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Therefore, we banish you our Territories.
You cousin 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, shall shine 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-Now hours shall 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 most sovereign Liege, And all unlook'd for from your Highness' mouth : criticism, direct. In a word, then, the true original of the blunder was this : The Editor's, before Mr. Pope, had taken their Edi. tions from the Folios, in which the text food thus,

in the dire aspeet
of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbour fwords;
Which thus rouz'd up,

-fright fair Peace. This is sense. 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 revise, he thought fit to alier. On this account I have put them into hooks, not as {purious, but as rejected on the author's revise; and, indeed, with great judgment;

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

Draws the feweet infant breath of gentle sleep, as pretty as it is in the image, is absurd in the sense : Por Peace awake is fin Peace, as well as when asteep. The difference is, that Peace asleep gives one the notion of a happy people funk in foth and luxury, which is not the idea che speaker would raise, and from which tate, the fooner it was awaked the better, VOL. IV. C



A dearer merit, not so deep a maim,
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your Highness' hands.
The language I have learn'd thefe forty years,
My native English, now I must forego;
“ And now my tongue's use is to me no more,
“ Than an unftringed viol, or a harp ;'!
“ Or, like a cunning Instrument cas'd up,
“ Or being open, put into his hands
“ That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engoald my tongue,
Doubly port-cullis 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 Sentence then, but fpeechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

K. Rich. 9 It boots thee not to be compassionate ; After our Sentence, Plaining comes too late. Mowb. Then thus I turn me from my country's

light, To dwell in solemn shades 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 felves,).
To keep the oath that we administer :
You never shall, (so help you truth, and heav'n !!)
Embrace each other's love in Banishment ;

9 It boots ibee not to be compassionate ; ] compaffionase, for plaintive

il Omm pari therein we banilo with your felves, )] It is a quettion much debated amongst the writers of the Law of Nations, whether a banith'd man be still ried in allegiance to the state which sent him into exile. Tully and Lord Chancellor Clarender declare for the affirmative : Hobbs and Puffendorf hold the nega tive. Our auchor, by this line, seems to be of the fame opinion.


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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 III,
Gainst us, our State, our Subjects, or our Land.

Boling. I swear.
Mowb. And I, to keep all this.

Boling. Norfolk, so 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 sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish'd from this Land,
Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly this Realm ;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burthen of a guilty soul.

Mowb. No, Boling broke ; 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 shall rue.
Farewel, my Liege ; now no way can I stray,
Save back to England; all the world's my way,

(Exit. S. C E NE V.

K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart, thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banilh'd years Pluck'd four away; fix frozen winters spent, Return with Welcome home from Banishment.

Boling. How long a time lies in one little word ! Four lagging Winters, and four wanton 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 vantage shall I reap thereby;

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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-bewasted light,
Shall be extinct with age, and endless night :
My inch of taper will be burnt and done:
And blindfold death not let me see


fon. K. Rich. Why, uncle? thou hast many years to live.

Gaunt. But not a minute, King, that thou canst give; Shorten my days thou canst with fullen 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 pilgrimage ; Thy word is currant 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 seem'st thou then to low'r ? Gaunt. Things, sweet to taste, prove in digestion

sow'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 smooth his Fault, I would have been more mild: Alas, I look'd, when some 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 self this wrong. 2 A partial Nander fought I to avoid, And in the Sentence my own life destroy'd.

K. Rich. Cousin, farewel; and, uncle, bid him so: Six years we banish him, and he shall go. (Flourish.

[Exit. SCE N E VI.

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Aum. Cousin, farewel; what presence must not know, From where you do remain, let paper

show. 2 A partial sandır, &c.] These two lines added from the firft Edition, Ms. Pope.


Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride As far as land will let me, by your side. Gaunt. Oh, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy

That thou return'st no Greeting to thy friends ?

Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue's office should be prodigal,
To breathe th' abundant dolour of the heart.

Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
Gaunt. What is six winters ? they are quickly gone.
Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.
Gaunt. Call it a Travel, that thou tak’st for pleasure.

Boling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.

Gaunt. The fullen passage of thy weary steps
Efteem a foil, wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home-return.

Boling. Nay, rather, ev'ry tedious stride I make
Will but remember me, what a deal of World
I wander from the Jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long Apprentice-hood,
To foreign passages, 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 wise man ports and happy havens.
Teach thy necessity to reason thus :
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not, the King did banish Thee ;
But Thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives It is but faintly borne.
Go say, I fent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not, the King exil'd thee. Or suppose,
Devouring Pestilence hangs in our air,

3. All Places that the Eye of Heav'n visits, &c.] The fourteen verles that follow, are found in the first Edition. Mr. Pope.


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