Enter King Richard, and Bagot, &c. at one door; and the Lord Aumerle, at the other.
E did, indeed, obferve Coufin
Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his ?
Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
But to the next High-way, and there I left him.
K. Rich. And fay, what ftore of parting tears were fhed?
Aum. 'Faith, none by me; except the north-eaft wind,
(Which then blew bitterly against our faces) Awak'd the fleepy rheume; and fo by chance Did grace our hollow Parting with a tear.
K. Rich. What faid your coufin, when you parted with him?
And, for my heart difdained that my tongue
Should fo prophane the word. That taught me craft To counterfeit oppreffion of fuch grief,
That words feem'd buried in my forrow's Grave.
Marry, would the word farewel have lengthen'd hours,
And added years to his fhort Banishment,
He fhould have had a volume of farewels;
But, fince it would not, he had none of me.
K. Rich. He is our kinfman, Coufin; but 'tis doubt,
When time fhall call him home from Banishment,
Whether our kinfman come to fee his friends.
Our felf, and Busby, Bagot here, and Green,
Obferv'd his Courtship to the common people:
How he did feem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtesie?
What reverence he did throw away on flaves,
Wooing poor crafts-men with the craft of smiles,
And patient under-bearing of his fortune,
As 'twere to banish their Affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyfter-wench;
A brace of dray-men bid, God speed him well!
And had the tribute of his fupple knee;
With-Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends-
As were our England in reverfion his,
And he our Subjects' next degree in hope.
Green. Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts.
Now for the Rebels, which ftand out in Ireland,
Expedient Manage must be made, my Liege;
Ere further leifure yield them further means
For their advantage, and your Highness' lofs.
K. Rich. We will our felf in perfon to this war;
And, for our coffers with too great a Court,
And liberal largefs, are grown fomewhat light,
We are inforc'd to farm our royal Realm,
The Revenue whereof fhall furnish us
For our affairs in hand; if they come short,
Our Subftitutes at home fhall have blank charters,
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They fhall fubfcribe them for large fums of gold,
And fend them after to fupply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland presently.
K. Rich. Busby, what news?
Busby. Old John of Gaunt is fick, my lord, Suddenly taken, and hath fent post-hafte T'intreat your Majefty to vifit him.
K. Rich. Where lyes he?
Busby. At Ely-house.
K. Rich. Now put it, heav'n, in his phyfician's
To help him to his Grave immediately.
The lining of his coffers fhall make coats
To deck our foldiers for thefe Irish wars.
Come, gentlemen, let's all go vifit him:
Pray heav'n, we may make hafte, and come too late!
Gaunt brought in, fick; with the Duke of York.
ILL the King come, that I may breathe In wholesome counsel to his unftay'd youth? York. Vex not your felf, nor ftrive not with your breath;
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
Gaunt. Oh, but, they fay, the tongues of dying men Inforce attention, like deep harmony:
Where words are fcarce, they're feldom spent in vain;
For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.
He, that no more must say, is liften'd more
Than they, whom youth and ease have taught to glose,
More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before;
The fetting Sun, and mufick in the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is fweetest last;
Writ in remembrance, more than things long past.
Though Richard my life's counfel would not hear,
My death's fad Tale may yet undeaf his ear.
York. His ear is ftopt with other flatt'ring charms,
As praises of his State; there are, beside,
Lafcivious meeters, to whofe venom'd found
The open ear of youth doth always liften:
Report of Fashions in proud Italy 2,
Whofe manner still our tardy, apish, Nation
Limps after, in bafe aukward imitation.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile)
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears?
Then all too late comes counfel to be heard,
Where Will doth mutiny with wit's regard 3.
Direct not him, whofe way himself will chufe *;
'Tis breath thou lack'ft, and that breath wilt thou lofe,
Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new-infpir'd,
And, thus expiring, do foretel of him,
His rafh, fierce blaze of riot cannot laft;
For violent fires foon burn out themselves.
Small show'rs last long, but fudden ftorms are fhort;
He tires betimes, that fpurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding, food doth choak the feeder,
Light Vanity, infatiate Cormorant,
Confuming means, foon preys upon itself.
This royal Throne of Kings, this fcepter'd Ifle,
This Earth of Majefty, this Seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demy Paradife,
This fortrefs, built by Nature for her self,
Against infection, and the hand of war;
This happy Breed of men, this little world,
This precious ftone fet in the filver fea,
2 Report of fashions in proud Italy,] Our authour, who gives to all nations the customs of England, and to all ages the manners of his own; has charged the times of Richard with a folly not perhaps known then, but very frequent in Shakespeare's time, and much lamented by the wifest and best of our ancestors.
3 Where Will doth mutiny with, wit's regard.] Where the will rebels against the notices of the understanding.
Which ferves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defénfive to a house,
Against the envy of lefs happier Lands';
This nurfe, this teeming womb of royal Kings,
Fear'd for their breed, and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds, as far from home
For chriftian fervice and true chivalry,
As is the Sepulchre in ftubborn Jury
Of the world's Ranfom, bleffed Mary's Sop;
This land of fuch dear fouls, this dear, dear Land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leas'd out (I dye, pronouncing it)
Like to a Tenement, or pelting Farm.
England, bound in with the triumphant Sea,
Whofe rocky fhore beats back the envious fiege
Of watry Neptune, is bound in with shame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment-bonds.
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful Conquest of itself.
Ah! would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my enfuing death!
5 Lefs happier lands.] So read all the editions, except Hanmer's, which has less happy. I believe Shakespeare, from the habit of faying more happier according to the cuftom of his time, inadvertently writ less happier.
• Fear'd for their breed, and famous by their birth.] The first edition in 4t, 1598, reads,
Fear'd by their breed, and fa-
mous for their birth.
The fecond 4 in 1615,
Fear'd by their breed, and fa-
mous by their birth.
The first folio, though printed from the fecond quarto, reads as the firft. The particles in this authour feem often to have been printed by chance. Perhaps the paffage, which appears a little difordered, may be regulated thus:
Fear'd for their breed, and fa-
mous for their birth,
For Christian service, and true
chivalry;
Renowned for their deeds as far
from home
As is the Sepulchre.
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