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And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Boling. Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,
way; Had I thy Youth, and Cause, I would not stay. Boling. Then, England's Ground, farewel; sweet
[Exeunt. S с E N
E VII. Changes to the Court. Enter King Richard, and Bagot, &c. at one door ; and
the Lord Aumerle, at the other. K. Rich. E did, indeed, observe-Cousin
Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next High-way, and there I left him. K. Rich. And say, what store of parting tears were
Thed? Aum. 'Faith, none by me; except the north-caft
wind, (Which then blew bitterly against our faces) Awak’d the fleepy rheume; and so by chance Did grace our hollow Parting with a tear. K. Rich. What said your cousin, when you parted
with him? Aum. Farewel. And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should fo prophane the word, That taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief, That words seem'd buried in my forrow's Grave. Marry, would the word farewel have lengthen'd hours, And added years to his short Banishment, He should have had a volume of farewels; But, since it would not, he had none of me.
K. Ricb. He is our kinsman, Cousin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from Banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Our self, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, Observ'd his Courtship to the common people: . How he did seem to dive into their hearts, With humble and familiar courtesie? What reverence he did throw away on Naves; Wooing poor crafts-men with the craft of smiles, And patient under-bearing of his fortune: As 'twere to banish their Affects with him. Of goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench ; A brace of dray-men bid, God speed him well! And had the tribute of his supple knee ; With-Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends ; As were our England in reversion his, And he our Subjects' next degree in hope.
Green. Well, he is gone, and with him go these
K. Rich. We will our self in person to this war ;
Enter Bushy. K. Rich. Bushy, what news?
Busby. Old John of Gaunt is sick, my lord,
K. Rich, Where lyes he?
А ст ІІ.
Gaunt brought in, fick; with the Duke of York.
GA U N T.
In wholesome counsel to his unstay'd youth? York. Vex not your self, nor strive not with your
breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
Gaunt. Oh, but, they say, the tongues of dying men Inforce attention, like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they're feldom spent in vain ; For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. He, that no more must say, is liften'd more Than they, whom youth and ease have taught to
glose; More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before : The setting Sun, and musick in the close. As the last 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 sad Tale may yet undeaf his ear.
York. His ear is stopt with other flatt'ring charms, As praifes of his State; there are, beside, Lascivious meeters, to whose venom'd sound The open ear of youth doth always listen: Report of Fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy, apish, Nation Limps after, in base aukward imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, (So it be new, there's no respect how vile,) That is not quickly buzz’d into his ears ?
Then all too late comes counsel to be cheard,
Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new-inspir’d,