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Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,

In haste whereof, most heartily I pray By all my hopes, most falsely doih he lie.

Your highness to assign our trial day. Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruld by my gage,

me; Disclaiming here the kindred of a king;

Let's purge this choler without letting blood: And lay aside my high blood's royalty,

This we prescribe, though no physician;
Which lear, not reverence, makes thee to except: Deep malice makes too deep incision:
I guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed;
As to take up mine honor's pawn, then stoop; Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed.-
By that, and all the rights of knighthood else, Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,

We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age:

Nor. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear, Throw down, my son, the duke of Nortolh's gage.
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,


When, Harry? when? Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:

Obedience bids, I should not bid again. And, when I mount, alive may I not light,

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there is Til be traitor, or unjustly figlit!

no boot.) K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot: charge?

My lite thou shalt command, but not my shame: It must be great, that can inherit us

The one my duty owes; but my tair name, So much as of a thought of ill in him.

(Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,) Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove i am disgraced, impeachd, and baffled here;

To dark dishonor's use thou shalt not have. it true;That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear; In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers;

The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, which breath'd this poison. Like a false traitor, and injurious villain.

K. Rich.

Rage must be withstood; Besides I say, and will in battle prove,

Give me his gage:-Lions make leopards tame. Or here, or elswhere, to the furthest verge

Nor. Yea but not change their spots: take but That ever was survey'd by English eye,

my shame, That all the treasons, for these eighteen years

And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, Complotted and contrived in this land,

The purest treasure mortal times afford, Fetchirom false Mowbray their tirst head and spring. Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.

Is-spotless reputation; that away, Further I say;-and further will maintain l'pon his bad lite, to make all this good,

A jewel in a ten-times-barr’d-up chest That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death;

Is-a bold spirit in a loyal breast; Suggest his soon-believing adversaries;

Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; And, consequently, like a traitor coward,

Take honor from me, and my life is done: Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try; blood:

In that I live, and for that will I die. Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,

K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,

begin. To me, for justice, and rough chastisement;

Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin! And, by the glorious worth of my descent,

Shall I seem crest-lallen in my father's sight? This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

Or with pale beygar-lear impeach my height K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars!

Before this out-dared dastard ? Ere my tongue Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?

Shall wound mine honor with such teeble wrong, Nor. O, let my sovereign ium away his face,

Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear And bid his ears a little while be deaf,

The slavish motive of recanting fear; Till I have told this slander of his blood,

And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar.

Where shame doth harbor, even in Mowbray's face.

[Erit GAUNT. K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, and

K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to comears:

mand: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, (As he is but my father's broiher's son,)

Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow,

Be ready as your lives shall answer it, Such neigtibor nearness to our sacred blood

At Coventry, upon saint Lambert's day; Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize

There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The unstooping firmness of my upright soul;

The swelling difference of your settled hate;

Since we cannot atone* you, we shall see
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou;
Free speech, and learless, I do thee allow.

Justice design the victor's chivalry.-

Marshal, command our officers at arms
Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest,

Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Exeunt. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,

SCENE II.-The same. A Room in the Duke of Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers:

Lancaster's Palace.
The other part reserv'd I by consent;
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt,

Upon remainder of a dear account,
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:

Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Gloster's blood Now swallow down that lie.-For Gloster's To stir against the butchers of his lite.

Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, death, I slew him not; but to my own disgrace,

But since correction lieth in those hands,

Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Neglected my sworn duty in that case.

Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster,
The honorable father to my foe,

Who, when he sees the hours ripe on earth,
Once did I lay in ambush ior your life,

Will rain hot vengeance on oflende s' heads.

Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharperspur? A trespass that doth vex iny grieved soul: But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament,

Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?

Edward's seven sons, whereof thyselfart one, I did confess it; and exactly begg'd

Were as seven phials of his sacred blood, Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it.

Or seven fair branches springing from one root: This is my fault: As for the rest appeal’d,

Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, It issues from the rancor of a villain,

Some of those branches by the destinies cut: A recreant and most degenerate traitor:

But, Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster,Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage

One phial full of Edward's sacred blood,

One flourishing branch of his most royal root,Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman

Is crack’d, and all the precious liquor spilt; Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom: No advantage in delay. • Reconcile.

