K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieving heart: thy aspect sad

Hath, from the number of 'his banished years, Plucked 'four away. -(To Bol.) 'Six frozen winters spent, Return, with welcome, 'home from banishment. Bol. How 'long a time lies in one little 'word!

'Four lagging winters, and four wanton 'springs, End in a word! such is the breath of 'kings! Gau. I thank my liege; but little vantage shall 'I reap: For 'ere the six years that he hath to spend

Can change their moons, and bring their times about, 'My inch of taper will be burnt and done,

And blindfold Death not let me 'see my son.

K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast 'many years to live.
Gau. But not a 'minute, King, that 'thou canst give:

'Shorten my days thou canst, with sullen sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a 'morrow!
Thou canst 'help Time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;

Thy word is current with him for my 'death;
But 'dead,... thy 'kingdom cannot buy my breath!
K. Rich. Thy son is banished upon good advice.
Cousin, farewell;-and, uncle, bid him so:

'Six years we banish him; and he 'shall 'go.

[Ex. King, &c.

As the King and his train withdraw, the Duke of Aumerle and other friends group sorrowfully around the banished Bolingbroke. His father says:

Gau. O, to what purpose dost thou 'hoard thy words,
That thou 'return'st no greeting to thy friends?

Bol. I have too few to take my leave of 'you.
Gau. Thy grief is but thy absence for a 'time.

What are six winters? they are quickly gone.
Bol. To men in 'joy; but grief makes 'one hour 'ten.
Gau. Call it a 'travel, that thou tak'st for 'pleasure.
Bol. My heart will sigh when I 'mis-call it so.

Nay rather, every tedious stride I make

Will but remember2 me-what a deal of world
I wander, from the jewels that I love!
Gau. All places that the eye of Heaven visits,
Are, to a 'wise man, ports and 'happy havens.
Teach thy 'necessity to reason thus ;-
There is no virtue 'like necessity.

Think not it was the King did banish 'thee,
But thou the 'King: Woe doth the 'heavier sit

2 Remind.

Where it perceives it is but 'faintly borne.
Go, say 'I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not the King 'exiled thee: Or suppose,
Devouring pestilence hangs in 'our air,
And thou art flying to a 'fresher clime.
Look, what thy soul holds dear, 'imagine it

To lie that way thou 'go'st, not whence thou 'com'st.
Suppose the singing birds 'musicians;

The grass whereon thou tread'st, the 'presence2 strewed;
The flowers fair 'ladies, and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure, or a dance;

3

For gnarling 'sorrow hath 'less power to bite The man that 'mocks at it, and sets it light. Bol. O, who can hold a 'fire' in his hand By 'thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare 'imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December 'snow, By thinking on fantastic Summer's 'heat? O, no! the apprehension of the 'good, Gives but the greater feeling to the 'worse: Fell Sorrow's tooth doth never rankle 'more Than when it 'bites, but 'lanceth not the sore. Gau. Come, come, my son; I'll 'bring thee on thy way: Had I 'thy youth and cause, I would not 'stay. Bol. 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,

'Though banished, yet a true-born 'Englishman! [Exeunt.

Before the departure of Bolingbroke the crafty King, especially anxious to keep on good terms with his cousin, grants him letters patent by which his succession to the vast estates and possessions of his father, the old Duke of Lancaster, will, notwithstanding his banishment, be secured.

The exiled Bolingbroke proceeds to France, and soon enters into a treaty of marriage with the daughter of the Duke of Berry, uncle to the King of France; but Richard, fearing this alliance, sends over a royal commission to frustrate the match.

At this time also, Richard's cousin, Roger, Earl of March, (presumptive heir to the Crown of England,) has been slain in Ireland by the unhappy natives; and the King thinks himself bound to avenge the death of his kinsman by undertaking a war in Ireland thus, by his absence, leaving England open to insurrection or invasion.

2 The King's chamber strewed with rushes. + Pronounced as a dissyllable.

3 Pace regulated by music.

5 Conception, recollection.

The banishment of Bolingbroke completely prostrates old Gaunt, his father. When the King is sent for by his dying uncle, he callously says:

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.-
Come, gentlemen, let 's all go 'visit him:

Pray Heaven, we may make haste-and come too late!

[Exeunt.

Before us, in a room of Ely House, old John of Gaunt is lying on a couch: his brother, the aged Duke of York, is standing by :both waiting the arrival of their royal nephew. Gaunt is the first to speak:

Gau. 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.

