But little vantage fhall I reap thereby ;

For ere the fix years that he hath to spend,

Can change their moons, and bring their times about,
My oil-dry'd lamp and time-bewafted light
Shall be extinct with age and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me fee my fon.

K. Rich. Why, uncle? thou haft many years to live.
Gaunt. But not a minute, King, that thou canft give;
Shorten my days thou canst with fullen forrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;
Thou canst help Time to furrow me with age,
But ftop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;

Thy word is currant with him, for my death,
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

K. Rich. Thy fon is banith'd upon good advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave;
Why at our juftice feem'ft thou then to low'r ?
Gaunt. Things fweet to tafte, prove in digestion four,
You urged me as a judge; but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
O, had it been a ftranger, not my child,

To smooth his fault I would have been more mild.
Alas, I look'd when fome of you thould fay,
I was too strict to make my own away.
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue,
Against my will, to do myfelf this wrong.
A partial flander fought I to avoid,

And in the fentence my own life destroy'd.

K. Rich. Coufin, farewel; and, uncle, bid him fo. Six years we banish him, and he fhall go. [Flourish.

Exit.

Aum. Coufin, farewel; what prefence must not know, From where you do remain let paper

fhow.

Mar. My Lord, no leave take I; for I will ride

As far as land will let me, by your fide.

Gaunt. Oh, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy That thou return'ft no greeting to thy friends? [words. Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office fhould be prodigal,

VOL. IV.

C

Το

To breathe th' abundant dolour of the heart. anda ya Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy abfence for a time. do Boling. Joy abfent; grief is prefent for that time.D Gaunt. What is fix winters? they are quickly gonel Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'ft for pleasure. Boling. My heart will figh when I mifcall it fopsk Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.

Gaunt. The fullen paffage of thy weary steps Efteem a foil, wherein thou art to fet

The precious jewel of thy home-return.

Boling. Nay, rather, ev'ry tedious ftride I make!
Will but remember me, what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that I love.

Muft I not ferve a long apprenticehood
To foreign paffages, and in the end

Having my freedom, boaft of nothing elfe
But that I was a journeyman to grief?

Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven vifits, A

Are to a wife man ports and happy havens.
Teach thy neceffity to reason thus:

There is no virtue like neceffity.

Think not the King did banish thee;

But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier fit
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.n

Go fay, I fent thee forth to purchase honour and W

And not, the King exil'd thee. Or fuppofe,
Devouring peftilence hangs in our air,

And thou art flying to a frefher clime.
Look what thy foul holds dear, imagine it

To lie that way thou go'ft, not whence thou com'ft.
Suppofe the finging birds, musicians;

The grafs whereon thou tread it, the prefence floor;
The flow'rs, fair ladies; and thy fteps, no more d
Than a delightful measure, or a dance.
For gnarling Sorrow hath lefs pow'r to bite
The man that mocks at it, and fets it light.

Boling. Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,

By thinking on the frofty Caucafus ?

Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feaft?....

Or wallow naked in December snow,

By

By thinking on fantastic fummer's heat?nsed of
Oh, no! the apprehenfion of the goody
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse;
Fell Sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the fore.

Gaunt, Come, come, my fon, I'll bring thee on thy Had I thy youth, and caufe, I would not tay. [way. Boling. Then, England's ground, farewel; fweet foil, adieu,

My mother and my nurfe, which bears me yets Where-e'er I wander, boaft of this I can, on i Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. A

[Exeun.

SCENE VII. Changes to the court.

ก

M

Enter King Richard, and Bagot, &c. 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 way? Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next high-way, and there I left him. K. Rich. And fay, what store of parting tears were fhed?

Aum. 'Faith, none by me; except the north-east (Which then blew bitterly againft our faces) [wind 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 Aum. Farevel.

[ with him? And, for my heart difdained that my tongue Should fo profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppreffion of fuch grief,

d

That words feem buried in my forrow's graved
Marry, would the word farewel have lengthen'd hours,
And added years to his fhort banishment,
He fhould 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 fhall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinfman come to fee his friends.
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,

C 2

Obferv'd

Obferv'd his courtship to the common people)
How he did feem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtely;

What reverence he did throw away on flaves
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of fmiles,
And patient under-bearing of his fortune;
As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-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 must be made, my Liege,
Ere further leifure yield them further means
For their advantage, and your Highnefs' lofs.
K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war;
And, for our coffers with too great a court,
And liberal largefs, are grown fomewhat light,
We are inforce'd to farm our royal realin,
The revenue whereof fhall furnith 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 fend them after to fupply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland prefently.

Enter Bushy.

K. Rich. Bufhy, what news?

3

Bufhy. Old John of Gaunt is fick, my Lord, Suddenly taken, and hath fent post-haste

T' intreat your Majesty to visit him.

K. Rich. Where lies he?

Bushy. At Ely-houfe.

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
Te deck our foldiers for these Irish wars.

Come,

Come, Gentlemen, let's all go vifit him.

Pray heav'n we may make hafte, and come too late!

[Exeunt.

A CT II. SCENE I.

Ely-boufe.

Gaunt brought in, fick; with the Duke of York.

Gaunt.

WILL the King come, that I may breathe

my laft

In wholfome counfel to his unftay'd youth?

York. Vex not yourself, nor ftrive not with your
For all in vain comes counfel to his ear.
[breath;
Gaunt. Oh but, they fay, the tongues of dying men
Inforce attention, like deep harmony.

Where words are scarce, they're feldom spent in vain;
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.*
York. His ear is ftopt with other flatt'ring charms,
As praises of his state; 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, apish nation
Limps after, in bafe aukward imitation.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile)
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard t..

He that no more muft fay, is liften'd more

Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose, More are mens' ends mark'd, than their lives before; The fetting fun,- and mufic in their clofe.

As the laft taste of fweets is fweeteft 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,

+

York. His ear is ftopt, &c.

with wit's regard.

Direct not him, whofe way himself will chuse ;

'Tis breath thou lack ft and that breath wilt thou lofe,

Gaynı. Methinks, &c...

Gaunt.