. Show

Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath; By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe.

And so defend the heaven, and thy valor! Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of womb,

Norfolk; That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee, Who hither come engaged by my oath, Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and (Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate!) breath'st,

Both to defend my loyalty and truth, Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent To God, my king, and my succeeding issue, In some large measure to thy father's death, Against the duke of lercford that appeals me: In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm, Who was the model of thy father's life.

To prove him, in defending of myself, Call it not patience, Gauni, it is despair:

A traitor to my God, my king, and me: In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life,

(He takes his seat. Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we entitle-patience,

Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBROKE, in armor, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

preceded by a Herald. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, The best way is-to 'venge my Gloster's death. Both who he is, and why he cometh hither Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's Thus plated in habiliments of war; substitute,

And formally according to our law His deputy anointed in his sight,

Depose him in the justice of his cause. Hath caus'd his death: the which, if wrongfully, Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift

thou hither, An angry arm against his minister.

Before king Richard, in his royal lists ? Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarGaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and

rel? defence.

Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold

Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray light: To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valor, 0, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous, Or, if misfortune miss the first career,

To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me: Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,

And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! That they may break his toaming courser's back, Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold And throw the rider headlong in the lists,

Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists; A caititt recreant to my cousin Hereford!

Except the marshal, and such oficers Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometime brother's wife, Appointed to direct these fair designs. With her companion grief must end her life. Boling. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's Gaunt. Sister, farewell: I must to Coventry:

As much good stay with thee, as go with me! And bow my knee before his majesty:
Duch. Yet one word more;-Grief boundeth For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men
where it falls,

That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: Then let us take a ceremonious leave,
I take my leave betore I have begun;

And loving farewell of our several friends.
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.

Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your highCommend me to my brother, Edmund York.

ness, Lo, this is all:-Nay, yet de part not so:

And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. Though this be all, do not so quickly go;

K. Rich. We will descend, and told him in our I shall remember more. Bid him-0, what?-

arms. With all good speed at Plashyo visit me.

Cousin of llereford, as thy cause is right, Alack, and what shall good old York there see, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! But empty lodgings and unfurnishd walls, Farewell, my blood; which it to-day thou shed, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?

Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
And what chcer there for welcome, but my groans? Boling. 0, lei no noble eye protine a tear
Therefore commend me; let him not come there,

For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear;
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where: As contident, as is the falcon's llighi
Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die;

Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

My loving lord, [To Lord Marshal,] I take my (Exeunt. leave or you;

Of f you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle;-
SCENE III.-Gosford Green, near Coventry. Not sick, although I have to do with death;
Lists set out, anda Throne. Heralds, &c., attending. But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.-

Lo, as at English teasts, so I regreet
Enter the Lord Marshal and AUMERLE.

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:
Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm’d? O thou, the earthly author of my blood, -
Aum. Yea, at all points: and longs to enter in.

[To GAUNT. Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Doth with a two-told vigor lift me up Aum. Why, then the champions are prepared To reach at victory above my head,

Add proof unto mine armor with thy prayers; For nothing but his majesty's approach.

And with thy blessing steel my lance's point,
Flourish of Trumpets. Enter King RICHARD, who That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,

takes his seat on his throme; Gaunt, and several And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt,
Noblemen, who take their places. A trumpet is Even in the lusty 'havior of his son.
soundeid, and answered by another trumpet

Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make theo within. Then enter Norfolk, in armor, preceded | Be swift'like lightning in the execution:

prosperous! by a Herald. K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion

And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,

Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
The cause of his arrival here in arms:

Of thy adverse, pernicious enemy:
Ask him his name; and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice ot' his cause.

Rouse up thy youthtul blood, be valiant, and live. Mur. In God's name, and the king's, say who

Boling: Mine innocency, and saint George to

thrive! thou art,

[He takes his seat. And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms:

Nor. (Rising.) However heaven, or fortune, cast Against what man thou com’st, and what thy There lives or dics, true to king Richard's throne,

my lot,

A loyal, just, and upright gentleman:
Her house in Essex.

