And harfh-refounding trumpets dreadful bray, Till twice five fummers have enrich'd our fields, But tread the ftranger paths of banishment. Boling. Your will be done: This muft my comfort be, K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Mob. A heavy fentence, my moft fovereign Liege, As to be caft forth in the common air, And now my tongue's ufe is to me no more, Or being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you have engoal'd my tongue (5), (5) Within my mouth you have engoal'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips :] Thefe verses Mr. Pope has degraded and thrown out of the text, on account of the image convey'd in the fecond line, as I prefume. I am far from praifing the metaphor; but, perhaps, the ufage might be defended for once from the example of our mafter Homer. ̓Ατρείδη, ποιόν σε ἔπΘ φύγεν ἔρκα ὀδόνων. Iliad. Δ. ν. 350. The pa dólav here, methinks, approaches very nigh to the Idea of à Port-cullife. Doubly Doubly port-cullis'd with my teeth and lips: What is thy fentence then, but fpeechlefs death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath ? K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compaffionate; After our fentence, plaining comes too late. Mowb. Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in folemn fhades of endless night. K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with ye.. You never fhall, (fo help you truth, and heav'n !) Nor ever look upon each other's face, This low'ring tempeft of your home-bred hate; To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, 'Gainft us, our state, our fubjects, or our land, Boling. I fwear. Mob. And I, to keep all this. Boling. Norfolk, fo far, as to mine enemy: Mowb. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor, Farewel, Farewel, my Liege; now no way can I ftray, Save back to England; all the world's my way. [Ex. Hath from the number of his banish'd years K. Rich. Why, uncle? thou haft many years to live. Thy word is current with him, for my death; Gaunt. Things, fweet to tafte, prove in digeftion fow't A A partial flander fought I to avoid, And in the fentence my own life deftroy'd. K. Rich. Coufin, farewel; and, uncle, bid him fo Six years we banifh him, and he fhall go. [Flourish. Exit Aum. Coufin, farewel; what prefence must not know, From where you do remain, let paper show. Mar. My Lord, no leave take I; for I will ride As far as land will let me, by your fide. Gaunt. Oh, to what purpose doft thou hoard thy words, That thou return'ft no greeting to thy friends? Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office fhould be prodigal, To breathe th' abundant dolour of the heart. Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. Boling. Joy abfent, grief is prefent for that time. Gaunt. What is fix winters? they are quickly gone. Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. Gaunt. Call it a travel, that thou tak'ft for pleasure. Boling. My heart will figh, when I mifcall it fo, Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. Gaunt. The fullen paffage of thy weary steps Efteem a foil, wherein thou art to fet The precious jewel of thy home-return. Boling. Nay, rather, ev'ry tedious ftride I make (6) Will but remember me, what a deal of world Must I not serve a long apprentice-hood, To foreign paffages, and in the end Having my freedom, boast of nothing elfe But that I was a journeyman to grief? Gaunt. All places, that the eye of heaven vifits Are to a wife man ports and happy havens. Teach thy neceffity to reafon thus: There is no virtue like neceffity. (6) Boling. Nay, rather, ev'ry tedious fride I make.] This, and the fix verfes which follow, I have ventur'd to fupply from the old Quarto. The allufion, 'tis true, to an Apprentice Jhip, and becoming a Journeyman, is not in the fublime tafte, nor, as Horace has exprefs'd it, fpirat Tragicum fatis: However, as there is no doubt of the paffage being genuine, the lines are not so despicable as to deferve being quite loft. 3 Think Think not, the King did banish thee; The grafs, whereon thou tread 'ft, the prefence-flo For gnarling forrow hath lefs pow'r to bite Gaunt. Come, come, my fon, I'll bring thee on thy way; Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not ftay. Boling.Then, England's ground, farewel; fweet foil, adieu. My mother and my nurfe, which bears me yet. Where-e'er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. [Exeunt. SCENE changes to the Court. Enter King Richard, and Bushy, &c. at one door; and the Lord Aumerle, at the other. K. Rich. W E did, indeed, obferve-Coufin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? Aum. |