Gau. O, but, they say, the tongues of 'dying men 'Enforce attention, like deep harmony:

Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
My 'death's sad tale may yet 'un-deaf his ear.
York. No; it is 'stopped, with other 'flattering sounds:
As praises of his state; lascivious metres;
Report of fashions in proud Italy,

Whose manners still our tardy, 'apish nation
Limps-after in base, awkward imitation.
Where doth the world thrust forth a 'vanity,
(So it be 'new, there's no respect how 'vile,)
That is not quickly buzzed into 'his ears?
Then all too late comes 'counsel to be heard.
Gau.... 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.-

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This fortress, built by Nature for herself
Against infection' and the hand of war;

This 'happy breed of men, this little world,

This precious stone set in the silver sea,

This blesséd plot, this earth, this realm, this England, . . .

2 Contamination, moral or physical.

Is now 'leased out, (I die pronouncing it,)
Like to a tenement, or pelting2 farm:

England, bound-in with the triumphant 'sea,-
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune,-is 'now bound-in with 'shame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds.
Ah! would the scandal vanish with my 'life,
How 'happy then were my ensuing 'death!
York. The King is 'come: deal mildly with his youth.
King Richard enters with Attendants:

K. Rich. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?

What! comfort, man! How is 't with agéd Gaunt? Gau. O, how that name 'befits my composition!

'Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in 'being old:

Gaunt am I for the 'grave, . . . gaunt 'as a grave! K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their names? Gau. No; misery 'makes sport, to mock 'itself; And, King, though I the sicker be, 't is 'thou Art dying, and thy death-bed is this land, Wherein thou liest, in 'reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art,Committ'st thy 'nointed body to the 'cure Of those physicians that first 'wounded thee. O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye, Seen how his son's son should 'destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy 'shame,'Deposing thee 'before thou wert possessed! 'Landlord of England art thou now, not 'King : Thy state of law is 'bondslave to the law, And thou

K. Rich.

Thou? Lunatic, lean-witted fool!

Dar'st thou with frozen admonition,

Make pale 'our cheek,-chasing the royal blood
With fury, from his native residence?

Now, by my throne's right royal majesty,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
This tongue, that runs so roundly' in thy head,
Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.
Gau. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son !
My brother Gloster, -plain well-meaning soul,-—
May be a precedent, and witness good,

That thou respect'st not 'spilling Edward's 'blood.-
'Join with the present sickness that I have;
And thy unkindness be, like crookéd age,

2 Paltry.

3 Fancifully, pedantically.

4Freely

To crop at 'once a too-long withered flower. . .
Convey me to my bed,-then to my 'grave!

Love they to 'live, that love and 'honour have.

Richard, unpityingly, sees his dying uncle borne out by his attendants: then, turning to the Duke of York, he says:

K. Rich. And let 'them 'die, that age and 'sullens have;
For 'both hast thou; and both 'become the grave.
York. Beseech your majesty, impute his words

To wayward sickliness: he holds you 'dear-
As Harry, 'Duke of Hereford, were he here.

K. Rich. Right, you say true: As 'Hereford's love, so his;
As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

Northumberland enters.

Nor. My liege, . . . old Gaunt commends him to your

majesty.

K. Rich. What says he 'now ?

Nor.

Nay, nothing: all is 'said. His tongue is now a 'stringless instrument: Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath 'spent! K. Rich. The ripest 'fruit first falls, and so doth he:So much for that.-Now for our Irish wars: We must 'supplant those rough rug-headed kerns ;* And, for the 'charge, we seize unto 'our use

The plate, coin, révenues, and movables,

Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possessed.

The old Duke of York, astonished at the King's rapid forgetfulness of the pre-arranged settlements with his banished nephew, who is thus to be deprived of his substantial inheritance,—with only the nominal title of Duke of Lancaster,-remonstrates with his royal nephew:

York. How long shall I be 'patient? Ah, how long
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?

Not Gloster's death; nor Hereford's banishment;
Not Gaunt's rebukes; nor England's private wrongs;
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage; nor my own disgrace,-
Have ever made me 'sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one 'wrinkle on my sovereign's face.

I am the 'last of noble Edward's sons,

Of whom thy father, (Prince of Wales,) was 'first;
In 'war, was never 'lion raged more fierce ;
In 'peace, was never gentle lamb more 'mild.
His face thou hast; for even so looked 'he,
Accomplished with the number of thy hours;

2 Common soldiers.

3 Hindrance.

To the daughter of the Duke of Berry.