Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.
Gaunt. The fullen paffage of thy weary fteps
Efteem a foil, wherein thou art to fet
The precious jewel of thy home return.
All places that the eye of heaven vifits
Are to a wife man ports and happy havens.
Teach thy neceffity to reason thus:
There is no virtue like neceffity.

Go fay, I fent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not, the King exil'd thee. Or fuppofe
Devouring peftilence hangs in our ais,

And thou art flying to a fresher clime.

Look what thy foul holds dear, imagine it

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

The grafs whereon thou tread'ft, the prefence-floor;
The flow'rs fair ladies; and thy fteps, no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance.

Beling. 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 fnow
By thinking on fantastick fummer's heat?
Oh no, the apprehenfion of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse,
Fell forrow'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 way?
Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay.
Boling.Then, England's ground, farewel ! fweet fail, adieu!
My mother and my nurse, which bears me yet.
Where-e'er I wander, boaft of this I can,

Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. [Exeunt
SCENE VII. The Court.
Enter King Richard, Bagot and Green at one door, and the
Lord Aumerle at the other.

K. Rich. We did indeed obferve-Coufin Amerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? Aum, I brought high Hereford, if you call him fo,

Est

But to the next high-way, and there I left him."
K. Rich. And fay, what ftore of parting tears were shed?
Aum. 'Faith, none by me; except the north east 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 him?
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 fhall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinfman come to fee his friends.
Our felf, and Busby, Bagot here, and Green,
Obferv'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 smiles,
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 fpeed 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 Highness' lofs. K. Rich. We will our felf in perfon to this war; And, for our coffers with too great a court A a 2

And

And liberal largefs are grown somewhat 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 fend them after to fupply our wants:

For we will make for Ireland prefently.

Enter Bufhy.

K. Rich. What news?

Busby. Old John of Gaunt is fick, my Lord, Suddenly taken, and hath fent poft hafte T'intreat your Majefty to vifit him.

K. Rich. Where lyes he?

Busby. At Ely-house.

K. Rich. Now put it, heav'n, in his phyfician's mind, 1 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 vifit him:

Pray heav'n we may make hafte, and come too late! [Exe. ACT II. SCENE

ELY-HOUSE.

I.

Enter Gaunt fick, with the Duke of York.

ILL the King come, that I may breathe

Gaunt. W my

laft

In wholesome counfel to his unftay'd youth?

York. Vex not your felf, and ftrive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counfel to his ear.

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,

.....their words in pain.

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

Than they whom youth and cafe have taught to glofe; More are mens ends mark'd than their lives before: The fetting fun, and musick in the clofe.

Tork. His ear is ftopt with other flatt'ring charms,
As praises 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,
Whofe manners ftill our tardy apifh nation
Limps after, in base 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 counfel to be heard,
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
Gaunt, Methinks I am a prophet new inspir'd,
And thus expiring do fortel 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 fhort
He tires betimes, that fpurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding, food doth choak the feeder;
Light vanity, infatiate cormorant,

Confuming means, foon preys upon it felf,
This royal throne of Kings, this fcepter'd Ifle,
This earth of Majesty, this feat of Mars,
This other Eden, demy Paradife,

This fortrefs 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 fea,
Which ferves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defenfive to a houfe,
Against the envy of lefs happy lands;
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal Kings.
As the last taste of fweets is fweetest laft,

Writ in remembrance, more than things long past;
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
My death's fad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

Tork. His ear.........

--- with wit's regard.

Direct not him, whofe way himself will chufe;

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

Gaunt. Methinks I am..

Fear'd for their breed, and famous by their birth,
Renowned 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 fea,
Whofe 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 felf.
Ah! would the fcandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my enfuing death!

SCENE II. 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 Lancafter?

K.Rich. What comfort,man?How is't with aged Gaunt ?➜ 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 abftains from meat, that is not gaunt ? For fleeping England long time have I watcht, Watching breeds leannefs, leannefs is all gaunts The pleasure that fome fathers feed upon, Is my ftri&t 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 itself: Since thou doft feek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great King, to flatter thee, K. Rich. Should dying men flatter thofe that live? Gaunt. No, no, men living flatter thofe that die. K. Rich. Thou now a dying fay'st thou flatter'st me, Gemar. Oh no, thou dy't, though I the ficker be. K, Rash,