By thinking on fantastick Summer's heat?
Oh, no! the apprehenfion of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worfe;
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
way;

Had I thy Youth, and Caufe, I would not stay.

Boling. Then, England's Ground, farewel; fweet foil, adieu,

My mother and my nurse, which bears me yet.
Where-e'er I wander, boaft of this I can,

Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Court.

Enter King Richard, and Bufhy, &c. at one door; and the Lord Aumerle, at the other.

K. Rich. WE did, indeed, observe

Aumerle,

Coufin

How far brought you high Hereford on his way? Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next High-way, and there I left him.

K. Rich. And fay, what ftore of parting tears were fhed?

Aum. 'Faith, none by me; except the north-eaft wind,

(Which then blew bitterly against our faces)

Awak'd the fleepy rheume; and fo by chance.

Did grace our hollow Parting with a tear.

K. Rich. What faid your coufin, when you parted with him?

Aum. Farewel.

And, for my heart difdained that my tongue

Should fo prophane the word, That taught me craft
To counterfeit oppreflion of fuch grief,

That words feem'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

But, fince it would not, he had none of me.

K. Rich. He is our kinfman, Coufin; but 'tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from Banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to fee his friends.
Our felf, and Busby, Bagot here, and Green,
Obferv'd his Courtship to the common people:
How he did feem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtefie ;

What reverence he did throw away on flaves;
Wooing poor crafts-men with the craft of fmiles,
And patient under-bearing of his fortune:
As 'twere to banish their Affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
A brace of dray men bid, God fpéed him well!
And had the tribute of his fupple knee ;
With,-Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;
As were our England in reverfion his,
And he our Subjects' next degree in hope.

Green. Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts.

Now for the Rebels, which ftand out in Ireland,
Expedient Manage must be made, my Liege;
Ere further leisure yield them further means
For their advantage, and your Highness' lofs.
K. Rich. We will our felf in person to this war;
And, for our coffers with too great a Court,
And liberal largefs, are grown fomewhat light,
We are inforc'd to farm our royal Realm,
The Revenue whereof shall furnish us

For our affairs in hand; if they come fhort,
Our Subftitutes at home fhall have blank charters:
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They fhall fubfcribe them for large fums of gold,
And fend them after to fupply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland presently.

Enter Bufhy.

K. Rich. Busby, what news?

Busby. Old John of Gaunt is fick, my lord, Suddenly taken, and hath fent post-hafte

Tintreat

But ftop 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 digeftion 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 ftranger, not my child,

To fmooth his Fault, I would have been more mild
Alas, I look'd, when fome of you should fay,
was too ftrict to make mine own away :

But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue,
Against my will, to do my felf this wrong.
A partial flander fought I to avoid,

And in the Sentence my own life deftroy'd.

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

go. [Flourish. [Exit. Aum. Coufin, farewel; what presence must not know, From where you do remain, let paper fhow. 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 prefent 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'it for pleasure.
Boling. My heart will figh, when I mifcall 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

The precious jewel of thy home-return.

Boling. Nay, rather, ev'ry tedious ftride I make (3)
Will but remember me, what a deal of World
I wander from the Jewels that I love.

Muft 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 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 fuppofe,
Devouring Peftilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a frefher clime.
Look, what thy foul holds dear, imagin it
To lye that way thou go'ft, not whence thou com'it.
Suppofe the finging birds, muficians;

The grafs whereon thou tread'ft, the presence-floor;
The flow'rs, fair ladies; and thy fteps, no more
Than a delightful measure, or a dance.

For gnarling Sorrow hath lefs Pow'r to bite
The Man, that mocks at it, and fets it light.
Boling. 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 feaft ?

Or wallow naked in December snow,

(3) Boling. Nay, rather, ev'ry tedious Stride I make,] This, and the fix Verfes which follow, I have ventur'd to fupply from the old Quarto. The Allufion, 'tis true, to an Apprentice-ship, and becoming a Journeyman, is not in the sublime Tafte, nor, as Horace has exprefs'd it, fpirat Tragicum fatis: however as there is no Doubt of the Paffage being genuine, the Lines are not fo defpicable as to deserve being quite loft.

the

By

By thinking on fantastick Summer's heat?
Oh, no! the apprehenfion of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worfe;
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

way;

Had I thy Youth, and Caufe, I would not ftay.

Boling. Then, England's Ground, farewel; fweet foil,. adieu,

My mother and my nurse, which bears me yet.
Where-e'er I wander, boaft of this I can,

Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Court.

Enter King Richard, and Bufhy, &c. at one door; and
the Lord Aumerle, at the other.
E did, indeed, obferve
Aumerle,

K. Rich.

W

Cousin

How far brought you high Hereford on his way? Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him fq, But to the next High-way, and there I left him.

K. Rich. And fay, what ftore of parting tears were fhed?

Aum. 'Faith, none by me; except the north-eaft wind,

(Which then blew bitterly against our faces).

Awak'd the fleepy rheume; and fo by chance.

Did grace our hollow Parting with a tear.

K. Rich. What faid your coufin, when you parted with him?

Aum. Farewel.

And, for heart difdained that my tongue

my

Should fo prophane the word, That taught me craft
To counterfeit oppreffion of fuch grief,

That words feem'd buried in my forrow's Grave.
Marry, would the word farewel have lengthen'd hours,
And added years to his fhort Banishment,

He should have had a volume of farewels;

But