Gaunt. Call it a travel, that thou takest for pleasure. Boling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so, Which finds it an enforcéd pilgrimage. Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home-return. Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Must I not serve a long apprenticehood Having my freedom, boast of nothing else, Gaunt. All places that the eye of Heaven visits, There is no virtue like necessity. Think not, the king did banish thee; But thou the king: Woe doth the heavier sit, To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest: The grass, whereon thou tread'st, the presence strew'd; For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite Or wallow naked in December snow, Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way: Had thy youth, and cause, I would not stay. Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,- [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The same. A Room in the Enter KING RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREE K. Rich. We did observe.-Cousin 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 say, what store of parting tears w shed? Aum. 'Faith, none by me : except the north-east w Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum; and so, by chance, Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted with him? Aum. Farewell: And, for my heart disdained that my tongue That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. He should have had a volume of farewells; K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, As 'twere, to banish their affects with him. A brace of draymen bid-God speed him well, And had the tribute of his supple knee, With-Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends ;- And he our subjects' next degree in hope. Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland; K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war. For our affairs in hand: If that come short, Bushy, what news? Enter BUSHY. Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord; Suddenly taken; and hath sent post-haste, To entreat your majesty to visit him. K. Rich. Where lies he? Bushy. At Ely-house. K. Rich. Now put it Heaven, in his physician's mind, To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.- Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late! ACT II. SCENE I. London. A Room in Ely House. GAUNT on a couch; the DUKE OF YORK, and others standing by him. Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth. York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain; For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. He, that no more must say, is listen'd more Than they, whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before: As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspired; And thus, expiring, do foretell of him : His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last; Por violent fires soon burn out themselves : Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder: Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, VOL. III. 15 (For Christian service, and true chivalry,) Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son: England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Enter KING RICHARD and QUEEN: AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, ROSS, and WILLOUGHBY. York. The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts, being raged, do rage the more. Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt? Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt? Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that live? Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die. ter'st me. Gaunt. Oh! no; thou diest, though I the sicker be. K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. |