Never did captive with a freer heart

and stay

Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace

Is made my gaoler to attend on me. His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,

I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate

Too far in years to be a pupil now; This feast of battle with mine adversary.

What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, Most mighty liege,-and my companion peers,- Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate; As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,

After our sentence, plaining comes too late. Go I to fight; Truth hath a quiet breast.

Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's light, K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy To dwell in solemn shades of endless nighi. Virtue with valor couched in thine eye.-

(Retiring. Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. (The king and the Lords return to their seats. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven, Receive thy lance; and God detend the right! (Our part therein we banish with yourselves,) Boling. (Rising.) Strong as a tower in hope, I To keep the oath that we administer:-cry-amen.

You never shall, (so help you truth and heaven!) Mar. Go bear this lance, (To an Officer.] to Embrace each other's love in banishment; Thomas duke of Norfolk.

Nor never look upon each other's face; 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate; On pain to be found false and recreant,

Nor never by advised purpose meet, To prove the duke of Nortolk, Thomas Mowbray, To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, A traitor to his God, his king, and him,

Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. And dares him to set forward to the fight.

Boling. I swear. 2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Nor. And I, to keep all this. Norfolk,

Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy;-On pain to be found false and recreant,

By this time, had the king permitted us, Both to defend himsell, and to approve

One of our souls had wander'd in the air,
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,

Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal; As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:
Courageously, and with a free desire,

Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm:
Attending but the signal to begin.

Since thou hast far to go, bear not along Mar. Sound trumpets; and set forward, com- The clogging burden ota guilty soul. batants.

(A charge sounded. Nor. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor, Stay, the king hath thrown his warderi down. My name be blotted from the book of life, K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! spears,

But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know; And both return back to their chairs again:

And all too soon, I fear the king shall rue.Withdraw with us:--and let the trumpets sound, Farewell, my liege:--Now no way can I stray; While we return these dukes what we decree.- Save back to England, all the world's my way. (Exit.

[A long flourish. K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes Draw near,

[To the combatants. I see thy grieved heart; thy sad aspect And list, what with our council we have done. Hath from the number of his banishid years For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd Pluck'd fou away:-Six frozen winters spent, With that dear blood which it hath fostered; Return [T, BOLING.] with welcome home from And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect

banishment. Of civil wounds ploughidup with neighbors'swords; Boling. How long a time lies in one little word! (And for we think the eagle-winged pride

Four la ging winters, and tour wanton springs, Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts

End in a word; such is the breath of kings. With rival-hating envy, fet you on

Gaunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of me, To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle He shortens four years of my son's exile: Draws the sweet intant breath of gentle sleep;] But little vantage shall I reap thereby; Which so rous'd up, with boisterous untuned drums, For, ere the six years that he hath to spend, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, Can change their moons, and bring their times about, And grating shock of wrathtul iron arms,

My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light, Might from our.quiet contines fright fair peace, Shall be extinct with age and endless night; And make us wade even in our kindred's blood;- My inch of taper will be burnt and done, Therefore we banish you our territories:

And blindiold death not let me see my son. You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death,

K. Rich. Why, uncle thou hast many years to live. Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields, Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst Shall not regreet our fair dominions,

give: But tread the stranger paths of banishment. Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, Boling. Your will be done: This must my com- And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow. fort be,

Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, Ihat sun that warms you here, shall shine on me; Thy word is current with him for my death;

But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; And those his golden beams, to you here lent, shall point on me, and gild my banishment. But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

K. Rish. Vorfolk, forthee reniains a heavier doom, K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice; Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:

Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave;8 The fly-slow hours shall not determinate

Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower? The dateless limit of thy dear exile;-

Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in digestion The hopeless word of_never to return, Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

You urged me as a judge; but I had rather, Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, You would have bid me argue like a father: And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: O, had it been a stranger, not my child, A dearer merit, not so deep a maim

To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: As to be cast forth in the common air,

A partial slandero sought I to avoid, Have I deserved at your highness' hand.

