burn out themselves.
Small fhow'rs laft long, but fudden ftorms are short;
He tires betimes, that fpurs too faft betimes;
With eager feeding, food doth choak the feeder;
Light vanity, infatiate cormorant,
Confuming means, foon preys upon it self.
This royal throne of Kings, this fcepter'd Ine,
This earth of Majefty, this feat of Mars,
This other Eden, demy Paradife,
This fortress built by Nature for her felf,
Against infection, and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious ftone fet in the filver sea,
Which ferves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defenfive to a house,
Againft the envy of lefs happy lands;
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal Kings,
Fear'd for their breed, and famous by their birth,
Renown'd for their deeds, as far from home,
For christian service and true chivalry,
As is the fepulchre in ftubborn Jury
Of the world's ranfom, bleffed Mary's fon;
This land of fuch dear fouls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leas'd out, (I die pronouncing it)
Like to a tenement, or pelting farm.
England bound in with the triumphant sea,
O 2
Direct not him, whose way himself will chufe;
'Tis breath thou lack'ft, and that breath wilt thou lofe.
Gaunt. Methinks I am ---
Whose rocky fhore beats back the envious fiege
Of watry Neptune, is bound in with shame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds.
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a fhameful conqueft of it self.
Ah! would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my enfuing death!
Enter King Richard, Queen, Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Rofs, and Willoughby.
York. The King is come, deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts, being 'rag'd, do rage the more. Queen. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster? [Gaunt ?a K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt. Ill in my felf, but feeing thee too, ill.
Thy death-bed is no leffer than the land,
Wherein thou lyeft in reputation fick;
(a) with aged Gaunt?
Gaunt. Oh, how that name befits my compofition!
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old:
Within me grief hath kept a tedious faft;
And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt?
For fleeping England long time have I watcht,
Watching breeds leannefs, leannefs is all gaunt;
The pleasure that fome fathers feed upon,
Is my strict faft, I mean my children's looks,
And therein fafting haft thou made me gaunt;
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
Whofe hollow womb inherits nought but bones.
K. Rich. Can fick men play fo nicely with their names?
Gaunt. No, mifery makes fport to mock it self:
Since thou doft seek to kill my name in me,
I mock my name, great King, to flatter thee.
K. Rich. Should dying men flatter those that live?
Gaunt. No, no, men living flatter those that die.
K. Rich. Thou now a dying fay'ft thou flatter'ft me.
Gaunt. Oh no, thou dy't, though I the ficker be.
K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, I fee thee ill.
Gaunt. Now he that made me, knows I fee thee ill:
Ill in my felf.
|