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KING RICHARD II.

[Act I.
Bast. Thither shall it then.

And knows not how to do it, but with tears. And happily may your sweet self put on

Bast. 0, let us pay the time but needful woe, The lineal state and glory of the land!

Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. To whom, with all submission, on my knee,

This England never did, (nor never shall,)
I do bequeath my faithful services

Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
And true subjection everlastingly.

But when it first aid help to wound itself.
Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, Now these her princes are come home again,
To rest without a spot for evermore.

Come the three corners of the world in arms,
P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
thanks,

If England to itself do rest but true. (Exeunt.

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Pet sous of the drama.
King Richard the Second.

Larl of NORTHUMBERLAND: Henry Percy, his son.
Edmund of Langley, duke of York, Uncles to the Lord Řoss. Lord Willoughby. Lord FitzwATER.
John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster,

Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of WestminsteR.
Herry, surnamed Bolingbroke, duke of Hereford, Lord Marshal; and another Lord.

son to John of Gaunt; afterwards king Henry IV. Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen SCROOP.
Duke of AUMERLE, son to the duke of York.

Captain of a band of Welchmen.
Mowbray, duke of Norfolk.

Queen to king Richard.
Duke of SURREY.

Duchess of GLOSTER.
Earl of SALISBURY. Earl BERKLEY.

Duchess of YORK.
Bushy,

Lady attending on the queen.
Bagot, Creatures to king Richard.

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners,
GREEN,

Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants.
Scene, - dispersedly in England and Wales.

}

A C T I.

Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.

Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
SCENE I. — London. A room in the palace.
Enter King Richard, attended
; John of Gaunt, and "Boling. First

, (heaven be the record to my speech!)

Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ?
other Nobles, with him.

In the devotion of a subject's love,
K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lan- Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
caster,

And free from other misbegotten hate,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,

Come I appellant to this princely presence.
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear, My body shall make good upon this earth,
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Gaunt. I have, my liege.

Thou art atraitor, and a miscreant;
K. Rich. Tell me moreover, hast thou sounded him, Too good to be so, and too bad to live;
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice,

Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky,
Or worthily, as a good subject should,

The uglier seem the clouds, that in it fly.
On some known ground of treachery in him? Once more, the more to aggravate the note,

Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argument,- With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat,
On some apparent danger seen in him,

And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move,
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may

K. Rich. Then call them to our presence;face to face, prove.
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal!
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak. — 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,

[Exeunt some Attendants. The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain.
In
rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.
Re-enter Attendants, with BOLINGBROKE and Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
NORFOLK.

As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say:
Buling. May many years of happy days befal First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! from giving reins and spurs to my free speech,

Nor. Each day still better other's happiness, Which else would post, until it had return'd
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
Add an immortaltitle to your crown!

Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
K. Rich. We thank you both; yet one but flattersus, And let him be no kinsman to my liegt,
As well appeareth by the cause you come;

I do defy him, and I spit at him;

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Call him a slanderons coward, and a villain

Since last I went to France to fetch his queen.
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds, Now swallow down that lie!- For Gloster's death,
And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot

I slew him not, but to my own disgrace,
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,

Neglected my sworn duty in that case. —
Or any other ground inhabitable,

For you, my poble lord of Lancaster,
Where ever Englishman dare set his foot.

The honourable father to my foe,
Meantime, let this defend my loyalty :

Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.

A trespass, that doth vex my grieved soul:
Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my But, ere) last receiv'd the sacrament,
gage,

I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
Disclaiming here the kindred of a king,

Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, Thadit.
And lay aside my high blood's royalty,

This is my fault. As for the rest appeal’d,
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. It issues from the rancour of a villain,
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, A recreant and most degenerate traitor;
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop; Which in myself I boldly will defend
By that, and all the rites of knighthood else, And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,

Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. To prove myself a loyal gentleman,
Nor. I take it up, and, by that sword I swear, Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.
Which gently lay'd my knighthood on my shoulder, In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,

Your highness to assign our trialday.
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial :

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me!
And, when I mount, alive may l not light,

Let's purge this choler without letting blood!
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight!

This we prescribe, though no physician;
K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's Deep malice makes too deep incision:
charge?

Forget, forgive, conclude, and be agreed!
It must be great, that can inherit us

Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed. -
So much as of a thought of ill in him.

