You urged me as a judge; but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
O, had it been a stranger, not my child,

To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.
A partial slander sought I to avoid,

And in the sentence my own life destroyed.
Alas, I looked when some of you should say,
I was too strict, to make mine own away;
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
Against my will to do myself this wrong.

K. Rich. Cousin, farewell ;—and, uncle, bid him so:
Six years we banish him; and he shall go.

Aum.

[Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD and Train. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know,

For where you do remain let paper show.

Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,

As far as land will let me, by your side.

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

Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you When the tongue's office should be prodigal

To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.

Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly gone.
Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.
Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st 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
Will but remember me what deal of world

I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages; and in the end,
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
But that I was a journeyman to grief?

Gaunt. 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
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 presence strewed,
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more

Than a delightful measure, or a dance;
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

Boling. 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.

Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way. 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!
Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,

Though banished, yet a true-born Englishman.

[Exeunt.

ACT II

SCENE I.-The Court.

Enter KING RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREEN, at one side; AUMERLE at another.

K. Rich.

We did observe.-Cousin Aumerle, how far

Brought you high Hereford on his way?

Аит.

I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,

But to the next highway, and there I left him.

My lord,

K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were shed?
Aum. 'Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,

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 disdainéd that my tongue

Should so profane the word, that taught me craft

To counterfeit oppression of such grief

That words seemed buried in my sorrow's grave.

Marry, would the word "farewell" have lengthened hours
And added years to his short banishment,

He should have had a volume of farewells;

But, since it would not, he had none of me.

K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,
Observed his courtship to the common people,
How he did seem to dive into their hearts
With humble and familiar courtesy ;
What reverence he did throw away on slaves,
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles
And patient underbearing of his fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affects with him.

Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;

A brace of draymen bid God speed him well,

And had the tribute of his supple knee,

With "Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends ;"-
As were our England in reversion his

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,—

Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
Ere further leisure yield them further means

For their advantage and your highness' loss.

K. Rich.

We will ourself in person to this war:
And, for our coffers, with too great a court

And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
We are enforced to farm our royal realm ;
The revenue whereof shall furnish us

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
And send them after to supply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland presently.

Enter BUSHY.

Bushy, what news?

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, God, 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 God we may make haste and come too late!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-London.

A Room in Ely House.

GAUNT on a couch; the DUKE OF YORK and others

Gaunt.

standing by him.

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 listened more,

Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;
More are men's ends marked 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 stopped with other flattering sounds,
As praises of his state; then there are fond
Lascivious metres, to whose venom strain
The open ear of youth doth always listen:
Report of fashions in proud Italy,
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
Limps after in base 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,
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;