Thy word is current with him for my death: K. RICH. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower? GAUNT. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father: To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.] K. RICH. Cousin, farewell:—and, uncle, bid him so; [Flourish. Exeunt K. RICHARD and Train. AUM. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, From 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 enforced 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 a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. GAUNT. All places that the eye of heaven visits Think not, the king did banish thee; But thou the king: Woe doth the heavier sit, To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st. The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence strew'd; Than a delightful measure or a dance: For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? 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 banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. SCENE IV-A Room in the King's Palace. [Exeunt. Enter KING RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREEN; AUMERLE K. RICH. We did observe.-Cousin Aumerle, 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 north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our face, Awak'd the sleepy rheum; and so, by chance, Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. K. RICH. What said our cousin when you parted with him? AUм. 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 word seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd hours, 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 't is doubt, 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. K. RICH. We will ourself in person to this war. For our affairs in hand: If that come short, Bushy, what news? Enter BUSHY. BUSHY. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my iord; To entreat your majesty to visit him. BUSHY. At Ely House. 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 God, we may make haste, and come too 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 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; 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, Direct not him, whose way himself will choose; "T is 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; |