And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. The language I have learn'd these forty years, Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say, My native English, now must I forego,

I was too strict to make mine own away; And now my tongue's use is to me no more, But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue, Than an unstringed viol or a harp;

Against my will to do myself this wrong. Or, like a cunning instrument cased up,

K. Rich. Cousin, farewell:-and, uncle bid him so, Or, being open, put into his hands

Six years, we banish him, and he shall go. That knows no touch to tune the harmony.

(Flourish. Exeunt K. RICHARD and Train. Within iny mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lips;

know, And dull, unteeling, barren ignorance

From where you do remain let paper show. 7 Truncheon.

8 Had a part or share. Reproach of partiality.



Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him As far as land will let me, by your side.

So, Gaunt. 0, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy But to the next high way, and there I left him. words,

K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?

were shed? Buling. I have too few to take iny leave of you, Aum. 'Faith, none by me: except the north-east When the tongue's office should be prodigal

To breathe the abundant dolor of the heart. Which then blew bitterly against our faces,

Gaunt. Thy griet' is but thy absence for a time. Awaked the sleeping rheum; arrd so, by chance,
Bolins. Joy absent, griet is present for that time. Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
Guunt. What is six winters? they are quickly gone. K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted
Boling. To men in joy: but grief makes one hour

with him?

Aum. Farewell: Gaunt. Callita travel that thou tak’st for pleasure. And, for my heart disdained that my tongue

Boling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Should so protane the word, that taught me crait Which unds it an enforced pilgrimage.

To counterteit oppression of such griet, Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set

Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd The precious jewel of thy home-return.

Buling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make And added years to his short banishment,
Will but remember me what a deal of world He should have had a volume ot' farewells;
I wander from the jewels that I love.

But since it would not, he had none of'ine.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood

K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, To foreign passages, and in the end,

When time shall call him home from banishinent, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else,

Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. But that I was a journeyman to griet?

Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits, Observ'd his courtship to the common people:Are to a wise man ports and happy havens: How he did seein to dive into their hearts, Teach thy necessity to reason thus;

With humble and familiar courtesy ; There is no virtue like necessity.

What reverence he did throw away on slaves; Think not, the king did banish thee;

Wooing poor craftsmen, with the crait of smiles, But thou, the king: Woe doth the heavier sit, And patient underbearing of his fortune, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.

As 'twere to banish their atlects with him. Go, say-I sent thee forth to purchase honor, Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; And not--the king exiled thee: or suppose, A brace of dray men bid-God speed him well, Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,

And had the tribute of his supple knee, And thou art flying to a fresher cline,

With--Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends; Look, wliat thy soul holds dear, imagine it As were our England in reversion his, To lie that way thou go’st, not whence thou com'st: And he our subjects' next degree in hope. Suppose the singing birds, musicians;

Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence!

thoughts. strew'd;

Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland; The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps no more Expedient manage must be made, my liege; Than a delightful measure or a dance:

Ere further leisure yield them further means, For gnarlingsorrow hath less power to bite For their advantage, and your highness' loss. The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.

K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war. Boling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand, And, for our coilers—with too great a court, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?

And liberal largess-are grown somewhat light, Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,

We are entorced to farm our royal realın; By bare imagination of a feast?

The revenue whereof shall furnish us Or wallow naked in December snow,

For our allairs in hand: If that come short, By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?

Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; 0, no, the apprehension of the good,

Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:

They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more,

And send them after to supply our wants; Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. For we will make for Ireland presently. Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on

Enter Bushy. thy way: Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. Bushy, what news? Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my soil, adieu!

lord; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,

To entreat your majesty to visit him. Though banishid, yet a true-born Englishman. K. Rich. Where lies he?

(Exeunt. Bushy. At Ely-house.

K. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's SCENE IV.-The same. A Room in the King's

mind, Castle.

To help him to his grave immediately! Enter King RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREEN; AUMERLE To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.

The lining of his coffers shall make coats following:

Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: K. Rich. We did observe.-Cousin Aumerle, Pray heaven, we may make haste, and come too How far brought you high Hereford on his way?




