Or being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,
Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips;
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my goaler 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 fentence then, but fpeechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?
K. RICH. It boots thee not to be compaffionate;
After our sentence, plaining comes too late.
Mows. 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.
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to heav'n
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves)
To keep the oath that we administer.
You never fhall, so help you truth, and heav'n!
Embrace each other's love in banishment;
Nor ever look upon each other's face,
Nor ever write, regreet, or reconcile
This low'ring tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor ever by advised purpose meet,
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. BOL. I fwear.
Mow B. And I, to keep all this.
BOL. Norfolk,-fo far, as to mine enemy-
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our fouls had wandered in the air,
Banish'd this frail fepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land,
Confefs thy treasons, ere thou fly this realm;
Since thou haft far to go, bear not along
The clogging burthen of a guilty foul.
Mow B. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banish'd as from hence!
But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know,
And all too foon, I fear, the king fhall rue.
Farewel, my liege. Now no way can I stray,
Save back to England; all the world's my way.
K, RICH. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I fee thy grieved heart, thy fad aspect
Hath from the number of his banish'd years
Pluck'd four away.Six frozen winters spent,
Return with welcome home from banishment.
BOL. How long a time lies in one little word!
Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs,
End in a word; fuch 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 'vantage fhall I reap thereby ;
For ere the fix years, that he hath to spend,
Can change their moons and bring their times about,
My oyl-dry'd lamp, and time bewafted light,
Shall be extinct with age, and endless night:
My inch of taper will be burnt and done :
And blindfold death not let me fee my son.
K. RICH. Why, uncle? thou haft many years to live.
GAUNT. But not a minute, king, that thou canft give; Shorten my days thou canft with fullen forrow,
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 pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him, for my death;
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
K. RICH. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave;
Why at our justice feem'ft thou then to low'r?
GAUNT. Things, fweet to tafte, prove in digestion
You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
O, had it been a ftranger, not my child,
To fmooth his fault, I would have been more mild :
Alas, I look'd when fome of you should say,
I was too ftrict to make mine own away:
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue,
Against my will to do myself this wrong.
A partial flander fought I to avoid,
And in the fentence my own life destroy'd.
K. RICH. Coufin, farewel; and, uncle, bid him fo.
Six years we banifh him, and he shall go.
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?
BOL. 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 abfence for a time.
BOL. Joy abfent, grief is prefent for that time.
GAUNT. What is fix winters? they are quickly gone.
BOL. To men in joy? but grief makes one hour ten.
GAUNT. Call it a travel that thou tak'ft for pleasure.
BOL. My heart will figh, when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.
GAUNT. The fullen paffage of thy weary steps
Efteem a foil, wherein thou art to fet
The precious jewel of thy home-return.
BOL. Nay, rather every tedious ftride I make
Will but remember me, what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not ferve a long apprentice-hood,
To foreign paffages, and in the end
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
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 reason thus:
There is no virtue like neceffity.
Think not, the king did banish thee;
But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier fit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, fay I fent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not, the king exil'd thee. Or fuppofe,
Devouring peftilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy foul holds dear, imagine it
To lye that way thou go'ft, not whence thou com'
Suppofe the finging birds, musicians;
The grafs whereon thou tread'st, the prefence-floor
The flow'rs, fair ladies; and thy fteps no more
Than a delightful measure, or a dance.
For gnarling forrow hath less pow'r to bite
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.
BOL. Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frofty Caucafus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December fnow,
By thinking on fantastick fummer's heat?
Oh, no! the apprehenfion of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse :
Fell forrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the fore.
GAUNT. Come, come, my fon, I'll bring thee on thy Had I thy youth, and caufe, I would not stay.
[way; BOL. Then, England's ground, farewel; fweet foil, adieu, My mother and my nurse, which bears me yet. Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,
Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman.
SCENE VII. Changes to the court.
Enter King Richard, and Bagot, &c. at one door; and the lord Aumerle, at the other.
K. RICH. We did, indeed, obferve-cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? AUM. I brought high Hereford, if you call him fo,
But to the next high-way, and there I left him.
K. RICH. And fay, what store of parting tears were
Aum. 'Faith, none by me; except the north-east wind
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