Nor ever look upon each other's face,

Nor ever write, regreet, or reconcile

This low'ring tempeft of your home-bred hate;
Nor ever by advised purpose meet,

To plot, contrive, or complot any Ill,

'Gainst us, our State, our Subjects, or our Land. Boling. I fwear.

Mowb. And I, to keep all this.

Boling. Norfolk, fo far, as to mine enemy:
By this time, had the King permitted us,
One of our fouls had wandred in the air,
Banish'd this frail fepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banifh'd from this Land,
Confefs thy treafons, ere thou fly this Realm;
Since thou haft far to go, bear not along
The clogging burthen of a guilty foul.

Mowb. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,
My Name be blotted from the Book of life,
And I from heav'n banish'd as from hence !
But what thou art, heav'n, thou, and I do know,
And all too foon, I fear, the King fhall rue.
Farewel, my Liege; now no way can I ftray,
Save back to England; all the world's my way.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glaffes of thine eyes I fee thy grieved heart, thy fad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away; fix frozen winters spent, Return with Welcome home from Banifhment. Boling. How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging Winters, and four wanton Springs, End in a word; fuch is the Breath of Kings. Gaunt. I thank my Liege, that in regard of me He shortens four years of my fon's exile: But little vantage fhall I reap thereby;

For ere the fix years, that he hath to spend,
Can change their moons and bring their times about,
My oyl-dry'd lamp, and time-bewafted light,
Shall be extinct with age, and endless night:
My inch of taper will be burnt and done:
And blindfold death not let me see my son.

K. Rich. Why, uncle? thou haft many years to live.
Gaunt. But not a minute, King, that thou canft give;
Shorten my days thou canft with fullen forrow,
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 currant with him, for my death;
But dead, thy Kingdom cannot buy my breath.
K. Rich. Thy fon is banish'd upon good advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave;
Why at our juftice feem'ft thou then to low'r?

Gaunt. Things, fweet to tafte, prove in digestion fow'r :

You urg'd 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 would have been more mild:
Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say,

I was too ftrict to make mine own away:

But
you gave leave to my unwilling tongue,
Againft my will, to do my felf this wrong.
A partial flander fought I to avoid,
And in the Sentence my own life destroy'd.

K. Rich. Coufin, farewel; and, uncle, bid him fo: Six years we banish him, and he fhall go. [Flourish.

S CE NE

VI.

[Exit.

Aum. Coufin, farewel; what prefence must not know, From where you do remain, let paper show.

2 A partial flander, &c.] Thefe two lines added from the first Edition.

Mr. Pope.

Mar.

Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride As far as land will let me, by your fide.

Gaunt. Oh, to what purpose doft thou hoard thy
words,

That thou return'ft no Greeting to thy friends?
Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue's office fhould be prodigal,
To breathe th' abundant dolour of the heart.
Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy abfence for a time.
Boling. Joy abfent, grief is prefent for that time.
Gaunt. What is fix winters? they are quickly gone.
Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.
Gaunt. Call it a Travel, that thou tak'ft for pleasure.
Boling. My heart will figh, when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.

Gaunt. The fullen paffage of thy weary steps
Efteem a foil, wherein thou art to fet
The precious jewel of thy home-return.

Boling. Nay, rather, ev'ry tedious ftride I make
Will but remember me, what a deal of World
I wander from the Jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long Apprentice-hood,
To foreign paffages, 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 vifits,

Are to a wife man ports and happy havens.

Teach thy neceffity to reason thus:

There is no virtue like neceffity.

Think not, the King did banish Thee;

But Thou the King. Woe doth the heavier fit,
Where it perceives It is but faintly borne.
Go fay, I fent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not, the King exil'd thee. Or fuppofe,
Devouring Peftilence hangs in our air,

3 All Places that the Eye of Heav'n vifits, &c.] The fourteen verfes that follow, are found in the first Edition.

C 3

Mr. Pope.

And

And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy foul holds dear, imagin it

To lye that way thou go'ft, not whence thou com'ft.
Suppofe the finging birds, muficians;

The grafs whereon thou tread'ft, the prefence-floor;
The flow'rs, fair ladies; and thy fteps, no more
Than a delightful measure, or a dance.

For gnarling Sorrow hath lefs Pow'r to bite
The Man, that mocks at it, and fets it light.
Boling. Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frofty Caucafus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feaft?
Or wallow naked in December fnow,
By thinking on fantaftick Summer's heat?
Oh, no! the apprehenfion of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worfe;
Fell forrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the fore.
Gaunt. Come, come, my fon, I'll bring thee on thy

way;

Had I thy Youth, and Cause, I would not stay.
Boling. Then, England's Ground, farewel; fweet
foil, adieu,

My mother and my nurse, which bears me yet.
Where-e'er I wander, boast of this I can,
Though banish'd; yet a true-born Englishman.

[Exeunt.

VII.

Enter King Richard, and Bagot, &c. at one door; and the Lord Aumerle, at the other.

K. Rich.

WE

E did, indeed, obferve Coufin
Aumerle,

How far brought you high Hereford on his way?

Aum.

Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him fo, But to the next High-way, and there I left him.

K. Rich. And fay, what ftore of parting tears were fhed?

Aum. 'Faith, none by me; except the north-eaft wind,

(Which then blew bitterly againft our faces)

Awak'd the fleepy rheume; and fo by chance
Did grace our hollow Parting with a tear.

K. Rich. What faid your coufin, when you parted with him?

Aum. Farevel.

And, for my heart difdained that my tongue

Should fo prophane the word, That taught me craft To counterfeit oppreffion of fuch grief,

That words feem'd buried in my forrow's Grave.
Marry, would the word farewel have lengthen'd hours,
And added years to his fhort Banishment,

He fhould have had a volume of farewels;
But, fince it would not, he had none of me.

K. Rich. He is our kinfman, Coufin; but 'tis doubt,
When time fhall call him home from Banifhment,
Whether our kinfman come to fee his friends.
Our felf, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,
Obferv'd his Courtship to the common people:
How he did feem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtefie?
What reverence he did throw away on flaves;
Wooing poor crafts-men with the craft of fmiles,
And patient under-bearing of his fortune:
As 'twere to banish their Affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyfter-wench;

A brace of dray-men bid, God speed him well!
And had the tribute of his fupple knee;

With,―Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;
As were our England in reverfion his,

And he our Subjects' next degree in hope.
C 4

Green.