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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 fpeed 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 thefe thoughts.

Now for the Rebels, which stand out in Ireland,
Expedient Manage must be made, my Liege;
Ere further leifure yield them further means
For their advantage, and your Highness' lofs.
K. Rich. We will our felf in perfon 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 fhall furnifh us

For our affairs in hand; if they come fhort,
Our Substitutes at home fhall have blank charters,
Whereto, when they fhall 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 prefently.

Enter Bushy.

K. Rich. Busby, what news?

Busby. Old John of Gaunt is fick, my lord,
Suddenly taken, and hath fent post-haste
T' intreat your Majefty to visit him.

K. Rich. Where lyes he?

Busby. At Ely-house.

K. Rich. Now put it, heav'n, in his phyfician's

mind,

Το

To help him to his Grave immediately.
The lining of his coffers fhall make coats
To deck our foldiers for these Irish wars.
Come, gentlemen, let's all go vifit him:

Pray heav'n, we may make hafte, and come too late!

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

ELY-HOUSE.

Gaunt brought in, fick; with the Duke of York.

W

GAUNT.

ILL the King come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unftay'd youth? York Vex not your felf, nor ftrive not with your breath;

For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

Gaunt. Oh, but, they fay, 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 muft fay, is liften'd more

Than they, whom youth and eafe have taught to glose,
More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before;
The fetting Sun, and mufick in the close,

As the laft taste of fweets, is fweetest laft;
Writ in remembrance, more than things long paft.
Though Richard my life's counfel would not hear,
My death's fad Tale may yet undeaf his ear.
York. His ear is ftopt with other flatt'ring charms,
As praises of his State; there are, beside,
Lafcivious meeters, to whofe venom'd found
The open ear of youth doth always liften:

Report

Report of Fashions in proud Italy',
Whose manner ftill 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 refpect how vile)
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where Will doth mutiny with wit's regard 3.
Direct not him, whose way himself will chufe*;
'Tis breath thou lack'ft, and that breath wilt thou lofe,
Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new-inspir'd,
And, thus expiring, do foretel of him,

His rafh, fierce blaze of riot cannot laft;

For violent fires foon burn out themselves.

Small fhow'rs laft long, but fudden ftorms are fhort;
He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding, food doth choak the feeder.
Light Vanity, infatiate Cormorant,

Confuming means, foon preys upon itself.
This royal Throne of Kings, this fcepter'd Ifle,
This Earth of Majefty, this Seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demy Paradife,

This fortrefs, built by Nature for her self,
Against infection, and the hand of war;
This happy Breed of men, this little world,
This precious ftone fet in the filver fea,

2 Report of fashions in proud

Italy,] Our authour, who gives to all nations the cuftoms of England, and to all ages the manners of his own; has charged the times of Richard with a folly not perhaps known then, but very frequent in Shakespeare's time, and much lamented by the wifeft and beft of our ancestors.

3 Where Will doth mutiny with wit's regard.] Where the will rebels against the notices of the understanding.

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Which ferves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defenfive to a house,

Against the envy of lefs happier Lands';
This nurfe, this teeming womb of royal Kings,
Fear'd for their breed, and famous by their birth
Renowned for their deeds, as far from home
For chriftian fervice and true chivalry,
As is the Sepulchre in ftubborn Jury
Of the world's Ranfom, bleffed Mary's Son;
This land of fuch dear fouls, this dear, dear Land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leas'd out (I dye, pronouncing it)
Like to a Tenement, or pelting Farm.
England, bound in with the triumphant Sea,
Whose rocky fhore beats back the envious fiege
Of watry Neptune, is bound in with shame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment-bonds.
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a fhameful Conqueft of itself.
Ah! would the fcandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my enfuing death!

5 Lefs happier lands.] So read all the editions, except Hanmer's, which has lefs happy. I believe Shakespeare, from the habit of faying more happier according to the custom of his time, inadvertently writ lefs happier.

6 Fear'd for their breed, and famous by their birth.] The first edition in 4to, 1598, reads,

Fear'd by their breed, and fa-
mous for their birth.

The fecond 4 in 1615,
Fear'd by their breed, and fa-
mous by their birth.

The firft folio, though printed from the second quarto, reads as the firft. The particles in this authour feem often to have been printed by chance. Perhaps the paffage, which appears a little difordered, may be regulated thus:

royal kings,
Fear'd for their breed, and fa-
mous for their birth,
For Chriftian service, and true
chivalry;

Renowned for their deeds as far
from home
As is the Sepulchre.

SCENE

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Enter King Richard, Queen, Aumerle, Bufhy, Green, Bagot, Rofs, and Willoughby.

York. The King is come, deal mildly with his youth:

For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more.
Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?
K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with aged
Gaunt?

Gaunt. Oh, how that Name befits my compofition!
Old Gaunt, indeed, and gaunt in being old;
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast,
And who abftains from meat, that is not gaunt?
For fleeping England long time have I watch'd,
Watching breeds leannefs, leannefs is all gaunt;
The pleasure, that fome fathers feed upon,
Is my ftrict faft; I mean, my children's looks;
And, therein fafting, thou haft made me gaunt;
Gaunt am I for the Grave, gaunt as a Grave,
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.
K. Rich. Can fick men play fo nicely with their
names?

Gaunt. No, mifery makes sport to mock itself:
Since thou doft feek to kill my name in me,
I mock my name, great King, to flatter thee.

K. Rich. Should dying men flatter thofe that live?
Gaunt. No, no, men living flatter thofe that die.
K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, fay'st, thou flatter'st

me.

Gaunt. Oh! no, thou dyeft, though I ficker be.
K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, I see thee ill.
Gaunt. Now he, that made me, knows, I fee
thee ill.

Ill in myself, but feeing thee too, ill.

Thy death-bed is no leffer than the Land,

Wherein

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