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Therefore, we banish you our Territories.
You coufin Hereford, on pain of death,
Till twice five Summers have enrich'd our fields,
Shall not regreet our fair Dominions,

But tread the stranger paths of Banishment.

Boling. Your will be done: this must my comfort be, That Sun, that warms you here, fhall fhine on me : And those his golden beams, to you here lent, Shall point on me, and gild my Banishment.

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier Doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce. The fly-flow hours fhall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile : The hopeless word, of never to return, Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

Mowb. A heavy Sentence, my moft fovereign Liege, And all unlook'd for from your Highness' mouth: criticism, direct. In a word, then, the true original of the blun der was this: The Editors, before Mr. Pope, had taken their Editions from the Folios, in which the text stood thus,

the dire afpe&t

Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbour swords;
Which thus rouz'd up,

-fright fair Peace.

This is fenfe. But Mr. Pope, who carefully examined the first printed plays in Quarto, (very much to the advantage of his Edition) coming to this place, found five lines, in the first Edition of this play printed in 1598, omitted in the first general collection of the poet's works; and not enough attending to their agreement with the common text, put them into their place. Whereas, in truth, the five lines were omitted by Shakespear himself, as not agreeing to the rest of the context; which, on revife, he thought fit to alter. On this account I have put them into hooks, not as fpurious, but as rejected on the author's revife; and, indeed, with great judgment; for,

To wake our Peace, which in our country's cradle

Draws the feet infant breath of gentle fleep,

as pretty as it is in the image, is abfurd in the fenfe: For Peace awake is fill Peace, as well as when afleep. The difference is, that Peace afleep gives one the notion of a happy people funk in floth and luxury, which is not the idea the speaker would raise, and from which fate, the fooner it was awaked the better.

VOL. IV.

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A dearer merit, not fo deep a maim,
As to be caft forth in the common air,
Have I deferved at your Highnefs' hands.
The language I have learn'd thefe forty years,
My native English, now I muft forego;
"And now my tongue's ufe is to me no more,
"Than an unftringed viol, or a harp;
"Or, like a cunning Inftrument cas'd up,
"Or being open, put into his hands
"That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engoal'd my tongue,
Doubly port-cullis'd 'with my Teeth and Lips:
And dull, unfeeling, barren Ignorance

Is made my Goaler to attend on me. *** ve
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,

Too far in years to be a Pupil now:

What is thy Sentence then, but fpeechlefs death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? K. Rich. 9 It boots thee not to be compaffionate; After our Sentence, 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. 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 your selves,) To keep the oath that we adminifter:

You never fhall, (fo help you truth, and heav'n !)
Embrace each other's love in Banishment;

9 It boots thee not to be compaffionate;] compaffionate, for plaintive.

1 (Our part therein we banish with your felves,)] It is a question much debated amongst the writers of the Law of Nations, whether a banifh'd man be ftill tied in allegiance to the ftate which fent him into exile. Tully and Lord Chancellor Clarendon declare for the affirmative: Hobbs and Puffendorf hold the nega tive. Our author, by this line, seems to be of the fame opinion.

Nor

Nor ever look upon each other's face,

Nor ever write, regreet, or reconcile

This low'ring tempeft of your home-bred hate;
Nor ever by advised purpofe meet,

To plot, contrive, or complot any Ill,

'Gainft us, our State, our Subjects, or our Land. Boling. I fwear.

Mowb. And I, to keep all this.

Boling. Norfolk, fo far, as to mine enemy:
By this time, had the King permitted us,
One of our fouls had wandred 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.

Mowb. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,
My Name be blotted from the Book of life,
And I from heav'n banish'd as from hence !
But what thou art, heav'n, thou, and I do know,
And all top 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.

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[Exit.

K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glaffes of thine eyes I fee thy grieved heart, thy fad afpect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away; fix frozen winters spent, Return with Welcome home from Banifhment. Boling. 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 fhortens four years of my fon'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 currant with him, for my death ;
But dead, thy Kingdom cannot buy my breath.
K. Rich. Thy fon is banish'd upon good advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave;
Why at our juftice feem'ft thou then to low'r?
Gaunt. Things, fweet to tafte, prove in digestion
fow'r :

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 stranger, 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 strict to make mine own away :
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue,
Against my will, to do my felf this wrong.
2 A partial flander fought I to avoid,
And in the Sentence my own life destroy'd.

K. Rich. Coufin, farewel; and, uncle, bid him so: Six years we banish him, and he fhall go.

S C E N E VI.

[Flourish. [Exit.

Aum. Coufin, farewel; what prefence must not know, From where you do remain, let paper fhow.

2 A partial flander, &c.] Thefe two lines added from the firft Edition.

Mr. Pope.

Mar.

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 dost 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 abfence for a time.
Boling. Joy abfent, grief is present 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 miscall 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
Will but remember me, what a deal of World
I wander from the Jewels that I love.
Muft I not serve 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 visits,

Are to a wife man ports and happy havens.

Teach thy neceffity to reafon 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 suppose,
Devouring Peftilence hangs in our air,

3 All Places that the Eye of Heav'n vifits, &c.] The fourteen verfes that follow, are found in the first Edition.

Mr. Pope.

C 3

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