Therefore, we banish you our territories.
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death,
Till twice five summers have enriched our fields
Shall not regreet136 our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger137 paths of banishment.
BULLINGBROOK Your will be done. This must my comfort be:
That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,
And those his golden beams to you here lent
Shall point on me and gild my banishment.
KING RICHARD Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
The sly144 slow hours shall not determinate
The dateless limit145 of thy dear exile.
The hopeless word of ‘never to return’
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life147.
MOWBRAY A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlooked for149 from your highness’ mouth.
A dearer merit150, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common151 air,
Have I deservèd at your highness’ hands.
The language I have learned these forty years,
My native English, now I must forgo,
And now my tongue’s use is to me no more
Than an unstringèd viol or a harp,
Or like a cunning157 instrument cased up,
Or, being open158, put into his hands
That knows no touch159 to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue,
Doubly portcullised161 with my teeth and lips,
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance
Is made my jailer to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now.
What is thy sentence then but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?
KING RICHARD It boots168 thee not to be compassionate.
After our sentence, plaining169 comes too late.
MOWBRAY Then thus I turn me from my country’s light
To dwell in solemn171 shades of endless night.
Starts to go
KING RICHARD Return again, and take an oath with thee.
Lay on our royal sword your banished hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven —
Our part therein175 we banish with yourselves —
To keep the oath that we administer:
You never shall, so help you truth and heaven,
Embrace each other’s love in banishment,
Nor ever look upon each other’s face,
Nor ever write, regreet180, or reconcile
This louring181 tempest of your home-bred hate,
Nor ever by advisèd182 purpose meet
To plot, contrive, or complot183 any ill
Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
BULLINGBROOK I swear.
MOWBRAY And I, to keep all this.
BULLINGBROOK Norfolk, so far as187 to mine enemy:
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our souls had wandered in the air,
Banished this frail sepulchre190 of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banished from this land.
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly192 this realm:
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging194 burden of a guilty soul.
MOWBRAY No, Bullingbrook. If ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banished as from hence!
But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know,
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue199.
Farewell, my liege, now no way can I stray200:
Save201 back to England, all the world’s my way.
Exit
KING RICHARD Uncle, even in the glasses202 of thine eyes
To Gaunt
I see thy grievèd heart. Thy sad aspect203
Hath from the number of his banished years
Plucked four away.— Six frozen winters spent,
To Bullingbrook
Return with welcome home from banishment.
BULLINGBROOK How long a time lies in one little word!
Four lagging winters and four wanton208 springs
End in a word: such is the breath of kings.
GAUNT I thank my liege, that in regard of me
He shortens four years of my son’s exile.
But little vantage212 shall I reap thereby,
For ere the six years that he hath to spend
Can change their moons and bring their times214 about
My oil-dried215 lamp and time-bewasted light
Shall be extinct216 with age and endless night.
My inch of taper217 will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death218 not let me see my son.
KING RICHARD Why uncle, thou hast many years to live.
GAUNT But not a minute, king, that thou canst give.
Shorten my days thou canst with sudden sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow.
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage224.
Thy word is current225 with him for my death,
But dead226, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
KING RICHARD Thy son is banished upon good advice227,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict228 gave.
Why at our justice seem’st thou then to lour229?
GAUNT Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
You urged me as a judge, but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
Alas, I looked when233 some of you should say
I was too strict to make mine own away234.
But you gave leave235 to my unwilling tongue,
Against my will to do myself this wrong.
KING RICHARD Cousin, farewell, and, uncle, bid him so.
Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
Flourish. Exeunt [Richard and Attendants]
AUMERLE Cousin, farewell. What presence must not know239,
To Bullingbrook
From where you do remain let paper240 show.
LORD MARSHAL My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride
To Bullingbrook
As far as land will let me, by your side.
GAUNT O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words
To Bullingbrook
That thou return’st no greeting to thy friends?
BULLINGBROOK I have too few245 to take my leave of you,
When the tongue’s office246 should be prodigal
To breathe247 th’abundant dolour of the heart.
GAUNT Thy grief248 is but thy absence for a time.
BULLINGBROOK Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
GAUNT What is six winters? They are quickly gone.
BULLINGBROOK To men in joy. But grief makes one hour ten.
GAUNT Call it a travel252 that thou tak’st for pleasure.
BULLINGBROOK My heart will sigh when I miscall253 it so,
Which finds it an enforcèd pilgrimage.
GAUNT The sullen255 passage of thy weary steps
Esteem as foil256 wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home return.
BULLINGBROOK O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus259?
Or cloy260 the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic263 summer’s heat?
O, no, the apprehension264 of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
Fell266 sorrow’s tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth267 not t
he sore.
GAUNT Come, come, my son, I’ll bring268 thee on thy way.
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.
BULLINGBROOK Then England’s ground, farewell. Sweet soil, adieu270.
My mother, and my nurse, which bears me yet!
Where’er I wander, boast of this I can,
Though banished, yet a trueborn Englishman.
[Exeunt]
Act 1 Scene 4
running scene 4
Location: the royal court
Enter King, Aumerle, Green and Bagot
KING RICHARD We did observe1.— Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high2 Hereford on his way?
AUMERLE I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
But to the next4 highway, and there I left him.
KING RICHARD And say, what store5 of parting tears were shed?
AUMERLE Faith, none for me6, except the north-east wind,
Which then blew bitterly against our face,
Awaked the sleepy rheum8, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow9 parting with a tear.
KING RICHARD What said our cousin when you parted with him?
