The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps, no more Had I 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! [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-A Room in the King's Palace. Enter KING RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREEN; AUMERLE following. 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 highway, and there I left him. K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were shed? Aum. 'Faith, none for me, except the northeast wind, Which then blew bitterly against our face, Awaked the sleeply rheum; and so, by chance, Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. K. Rich. What said our cousin when you parted with him? And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief, That word seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd hours, And added years to his short banishment, K Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, What reverence he did throw away on slaves; As 'twere to banish their affects with him. As were our England in reversion his, 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 comes short, rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, Bushy, what news? Enter BUSHY. Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grevious sick, Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste, K. Rich. Where ies he? Bushy. At Ely House. K. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's To help him to his grave immediately! Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late! All. Amen. [Excunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-London. A Room in Ely House. GAUNT on a couch; the DUKE OF YORK and others standing by him. Gaunt. PILL the king come, that I W my last may breathe 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; The setting sun, and music at the close, (As the last taste of sweets is sweetest,) last, Writ in remembrance, more than things long past; Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As praises of his state: then, there are found 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. Direct not him, whose way himself will choose; "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; For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This fortress, built by Nature for herself, |