Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! SCENE IV. The same. A Room in the King's Castle. 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 by me: except the north- Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Aum. Farewell: And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief, That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd hours, And added years to his short banishment, When time shall call him home from banishment, What reverence he did throw away on slaves; Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles, And patient underbearing of his fortune, A brace of draymen bid-God speed him well, Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland :- For our affairs in hand: If that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, Enter BUSHY. Bushy, what news? Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord; Suddenly taken; and hath sent post-haste, Bushy. At Ely-house. K. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physi cian's mind, To help him to his grave immediately! late! [Exeunt. 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 unstaied 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 musick 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 Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity 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 inspir'd; And thus, expiring, do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last; He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes; Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This fortress, built by nature for herself, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, England, bound in with the triumphant sea, With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds; 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 rag'd, do rage the more. Queen. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster? K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt? Gauni. O, how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old: Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: that live? [die. Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st-thou flatter'st me. Gaunt. Oh! no; thou diest, though I the sicker be. K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. Gaunt. Now, he that made me, knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. |