Deuouring peftilence hangs in our aire,
And thou art flying to a frefber clime:
Looke what thy foule holds deare, imagine it

To ly that way thou goeft, not whence thou comeft:
Suppofe the finging birds mufitions,

The graffe whereon thou treadft, the prefence ftrowde,
The flowers, faire ladies, and thy steps, no more
Then a delightfull meafure, or a daunce,
For gnarling forrow hath leffe power to bite
The man that mockes at it and fets it light.
Bul. Oh who can hold a fier in his hand,
By thinking on the frofty Caucafus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast ?
Or wallow naked in December fnow,
By thinking on fantaftick fummers heat?
Oh no, the apprehenfion of the good
Give but the greater feeling to the worfe:
Fell forrowes tooth doth neuer ‡rancle more
Then when it bites, but lancheth not the foare.

Gaunt. Come come my fonne, Ile bring thee on thy way Had I thy youth and caufe, I would not stay.

Bul. Then Englands ground farewell, fweet foile adiew, My mother and my nurfe that beares me yet.

Where ere I wander, boast of this I can,

Though banisht yet a true borne Englishman.

Exeunt.§

*Enter the king with Bufhie, &c. at one dore, and the lord

Aumerle at the other.

King. Wee did obferue, coofin Humerle,

How farre brought you high Herford on his way?

+ Gives

ever

I which
& Scena Quartz.
Aumerie, Greene, and Bagot.

*Enter the king,

Aum.

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

King. And fay, what ftore of parting teares were shed?
Aum. Faith none for me, except the northeast winde,
Which then blew bitterly against our face,

Awakt the fleepie † rewme, and fo by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a teare.

King. What faid your coofin when you parted with him?
Au. Farewell, and for my heart disdained that my tongue
Should so prophane the word that taught me craft,
To counterfaite oppreffion of fuch griefe,

That words feemd buried in my forrowes graue :
Marry would the word farewell haue § lengthned houres,
And added yeeres to his fhort banishment,

He should haue had a volume of farewels :
But fince it would not, he had none of me.

King. He is our coofins coofin, but tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinfman come to see his friends.
Our felfe and Busbie ‡‡.

Obferued his courtship to the common people,
How he did feeme to diue into their hearts,
With humble and familiar curtefie,

With reuerence he did throw away on flaues,
Wooing poore craftsmen with the craft of fimiles,
And patient vnderbearing 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 fpeed him well,
And had the tribute of his fupple knee,

With thanks my countrey-men, my louing friends,

As were our England in reuerfion his,
And he our fubiects next degree in hope.

Greene. Well, he is gone, and with him go thefe thoughts.
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,
Expedient mannage must be made (my liege)
Ere further leyfure yeeld them + further meanes
For their aduantage, and your highnesse loffe.
King. We will our felfe in perfon to this warre,
And for our coffers, with too great a court
And liberall larges, are growne fomewhat light;
Wee are inforst to farme our royall realme,
The reuenue whereof fhall furnish vs :
For our affaires in hand, if that come short,
Our fubftitutes at home fhall haue blancke charters,
Whereto, when they fhall know what men are rich,
They shall fubfcribe them for large fummes of gold,
And fend them after to fupply our wants,
For we will make for Ireland prefently.

Enter Bufhie with newes . §.

Bufb. Old John of Gaunt is grieuous ficke, my lord, Sodainely taken, and hath fent post haft

To intreate your maieftie to visite him.

King. Where lies he?

Bufb. At Elye house.

King. Now put it (God ‡‡) into the phifitions mind,

To helpe him to his graue immediately:

The lyning of his coffers fhall make coates,

To decke our foldiers for these Irish warres.

*

Baby what newves? in

the fourth edition, is added to the kings fpeech very beauen in bis

Come

Come gentlemen, let's all goe vifite him,

Pray God we may make haft, and come too late :

Amen.

Exeunt t

Enter Iohn of Gaunt ficke, with the duke of Yorke, &c. Gaunt. Will the king come, that I may breath my last, In holfome counfell to his vnftayed youth?

Yorke. Vex not your felfe, nor striue not with your breath For all in vaine comes counfell to his eare.

Gaunt. Oh, but they fay, the tongues of dying men,
Inforce attention like deepe harmonie:

Where wordes are scarce, they are fieldome spent in vaine,
For they breath truth that breath their words in paine.
He that no more must say, is listened more

Then they whom youth and ease hath taught to glose.
More are mens ends markt, then their liues before:
The fetting funne, and muficke at the glofe \\,
As the laft taft of fweetes is fweetest laft,
Writ in remembrance, more then things long paft.
Though Richard my liues counfell would not heare,
My deaths fad tale may yet vndeafe his eare.

Yorke. No, it is ftopt with other flattering founds,
As prayfes of his § ftate: then there ++ are found
Lafciuious meeters, to whofe venom found
The open care ‡‡ of youth doth alwaies listen.
Report of fashions in proud Italie,

Whose manners ftill our tardy apifh nation
Limps after in bafe imitation.

Where doth the world thruft foorth a vanitie,

So it be new, there's no refpect how vile,

That is not quickly buzd into his

cares?

Then all too late comes counfell to be heard,
Where will doth mutinie with wittes regard.
Direct not him whofe way himselfe will choose,

Tis breath thou lackft, and that breath thou wilt † loose.
Gaunt. Mee thinks I am a prophet new inspird,
And thus expiring, doe foretell of him;

His rafh fierce blaze of riot cannot last:

For violent fires foone burne out themfelues,

Small showers last long, but fodaine stormes are short:
He tires betimes, that fpurs too fast betimes.
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder,
Light vanitie, infatiate cormorant,

Confuming meanes foone prayes vpon it felfe:
This royall throne of kings, this fceptred ile,
This earth of maieftie, this feate of Mars,
This other Eden, demie paradice,

This foretreffe built by nature for her felfe,
Against infection, and the hand of warre;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the filuer fea,
Which ferueues ‡ it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moate defenfiue to a house,

Against the enuie of leffe happier lands:

This blessed plotte, this earth, this realme, this England,

This nurse, this teeming wombe of royall kings,

Feard by their breed, and famous by their birth,
Renowned in their deeds as farre from home,
For chriftian feruice and true chiualrie,

As is the fepulchre in ftubborne lewrie,

Of the worlds ranfome, bleffed Maries fonne :

This land of fuch deare foules, this deare deare land;

* That

twilt thou

ferves

Deare