Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours But since it would not, he had none of me. 21 King Richard. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, What reverence he did throw away on slaves, 30 And had the tribute of his supple knee, A brace of draymen bid God speed him well 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, Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness' loss. 40 And, for our coffers, with too great a court King Richard. We will ourself in person to this war: And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: if that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; 50 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. King Richard. Where lies he? Bushy. At Ely House. King Richard. Now put it, God, in the 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! 60 All. Amen. ACT II. [Exeunt. SCENE I. Ely House. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, &c. 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; As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, II 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— 20 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. 30 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; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This fortress built by Nature for herself 40 Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, 50 Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Enter KING RICHARD and QUEEN, AUMERLE, BUSHY, 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? 60 70 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? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. 80 K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their names? Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 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. K. Rich. Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me. Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, King Richard. A lunatic lean-witted fool, Darest with thy frozen admonition 91 ΙΟΟ ΙΙΟ Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood 120 Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. |