Good uncle, let this end where it begun!
Boling. Look, what I speak; my life shall prove it We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son.
true:

Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age.
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage!
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his !
The which he hath detain’d for lew'd employments, Gaunt. When, Harry? when?
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain.

Obedience bids, I should not bid again.
Besides I say, and will in battle prove,

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down! we bid; there is no
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge,

boot. That ever was survey'd by English eye,

Nor. Myself Ithrow, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
That all the treasons, for these eighteen years My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
Complotted and contrived in this land,

The one my duty owes ;
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. (Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,)
Further I say, and further will maintain

To dark dishonour's use thon shalt not have.
Upon his bad life, to make all this good,

I am disgrac’d, impeach'd, and baffled here,
That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death, Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear,
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,

The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood,
And, consequently, like a traitor coward,

Which breath'd this poison.
Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood; K. Rich. Rage must be withstood.
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,

Give me his gage ! - Lions make leopards tame.
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, Nor. Yea, but not change their spots: take but my
Tome for justice and rough chastisement;

shame,
And, by the glorious worth of my descent,

And I resign my gage. My dear, dear lord,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

The purest treasure mortal times alsord,
K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars! Is spotless reputation; that away,
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.

Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,

Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Till I have told this slander of his blood,

Mine honour is my life; both grow in one.
How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. Take honour from me, and my life is done.

K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are onr eyes an ears : Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try!
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, In that I live, and for that will I die.
(As he is but my father's brother's son,)

K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage! do you
Now by my sceptre's awes make a vow,

begin!
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Boling. 0, God defend my soul from such foul sin !
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight?
The unstooping firmuess of my upright soul.

Or with pale beggar fear impeach my height
Heis our subject, Mowbray, so art thou ;

Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue
Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow.

Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong,
Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest! Theslavish motive of recanting fear,
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,

And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,
Disburs’d I duly to his highness' soldiers,

Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.
The other part reserv'd I by consent;

[Exit Gaunt. For that my sovereign liege was in my debt,

K. Rich. We were not born to sne, but to command: Upon remainder of a dear account,

Which since we cannot do, to make yon friends,

but my

fair name,

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Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,

Not with the empty hollowness, but weight. At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day!

I take my leave, before I have begun; There shall your swords and lances arbitrate

For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done. The swelling difference of your settled hate;

Commend me to my brother, Edmund York! Since we cannot atone you, we shall see

Lo, this is all !- Nay, yet depart not so! Justice design the victor's chivalry.

Though this be all, do not so quickly go! Marshall, command our officer at arms

I shall remember more. Bid him-0, what? Be ready to direct these home-alarmıs ! [Exeunt. With all good speed at Plashy visit me.

Alack, and what shall good old York there see, SCENE II. The same. A room in the Duke of Lan- But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, caster's palace.

Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
Enter Gaunt, and Duchess of Gloster.

And what cheer there for welcome, but my groaps ?
Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Gloster's blood, Therefore commend me, let him not come there,
Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims,

To seek out sorrow, that dwells every where ! To stir against the butchers of his life.

Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die; But since correction lieth in those hands,

The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
Which made the fault, that we cannot correct,

Exeunt.
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;
Who, when he sees the hours ripe on earth,

SCENE III.—Gosford Green, near Coventry.
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

Lists set out, and a throne. Heralds, etc, attending.
Duch. Finds brotherhood in thce no sharper spur? Enter the Lord Marshal, and! AUSERLE.
Hath love in thy old blood no-living fire?

Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry flereford arm’d?
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,

Aum. Yea, at all points, aud longs to enter in. Were as seven phials of his sacred blood,

Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Or seven fair branches springing from one root. Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Āum. Why then, the champions are prepard, and Some of those branches by the destinies cut:

stay
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, For nothing but his majesty's approach.
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood,

Flourish of trumpets. Enter King Richard,who takes
One flourishing branch of his most royal root, his seat on his throne ; Gaurt, and several Noble-
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt,
Is hack'd down, and
his summer leaves all faded,

men, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded,

and answered by unother trumpet within. Then enBy envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe.

ter Norfolk in armour, preceded by a Herald.
Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine ; that bed, that womb, K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion
That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion’d thee, The cause of his arrival here in arms,
Made him a man; and though thou liv’st and breath'st, Ask him his name, and orderly proceed
Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent,

To swear him in the justice of his cause!
In some large measure, to thy father's death,

Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who thou art, In that thou secst thy wretched brother die, And why thou com’st, thus knightly clad in arms ? Who was the model of thy father's life.

Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel ? Call it not patience, Gaunt!it is despair.

Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath, In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour! Thon show'st the naked pathway to thy life,

Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk;
Teaching stern murder, how to butcher thee.

Who hither come engaged by my oath,
That, which in mean men we entitle patience, (Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate!)
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

Both to defend my loyalty and truth,
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, To God, my king, and my succeeding issue,
The best way is to’venge my Gloster's death.

Against the duke Hereford, that appeals me; Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's sub-And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm, stitute,

To prove him, in defending of myself,
His deputy anointed in his sight,

A traitor to my God, my king, and me:
Hath cans'd his death: the which, if wrongfully, And, as struly fight, defend me heaven!
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
An angry arm against his minister.

Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBROXE in armour,
Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself?

preceded by a Herald.
Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
defence.

Both who he is, and why he cometh hither
Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt ! Thus plated in habiliments of war?
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold

And formally, according to our law,
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.

Depose him in the justice of his cause ! 0, sit my husband's wrongs on l?ereford's spear, Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast !

hither, Or, if misfortune miss the first career,

Before king Richard, in his royal lists?
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,

Against whom comest thou ? and what's thy quarrel?
That they may break his foaming courser's back, Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford !

Boling: Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,

Aml; who ready here do stand in arms, Farewell

, old Gaunt! Thy sometimes brother's wife To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour, With her companion griefmust end her life. Gaunt. Sister, farewell! I must to Coventry.

In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk,

That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous,
As much good stay with thee, as go with me!
Duch. Yet one word more!-Grief boundeth, where And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me;
Mar. On pain of death,

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Draw near,

Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists!

And dares him to set forward to the fight.
Except the marshal, and such officers

2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Appointed to direct these fair designs.

Norfolk,
Boling. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's On pain to be found false and recreant,
hand,

Both to defend himself, and to approve
And bow my knee before his majesty!

Heory of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men, To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal;
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;

Courageously, and with a free desire,
Then let us take a ceremonious leave,

Attending but the signal to begin.
And loving farewell of our several friends.

Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, comba-
Mar. The appellant in all daty greets your highness, tants !

[A charge sounded. And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.

K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,

spears,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight!

And both return back to their chairs again! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thoa shed, Withdraw with us -and let the trumpets sound, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. While we return these dukes what we decree!Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear

[4 long Flourish. For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear!

[To the Combatants. As confident, as is the falcon's flight

And list what with our council we have done!
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.

For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd My loving lord, [To lord Marshal.]I take my leave of With that dear blood, which it hath fostered, you;

And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle; —

of civil wounds, plough'd up with neighbours' swords; Not sick, although I have to do with death,

And for we think the eagle-winged pride
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet

With rival-hating envy, set you on
The daintiest last, to make the end more sweet : To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
Othou, the earthly author of my blood, — [To Gaunt. Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,

Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun’d drums,
Doth with atwo-fold vigour lift me up

With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
To reach at victory above my head,

And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace,
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, And make us wade even in our kindred's blood :
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,

Therefore, we banish you our territories.
And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt,

You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death,
Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.

Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields,
Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee prospe- Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
rous !

But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Be swift like lightning in the execution;

Boling. Your will be done! This must my comfort be,
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,

That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me;
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque

And those his golden beams, to you here lent,
Of thy advérse pernicious enemy!

Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live! K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
Boling. Mine innocency, and Saint George to thrive! Which I with some unwillingness pronounce.

(He takes his seat. The fly-slow hours shall not determinate
Nor.[Rising.)However heaven,or fortune,cast my lot The dateless limit of thy dear exile.
There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne, The hopeless word of never to return
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman,

Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
Never did captive with a freer heart

Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace

And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth!
His golden rincontrolld enfranchisement,

A dearer merit, not so deep a maim,
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate

As to be cast forth in the common air,
This feast of battle with mine adversary.-

Have I deserved at your highness' hand.
Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, The language, I have learn'd these forty years,
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years ! My native English, now I must forego,
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,

And now my tongue's use is to me no more,
Go I to fight. Truth hath a quiet hreast.

Than an unstringed viol, or a harp,
K. Rich. Farewell, my lord! securely I espy Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up,
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.-

Or, being open, put into his hands,
Order the trial, marshal, and begin!

That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
(The King and the Lords return to their seats. Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,
Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Doubly portcullis’d, with my teeth, and lips;
Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! And dull, nnfeeling, barren ignorance,
Boling. (Rising.] Strong as a tower in hope, I cry Is made my gaoler, to attend on me.
Amen.

