* And for we thinke the eagle-winged pride,
Of fkie-afpiring and ambitious thoughts
With riual-hatiug enuie fet on you,

To wake our peace, which in our countries cradle
Drawes the fweet infant breath of gentle fleepe,
Which fo rouzd vp with boyftrous vntunde drummes,
With harsh refounding trumpets dreadfull bray,
And grating fhocke of wrathfull yron armes,
Might from our quiet confines fright faire peace,
And make vs wade euen in our kindreds blood:
Therefore we banish you our territories.
You coofin Herford, vpon paine of life t,
Till twice fiue fummers haue enricht our field,
Shall not regreete our faire dominions,

But tread the ftranger pathes of banishment.

Bul. Your will be done; this must my comfort be, That fun that warmes you heere, shall shine on me, And those his golden beames unto ‡ you heere lent, Shall point on me, and guild my banishment.

King. Norfolke, for thee remaines a heauier doome,
Which I with fome vnwillingnesse pronounce,

The flie flow howres fhall not determinate
The dateleffe limit of thy deare exile :
The hopelesse word of neuer to returne,

Breath I against thee, vpon paine of life.

Mow. A heauie fentence, my moft foueraigne liege,
And all vnlookt for from your highneffe mouth,
A dearer merit, not fo deepe a mayme,

As to be caft foorth in the common ayre,

Haue I deferued at your highneffe hands:
The language I haue learnd these fortie yeares,

These five lines are omitted in one of the Copies.
VOL. II.
X

t dearb

My natiue English now I must forgoe,
And now my tongues vse is to me no more
Than an vnftringed violl or a harpe,
Or like a cunning inftrument cafde vp,
Or being open, put into his hands

That knowes no touch to tune the harmonię.
Within my mouth you haue ingayld my tongue,
Doubly percullift* with my teeth and lippes,
And dull vnfeeling barren ignorance
Is made my iayler to attend on me :
I am too old to fawne vppon a nurse,
To farre in yeares to be a pupill now.
What is thy fentence but fpeachleffe death;

Which robbes my tongue from breathing natiue breath?
King. It bootes thee not to be compassionate,
After our fentence, playning comes too late.

Mow. Then thus I turne me from my countries light,
To dwell in folemne fhades of endlesse night.

King. Returne againe, and take an oath with thee,
Lay on our royall fword your banisht hands.
Sweare by the dutie that y'owe to God †,
(Our part therein we banish with your felues)
To keepe the oath that we adminifter:
You neuer fhall, fo helpe you truth and God 1,
Embrace each others loue in banifhment,

Nor neuer looke vpon each others face,
||

Nor neuer § write; regreete, nor ++ reconcile
This louing ‡‡ tempest of your home-bred hate,
Nor neuer by aduifed purpose meete,

To plotte, contriue, or complot any ill,

Gainft vs, our state, our fubiects, or our land.

Bul. I fweare.

Mow. And I, to keepe all this.

Bul. Norfolke, fo fare as to mine enemie :
By this time, had the king permitted vs,
One of our foules had wandred in the ayre,
Banifht this fraile fepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banisht from this land.
Confeffe thy treafons ere thou fly the + realme,
Since thou haft farre to goe, beare not along
The cloging burthen of a guiltie foule.

Mow. No Bullingbrooke, if euer I were traytour,
My name be blotted from the booke of life,
And I from heauen banisht, as from hence:
But what art thou, God t, thou, and I, do know,
And all too foone (I feare) the king shall rew.
Farewell, (my liege) now no way can I stray,
Saue backe to England, all the world's my way.
King. Vncle, euen in the glasses of thine eies,
I fee thy grieued heart: thy fad aspect
Hath from the number of his banisht yeares
Pluckt foure away, fixe frozen winters spent,
Returne with welcome home from banishment.

Bul. How long a time lies in one little word?
Foure lagging winters, and foure wanton fprings,
End in one word; fuch is the breath of kings.
Gaunt. I thanke my liege, that in regard of mee,
He shortens foure yeares of my fonnes exile;

But little vantage fhall I reape thereby :

For ere the fixe yeares that he hath to spend

Can change their moones, and bring their times about,
My oyle-dryed lampe, and time bewafted light

Shall be extinct with age and endlesse night:
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me fee my fonne.

King. Why vnckle, thou hast many yeares to liue.
Gaunt. But not a minute (king) that thou canft giue:
Shorten my daies thou canft with fullen † forrow,
And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow.
Thou canft helpe time to furrow me with age,
But stoppe no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:
Thy word is currant with him for my death,
But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath.
King. Thy fonne is banifht with good aduife,
Whereto thy tongue, a party, verdict gaue,
Why at our iuftice seemst thou then to lowre?
Gaunt. Things fweet to taft, prooue in digeftion fowre.
You urge me as a iudge, but I had rather
You would haue bid me argue like a father.
Oh had't been a firanger, not my child,

To fmooth his fault I would haue been more milde:
A partiall flaunder fought § I to auoyde,
And in the fentence my owne life deftroyde.
Alas, I lookt when fome of you fhould fay,
I was too ftrict to make mine owne away:
But you gaue leaue to my vnwilling tongue,
Against my will, to do my felfe this wrong.

King. Coofen farewell, and vnckle bid him fo;
Sixe yeares we banish him, and he shall go *.

Au. Coofin farewell; what prefence muft not know From where you doe remaine, let paper show.

Mar. My lord no leaue take I, for I will ride As farre as land will let me, by your fide.

Gaunt. Oh to what purpose doft thou hoard thy words That thou returneft no greeting to thy friends?

Bul. I haue too few to take my leaue of you,
When the tongues office should be prodigall,
To breath the abundant dolour of the heart.

Gaunt. Thy griefe is but thy abfence for a time.
Bul. Ioy abfent, griefe is prefent for that time.
Gaunt. What is fixe winters? they are quickly gone.
Bul. To men in ioy, but griefe makes one howre ten.
Gaunt. Call it a trauaile that thou takst for pleasure.
Bul. My heart will figh when I mifcall it fo,
Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.

Gaunt. The fullen paffage of thy wearie steps
Efteeme a foyle + wherein thou art to fet,
The precious iewell of thy home returne.

Bul. Nay rather euery tedious ftride I make,
Will but remember me what deale of world
I
I wander from the iewels that I loue.
Muft I not ferue a long apprentishood
To forren paffages, and in the end,
Hauing my freedome, boast of nothing elfe,
But that I was a iourney-man to griefe?
Gaunt. All places that the eie of heauen vifites,
Are to a wife man ports and happy hauens.
Teach thy neceffitie to reafon thus.
There is no vertue like neceffitie:
Thinke not the king did banish thee

But thou the king, who § doth the heauier fit,
Where it perceiues it is but faintly borne:
Go, fay I fent thee foorth to purchase honour,
And not the king exilde thee; or suppose

+ foyle

Thefe lines are found in the first and third edition, but are omitted