SCENE 1.- London. A Room in Ely-house. York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your

breath; Gaunt on a Couch; the DUKE OF YORK, and others, For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. standing by him.

Gaunt. 0, but they say, the tongues of dying Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe Enforce attention, like deep harmony:

Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in In wholesome counsel to his unstay'd youth.

vain: Presence chamber at court.

a Growling.

3 Because.


my last

For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: pain.

Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, He, that no more must say, is listen'd more

I mock my name, great king, to tlatter thee. Than they whom youth and ease have taught to K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those glose;"

that live? More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before: Gaunt. No, no; men living fatter those that die. The setting sun, and music at the close,

K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st-thou MatAs the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last;

ter'st me. Writ in remembrance, more than things long past: Gaunt. Oh! no; thou diest, though I the sicker be. Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee My death's sad tale may yet undeat his ear.

ill. York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see so'inds,

thee ill; As, praises of his state: then, there are found Ill in myself to see, and in the seeing ill, Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound

Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land, The open air of youth doth always listen:

Wherein thou liest in reputation sick: Report of fashions in proud Italy;

And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Whose manners still our tardy a pish nation Commit'si thy anointed body to the cure Limps after, in base imitation,

Of thy physicians that first wounded thee: Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, A thousand natterers sit, within thy crown, (So it be new, there's no respect how vile,)

Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears?

And yet, incaged in so small a verge, Then all too late comes counsel to be heard The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 0, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye, Direct not him, whose way himself will choose; Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame; lose.

Deposing thee before thou wert possessid,
Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd; which art possess'd now to depose thyself.

And thus, expiring, do foretell of him:

Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last:

It were a shame to let this land by lease: For violent tires soon burn out themselves:

But, for the world, enjoying but this land, Small showers last long, but sudden storms are Is it not more than shame, to shame it so? short;

Landlord of England art thou now, not king: He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes; Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder: And thouLight vanity, insatiate cormorant,

K. Rich.-a lunatic lean-witted fool, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.

Presuming on an ague's privilege, This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, Dar’st with thy frozen admonition This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood, This other Eden, demi-paradise;

With fury, from his native residence. This fortress, built by nature for herself,

Now by my seat's right royal majesty, Against infection, and the hand of war;

Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This happy breed of men, this little world; This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, This precious stone set in the silver sea,

Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. Which serves it in the office of a wall,

Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, Or, as a moat defensive to a house,

For that I was his father Edward's son; Against the envy of less happier lands:

That blood already, like the pelican, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd: This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, (Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls!) Renowned for their deeds as far from home, May be precedent and witness good, (For Christian service, and true chivalry,)

That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,

Join with the present sickness that I have; Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son: And thy unkindness be like crooked age, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. Dear for her reputation through the world, Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it)

These words hereafter thy tormentors be,Like to a tenement or pelting farm:

Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Love they to live, that love and honor have. Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege

(Exit, borne out by his Attendants, Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, K. Rich. And let them die that age and sullens With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds;

have; That England, that was wont to conquer others, For both hast thou, and both become the grave. Hath made a shameful conquest of itself:

York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words O, would the scandal vanish with my life,

To wayward sickliness and age in him: How happy then were my ensuing death!

He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear

As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here. Enter KING RICHARD, and QUEEN; AUMERLE, BUSHY,

K. Rich. Right; you say true: as Hereford's love, GREEN, Bagot, Ross, and WILLOUGHBY.

so his: York. The king is come: deal mildly with his As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

youth; For young hot colts, being raged, do rage the more.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with

your majesty.
aged Gaunt?

K. Rich. What says he now?
Gaunt. 0, how that name befits my com position! North. Nay, nothing; all is said:
Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old: His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;

Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!
For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: K. Rich. Theripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon,

His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be: Is my strict fast, I mean-my children's looks; So much for that.-Now for our Irish wass: And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kernes;' Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,

Which live like venom, where no venom else, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. But only they, hath privilege to live. K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their And for these great affairs do ask some charge, names?

Towards our assistance, we do seize to us • Flatter. 6 Paltry. Lean, thin.

* Irish soldiers.

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