AUMERLE ‘Farewell’. And, for11 my heart disdainèd that my tongue
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft12
To counterfeit13 oppression of such grief
That word seemed buried in my sorrow’s grave.
Marry15, would the word ‘farewell’ have lengthened hours
And added years to his short banishment,
He should have had a volume of farewells,
But since it would not, he had none of me.
KING RICHARD He is our cousin19, cousin, but ’tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends21.
Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green
Observed his courtship to the common people.
How he did seem to dive into their hearts
With humble and familiar courtesy,
What reverence26 he did throw away on slaves,
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles
And patient underbearing28 of his fortune,
As ’twere to banish their affects with him29.
Off goes his bonnet30 to an oyster-wench.
A brace of draymen31 bid God speed him well
And had the tribute of his supple32 knee,
With ‘Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends’,
As were our England in reversion34 his,
And he our subjects’ next degree in hope35.
GREEN Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts.
Now for the rebels which stand out37 in Ireland.
Expedient manage38 must be made, my liege,
Ere further leisure39 yield them further means
For their advantage and your highness’ loss.
KING RICHARD We will ourself in person to this war,
And, for our coffers with too great a court
And liberal largesse43 are grown somewhat light,
We are enforced to farm44 our royal realm,
The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand. If that come short46,
Our substitutes47 at home shall have blank charters,
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They shall subscribe them49 for large sums of gold
And send them50 after to supply our wants,
For we will make for Ireland presently51.
Enter Bushy
Bushy, what news?
BUSHY Old John of Gaunt is very sick, my lord,
Suddenly taken, and hath sent post haste
To entreat your majesty to visit him.
KING RICHARD Where lies he?
BUSHY At Ely House57.
KING RICHARD Now put it, heaven, in his physician’s mind
To help him to his grave immediately!
The lining60 of his coffers shall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.
Come, gentlemen, let’s all go visit him.
Pray heaven we may make haste, and come too late!
[Exeunt]
Act 2 Scene 1
running scene 5
Location: London, Ely House
Enter Gaunt, sick, with York [and Attendants]
GAUNT Will the king come, that I may breathe my last
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid2 youth?
YORK Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath,
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
GAUNT O, but they say the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention like deep harmony.
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain,
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
He that no more must say is listened9 more
Than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze10.
More are men’s ends marked11 than their lives before.
The setting sun and music is the close12,
As the last13 taste of sweets is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past.
Though Richard my life’s counsel would not hear,
My death’s sad16 tale may yet undeaf his ear.
YORK No, it is stopped with other flatt’ring sounds,
As praises, of his state18: then there are found
Lascivious metres19, to whose venom sound
The open ear of youth doth always listen,
Report of fashions in proud21 Italy,
Whose manners still our tardy apish22 nation
Limps after in base imitation.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity24 —
So25 it be new, there’s no respect how vile —
That is not quickly buzzed26 into his ears?
That27 all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where will doth mutiny with wit’s regard28.
Direct not him whose way himself will choose.
’Tis breath thou lack’st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
GAUNT Methinks I am a prophet new inspired31
And thus expiring32 do foretell of him.
His rash fierce blaze of riot33 cannot last,
For violent fires soon burn out themselves.
Small35 showers last long, but sudden storms are short.
He tires betimes36 that spurs too fast betimes.
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder.
Light vanity38, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming means39 soon preys upon itself.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred40 isle,
This earth of majesty41, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed45 of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office47 of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessèd plot50, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming51 womb of royal kings,
Feared by their breed52 and famous for their birth,
Renownèd for their deeds as far from home,
For Christian service and true chivalry,
As is the sepulchre55 in stubborn Jewry
Of the world’s ransom, blessèd Mary’s son56:
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out — I die pronouncing it —
Like to a tenement60 or pelting farm.
England, bound in61 with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious62 siege
&nb
sp; Of watery Neptune63, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds64.
That England, that was wont65 to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!
Enter King, Queen, Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Ross and Willoughby
YORK The king is come. Deal mildly with his youth,
For young hot colts being raged do rage the more.
QUEEN How fares our noble uncle Lancaster?
KING RICHARD What comfort, man? How is’t with agèd Gaunt?
GAUNT O, how that name befits my composition73!
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old.
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast,
And who abstains from meat76 that is not gaunt?
For sleeping England long time have I watched77.
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt.
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon,
Is my strict fast — I mean, my children’s looks,
And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt.
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
Whose hollow womb inherits83 nought but bones.
KING RICHARD Can sick men play so nicely84 with their names?
GAUNT No, misery makes sport to mock85 itself.
Since thou dost seek to kill my name86 in me,
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
KING RICHARD Should dying men flatter those that live?
GAUNT No, no, men living flatter those that die.
KING RICHARD Thou, now a-dying, say’st thou flatter’st me.
GAUNT O no, thou diest, though I the sicker be.
KING RICHARD I am in health, I breathe, I see thee ill.
GAUNT Now he that made me knows I see thee ill93:
Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick.
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Commit’st thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee.
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
Whose compass101 is no bigger than thy head.
And yet, encagèd in so small a verge102,
The waste103 is no whit lesser than thy land.
O, had thy grandsire104 with a prophet’s eye
Seen how his son’s son should destroy his sons105,
From forth106 thy reach he would have laid thy shame,
Deposing107 thee before thou wert possessed,
Which art possessed now to depose thyself.
Why, cousin109, were thou regent of the world,
It were a shame to let his land by lease.
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