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queene, &c.

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,
Whose rockie shoare beates backe the enuious siege
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 conquest of it felfe:
Ah would the scandall vani bt + with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death?

Yorke. The king is come, deale mildly with his youth,
For young hot colts being rag'de, do rage the more. I

Enter the king and
Queene. How fares our noble vncle Lancaster?
King. What comfort man? how ist with aged Gaunt?

Gaunt. O how that name befits my composition,
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old;
Within me griefe hath kept a tedious fast,
And who abstaines from meate, that is not gaunt?
For sleeping England, long time haue I watcht;
Watching breedes leanenesse, leanenesse is all gaunt:
The pleasure that some fathers feede

Is my strickt fast, I meane my childrens lookes,
And therein, fasting halt thou made me gaunt.
Gaunt am I for the graue, gaunt as a graue,
Whose hollow wombe inherits nought but bones.

King. Can sicke men play fo nicely with their names?

Gaunt. No, miserie makes sport to mocke it selfe. Since thou dost seeke to kill my name in me, 0 | mocke my name (great king) to flatter theè.

+ vanipo

| Enter ebe king, queene, Aumerle, Bufy, Greene, Begot,. Ros and Willougbby, 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 diest, though I the sicker be.
King. I am in health, I breath, I see thee ill.

Gaunt. Now he that made me, knowes I see thee ill,
Ill in my selfe to see, and in thee seeing ill,
Thy death-bed is no lesser then the land,
Wherein thou lyest in reputation ficke,
And thou too carelesse patient as thou art,
Commitst thy annoynted body to the cure
Of those phisitions that first wounded thee :
A thoufand Aatterers sit within thy crowne,
Whose compasse is no bigger then thy head *

And yet inraged † in so small a verge,
The waste is no whit lesser then thy land :
Oh had thy grandfire with a prophets eye,
Seene how his sonnes sonne should destroy his sonnes,
From foorth thy reach he would haue layd thy hame,
Deposing thee before thou wert posest,
Which art postest now to depose thy selfe.
Why coosin wert thou regent of the world,
It were a shame to let this land by lease :
But for thy world enioying but this land,
Is it not more then shame to shame it so?
Land-lord of England art thou now not, nor I king,
Thy state of law is bond-flaue to the law,
And thou

King. Ab 3 lunatick leane-witted foole,
Presuming on an agues priuiledge,
Darest with thy frozen admonition



+ incaged

I and not

And ebeu e


Make pale our cheeke, chasing the royall blood
With furie from his natiue residence.
Now by my seates right royall maiestie
Wert thou not brother to great Edwards fonne,
This tongue that runnes so roundly in thy head,
Should runne thy head from thy vnreverent shoulders.

Gaunt. Oh spare me not my brother Edwards sonne,
For that I was his father Edwards sonne :
That blood already, like the pellican,
Haft thou tapt + and drunkenly carowst || :
My brother Glocester, plaine well meaning foule,
Whom faire befall in heauen mongst happy soules,
May be a president and witnesse good,
That thou respect'st not spilling Edwards blood.
Joyne with the present sicknesse that I haue,
And thy vnkindnes be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too long withered flower.
Liue in thy shame, 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 lone and honour haue.

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

Torke. I do bcseech your maiestie 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 say true ; as Herfords loue, so his:
As theirs, so mine, and y be as it is. *

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your making. What sayes hee?



+ Theu baA rapt out

Il carous'd . Enter Nortbumberland.

§ and all


North. Nothing, all is sayd;
His tongue is now a stringleffe instrument,
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

Yorke. Be Yorke the next that must be banckrout fo,
Though death be poore, it ends a mortall wo.

King. The ripest fruite first falles and fo doth he ;
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be:
So much for that. Now for our Irish warres:
We must supplant those rough rug headed Kernes,
Which live like venome, where no venome elfe
But onely they, haue priuiledge to liue.
And for these great affayres do aske some charge,
Towards our assistance we do seaze to vs,
The plate, coyne *, reuenewes, and moueables
Whereof our vnckle Gaunt did stand possest.

Torke. How long shall I be patient ? ah how long
Shall tender duetie make me suffer wrong?
Not Glocesters death, nor Herfords banishment,
Nor Gaunts rebukes, nor Englands priuate wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poore Bullingbrooke
About his marriage, nor my owne disgrace,
Haue euer made me fower my patient cheeke,
Or bend one wrinckle on my soueraignes face :
I am the last 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 hast, for euen so lookt he,
Accomplisht with a number of thy houres;
But when he frowned, it was against the French,
And not against his friendes: his roble hand

pobe, omisted ragde

coyne and


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 pleasd, 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 iust? and is not Harry true ?
Did not the one deserue to haue an heyre?
Is not his heyre a well deseruing sonne ?
Take Herfords right away, and take from time,
His charters and his customarie rights;
Let not to morrow then ensue to day:
Be not thy selfe; for how art thou a king,
But by faire sequence, and succession ?
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 sue
His liuery, and deny his offered homage,
You plucke a thousand dangers on your head,
You loose a thousand well disposed 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.

Torke. Ile not be by the while, my liege farewell, What will ensue heereof, ther's none can tell:


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