Deare for her reputation through the world,
Is now leaced out (I die pronouncing it)
Like to a tenement and * pelting farme.
England bound in with the triumphant fea,
Whofe rockie fhoare beates backe the enuious fiege
Of watry Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inkie blottes, and rotten parchment bonds.
That England that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shamefull conqueft of it felfe:
Ah would the scandall vanisht † with my life,
How happy then were my enfuing death?

Yorke. The king is come, deale mildly with his youth,
For young hot colts being rag'de, do rage the more.‡
Enter the king and queene, &c.

Queene. How fares our noble vncle Lancaster?
King. What comfort man? how ift with aged Gaunt ?
Gaunt. O how that name befits my compofition,

Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old;

Within me griefe hath kept a tedious fast,

And who abftaines from meate, that is not gaunt?
For fleeping England, long time haue I watcht;
Watching breedes leaneneffe, leanenesse is all gaunt:
The pleasure that fome fathers feede vppon,
Is my ftrickt faft, I meane my childrens lookes,
And therein, fafting haft thou made me gaunt.
Gaunt am I for the graue, gaunt as a graue,
Whose hollow wombe inherits nought but bones.

King. Can ficke men play fo nicely with their names?
Gaunt. No, miferie makes sport to mocke it felfe.
Since thou doft feeke to kill my name in me,

O mocke my name (great king) to flatter theè.

Enter the king, queene, Aumerie, Busby, Greene, Ba

• or + vanish
got, Ros and Willoughby, fourth edition.

King. Should dying men flatter those that liue?
Gaunt. No, no, men liuing flatter those that die.
King. Thou now a dying sayst, thou flatterest me.
Gaunt. Oh no, thou dieft, though I the ficker be.
King. I am in health, I breath, I fee thee ill.
Gaunt. Now he that made me, knowes I fee thee ill,
Ill in my felfe to fee, and in thee feeing ill,

Thy death-bed is no leffer then the land,
Wherein thou lyeft in reputation ficke,
And thou too careleffe patient as thou art,
Commitst thy annoynted body to the cure
Of those phifitions that firft wounded thee:
A thoufand flatterers fit within thy crowne,
Whofe compaffe is no bigger then thy head*;
And yet inraged † in so small a verge,

The waste is no whit leffer then thy land :
Oh had thy grandfire with a prophets eye,

Seene how his fonnes fonne fhould deftroy his fonnes,
From foorth thy reach he would haue layd thy fhame,
Depofing thee before thou wert possest,

Which art poffeft now to depofe thy felfe.
Why coofin wert thou regent of the world,
It were a fhame to let this land by leafe :
But for thy world enioying but this land,
Is it not more then shame to fhame it fo?

Land-lord of England art thou now not, nor ‡ king,
Thy state of law is bond-flaue to the law,

And thou

Make pale our cheeke, chafing the royall blood
With furie from his natiue refidence.

Now by my feates right royall maieftie

Wert thou not brother to great Edwards fonne,
This tongue that runnes fo roundly in thy head,
Should runne thy head from thy vnreverent shoulders.
Gaunt. Oh fpare me not my brother Edwards fonne,
For that I was his father Edwards fonne:

That blood already, like the pellican,

Haft thou tapt and drunkenly carowft ||:
My brother Glocefter, plaine well meaning foule,
Whom faire befall in heauen mongst happy foules,
May be a prefident and witneffe good,
That thou refpect'st not spilling Edwards blood.
Joyne with the prefent fickneffe that I haue,
And thy vnkindnes be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too long withered flower.
Liue in thy fhame, but die not shame with thee:
These words heereafter, thy tormentors be:
Conuay me to my bed, then to my graue,
Loue they to liue, that loue and honour haue.

King. And let them die, that age and fullens haue,
For both haft thou, and both become the graue.

Yorke. I do befeech your maieftie impute his words
To wayward ficklinesse and age in him:

He loues you on my life, and holds you deere,
As Harry duke of Herford, were he heere.

King. Right, you fay true; as Herfords loue, fo his:

As theirs, fo mine, and § be as it is. *

Exit.

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your maKing. What fayes hee?

X

(ieftie.

chafing + Thou ba tapt out

North. Nothing, all is fayd;

His tongue is now a ftringleffe inftrument,
Words, life, and all, old Lancafter hath fpent.
Yorke. Be Yorke the next that must be banckrout fo,
Though death be poore, it ends a mortall wo.

King. The ripeft fruite first falles and fo doth he;
His time is fpent, our pilgrimage must be :
So much for that. Now for our Irish warres:
We must fupplant thofe rough rug headed Kernes,
Which liue like venome, where no venome elfe
But onely they, haue priuiledge to liue.
And for these great affayres do aske some charge,
Towards our affiftance we do feaze to vs,
The plate, coyne*, reuenewes, and moueables
Whereof our vnckle Gaunt did ftand poffeft.

Yorke. How long fhall I be patient? ah how long Shall tender duetie make me fuffer wrong ? Not Glocefters death, nor Herfords banishment, Nor Gaunts rebukes, nor Englands priuate wrongs, Nor the preuention of poore Bullingbrooke About his marriage, nor my owne difgrace, Haue euer made me fower my patient cheeke, Or bend one wrinckle on my foueraignes face: I am the laft of the + noble Edwards fonnes, Of whom thy father prince of Wales was first. In warre, was neuer lion rage || more fierce : In peace, was neuer gentle lambe more milde Then was that young and princely gentleman: His face thou haft, for euen fo lookt he, Accomplisht with a number of thy houres; But when he frowned, it was against the French, And not against his friendes: his noble hand

Did winne what he did fpend, and spent not that
Which his triumphant fathers hand had wonne:
His hands were guiltie of no kindred blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kinne.
Oh Richard! Yorke is too farre gone with griefe,
Or else he neuer would compare betweene.
King. Why vncle, whats the matter?

Yorke. Oh my liege, pardon me if you please,
If not, I pleafd, not to be pardoned, am content withall:
Seeke you to seize and gripe into your hands,
The royalties and rights of banisht Herford?
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Herford liue?
Was not Gaunt iuft? and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deferue to haue an heyre?
Is not his heyre a well deferuing fonne?
Take Herfords right away, and take from time,
His charters and his customarie rights;
Let not to morrow then enfue to day:
Be not thy felfe; for how art thou a king,
But by faire fequence, and fucceffion?
Now afore God, God forbid I say true,
If you doe wrongfully seize Herfords right,
Call in the letters patents that he hath
By his attournies generall to fue

His liuery, and deny his offered homage,
You plucke a thousand dangers on your head,

You loose a thousand well difpofed hearts,

And pricke my tender patience to those thoughts,
Which honour and allegeance cannot thinke.

King. Thinke what you will, we seize into our hands,
His plate, his goods, his money and his land.
Yorke. Ile not be by the while, my liege farewell,
What will enfue heereof, ther's none can tell:

But