[am too old, to fawn upon a nurse,
Mar. Go bear this lance (To an Officer.]to Thomas, Too far in years, to be a pupil now:
duke of Norfolk!

What is thy sentence then, but speechless death, 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,

K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate;
On pain to be found false and recreant,

After our sentence, plaining comes too late.
To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's light,
A traitor to his God, his king, and him,

To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.(Retiring.

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K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee! Aum.Cousin,farewell!What presence must not know,
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands! From where you do remain, let paper show!
Swear by the duty, that you owe to heaven,

Mar. My lord, no leave takel; for I will ride,
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves,) As far, as land will let me, by your side.
To keep the oath, that we administer!

Gaunt.O,to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, You never shall (so help you truth and heaven !) That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? Embrace each other's love in banishment,

Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you, Nor never look upon each other's face;

When the tongue's office should be prodigal, Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile

To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate, Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. Nor never by advised purpose meet,

Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,

Gauni. What is six winters ? they are quickly gone. 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. Boling. To men in joy; but grief'makes one hour ten. Boling. I swear.

Gaunt. Call it a travel, that thou tak’st for pleasure! Nor. And I, to keep all this.

Boling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so, Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy :

Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. By this time, had the king permitted us,

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps One of our souls had wanderd in the air,

Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,

The precious jewel of thy home-return ! As now our flesh is banish'd from this land.

Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride, I make, Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm ! Will but remember me, what a deal of world Since thou hast far to go, bear not along

I wander from the jewels, that I love. The clogging burden of a guilty soul.

Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
Nor. No, Bolingbroke ; if ever I were traitor, To foreign passages, and in the end,
My name be blotted from the book of life,

Having my freedom, boast of nothing else,
And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence ! But that I was a journeyman to grief?
But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know, Gaunt. All places, that the eye of heaven visits,
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.-

Are to a wise man ports and happy heavens.
Farewell, my liege! — Now no way can I stray; Teach thy necessity to reason thus!
Save back to England, all the world's my way. (Exit. There is no virtue like necessity.

K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes Think not, the king did banish thee,
I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect

But thou the king! Woe doth the heavier sit,
Hath from the number of his banish'd years Where it perceives, it is but faintly borne.
Pluck'd four away.- Six frozen winters spent, Go, say-I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
Return (To Bolingbroke. ] with welcome home from And not-the king exil'd thee: or suppose,
banishment!

Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
Boling. Ilow long a time lies in one little word! And thou art flying to a fresher clime!
Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs, Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
End in a word. Such is the breath of kings.

To lie that

way, thou go'st, not whence thou com'st! Gaunt. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me, Suppose the singing bird, musicians; He shortens four years of my son's exile.

The grass,whereon thou tread'st,the presence strew'd;
But little vantage shall I reap thereby;

The flowers; fair ladies, and thy steps no more,
For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend, Than a delightful measure, or a dance:
Gan change their moons, and bring their times about, For gnarling sorrow bath less power to bite
My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light, The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.
Shall be extinct with age, and endless night. Boling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand,
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
And blindfold death not let me see my son.

Orcloy the hungry edge of appetite,
K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. By bare imagination of a feast?
Guunt. But not a minute, hing, that thou canst give. Or wallow naked in December snow,
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow: 0, no! the apprehension of the good
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:

Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more,
Thy word is current with him for my death;

Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.
But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. Gaunt.Come,come,my son, I'll bring thee on thy way:

K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay.
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave:

Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell! sweet
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower ? soil, adieu !

Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove indigestion sour. My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!
You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather, Where-e'er I wander, boast of this I can:
You would have bid me argue like a father. - Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman.
0, had it been a stranger, not my child,
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.
A partial slander sought I to avoid,

SCENE IV. -- The same. Aroom in the King's castle.
And in the sentence my own life destroy’d. Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green; AUMERLE,
Alas, I louk’d, when some of you should say,

following: I was too strict, to make mine own away!

K. Rich. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue, How far brought you high Hereford on his way?
Against my will, to do myself this wrong.

Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
K. Rich.Cousin, farewell !— and, uncle, bid him so ! But to the next highway, and there I left him.
Six years we banish him, and he shall go.

K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were
(Flourish. Exeunt K. Richard and train. shed ?

E E F

Ar W Ti Fo Or

[Exeunt.

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