Wherein thou lieft in Reputation fick ;
And thou, too careless Patient as thou art,
Giv'ft thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians, that firft wounded thee.
A thousand flatt'rers fit within thy Crown,
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head,
And yet incaged in fo fmall a verge,
Thy wafte is no whit leffer than thy Land.
Oh, had thy Grandfire, with a prophet's eye.
Seen how his fon's fon fhould destroy his fons;
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy fhame,
Depofing thee before thou wert poffeft;
Who art poffefs'd now, to depofe thyself.
Why, coufin, wert thou Regent of the world,
It were a fhame to let this Land by lease;
But for thy world enjoying but this Land,
Is it not more than fhame to fhame it fo?
Landlord of England art thou now, not King:
Thy ftate of law is bondflave to the law;
And Thou-
K. Rich. And thou, a lunatick lean-witted fool, Prefuming on an ague's privilege,
7 Thy ftate of law is bondslave to the law :] State of law, i. e. legal fou'rainty. But the Oxford Editor alters it to the fate o'er law, i. e. abfolute fov'rainty. A doctrine, which, if our poet ever learnt at all, he learnt not in the reign when this play was written, Queen Elizabeth's, but in the reign after it, King James's. By bondflave to the law, the poet means his being inflaved to his favourite fubjects. WARBURTON.
This fentiment, whatever it be, is obfcurely expreffed. I understand it differently from the learned commentator, being perhaps not quite fo zealous for ShakeSpeare's political reputation. The
reasoning of Gaunt, I think, is this: By fetting thy royalties to farm, thou haft reduced thyself to a flate below fovereignty, thou art now no longer king but landlord of England, fubject to the fame reftraint and limitations as other landlords; by making thy condition a ftate of law, a condition upon which the common rules of law can operate, thou art become a bondflave to the law ; thou haft made thyself amenable to laws from which thou wert originally exempt.
Whether this interpretation be true or no, it is plain that Dr. Warburton's explanation of bondflave to the law, is not true.
Dar'ft with thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheek; chafing the royal blood
With fury from his native refidence.
Now by my Seat's right-royal Majefty,
Wert thou not Brother to Great Edward's fon,
This tongue that runs fo roundly in thy head,
Should run thy head from thy unreverend fhoulders.
Gaunt. Oh, spare me not, my brother Edward's fon,
For that I was his father Edward's fon.
That blood already, like the Pelican,
Haft thou tapt out, and drunkenly carows'd.
My brother Glofter, plain well-meaning foul'
(Whom fair befal in heav'n 'mong'ft happy fouls!)
May be a precedent and witness good,
That thou refpect'ft not spilling Edward's blood.
Join with the present Sickness that I have,
And thy unkindnefs be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too-long-wither'd flower.
Live in thy fhame, but die not fhame with thee!
These words hereafter thy tormentors be!
Convey me to my Bed, then to my Grave:
"Love they to live, that love and honour have.
[Exit, borne out.
K. Rich. And let them die, that Age and Sullens
For both haft thou, and both become the Grave.
York. I do befeech your Majefty, impute
His words to wayward ficklinefs, and age.
He loves you, on my life; and holds you dear
As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.
K. Rich. Right, you fay true; as Hereford's love,
As theirs, fo mine; and all be, as it is.
North. My Liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majefty.
K. Rich. What fays old Gaunt?
North. Nay, nothing; all is faid.
His tongue is now a ftringlefs inftrument,
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
York. Be York the next, that must be bankrupt fo! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and fo doth he;
His time is fpent, our pilgrimage must be.
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars;
We must fupplant thofe rough rug-headed Kerns,
Which live like venom, where no venom elfe,
But only they, have privilege to live.
And, for these great affairs do afk fome charge,
To'rds our affiftance we do feize to us.
The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did ftand poffeft.
York. How long fhall I be patient? Oh, how long
Shall tender Duty make me fuffer wrong?
Not Glofter's death, not Hereford's Banifhment,
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, nor my own difgrace,
Have ever made me fow'r my patient cheek;
Or bend one wrinkle on my Sovereign's face.
I am the laft of noble Edward's fons,
Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was firft;
In war, was never Lion rag'd more fierce,
peace, was never gentle Lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely Gentleman:
His face thou haft, for even fo look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours.
But when he frown'd, it was against the French,
And not against his friends; his noble hand
Did win what he did fpend; and fpent not That,
Which his triumphant father's hand had won.
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
Oh, Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or elfe he never would compare between.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter?
York. O my Liege,
Pardon me, if you pleafe; if not, I, pleas'd
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
Seek you to feize, and gripe into your hands,
The Royalties and Rights of banifh'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt jeft, and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deferve to have an heir?
Is not his heir a well-deferving fon?
Take Hereford's Rights away, and take from time
His Charters, and his customary Rights;
Let not to-morrow then enfue to day;
Be not thyself; for how art thou a King,
But by fair fequence and fucceffion?
If you do wrongfully feize Hereford's Right,
Call in his letters patents that he hath,
By his attorneys-general to fue
His livery, and * deny his offer'd homage;
You pluck a thoufand dangers on your head;
You lose a thoufand well-difpofed hearts;
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts,
Deny his offer'd homage.] mage, by which he is to hold his That is, refufe to admit the boVOL. IV.
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.
.ch. Think what you will, we feize into our
hands
Hi plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.
To. I'll not be by, the while; my Liege, farewel:
What will enfue hereof, there's none can tell.
But by bad courfes may be understood,
That their events can never fall out good.
K. Rich. Go, Bufby, to the Earl of Wiltshire Straight,
Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,
To fee this bufinefs done. To-morrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow.
And we create, in abfence of ourself,
Our uncle Fork Lord-governor of England,
For he is juft, and always lov'd us well.
Come on, our Queen; to-morrow muft we part;
Be merry, for our time of Stay is fhort.
[Flourish. [Exeunt King, Queen, &c.
Manent Northumberland, Willoughby, and Rofs.
North. Well, Lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. Refs. And living too, for now his fon is Duke. Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.
North. Richly in both, if juftice had her right. Rofs. My heart is great; but it must break with filence,
Ere't be difburden'd with a lib'ral tongue.
North. Nay, fpeak thy mind; and let him ne'er fpeak more,
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm.
Willo. Tends, what you'd fpeak, to the Duke of
Hereford?
If it be fo, out with it boldly, man:
Quick is mine ear to hear of good tow'rds him.
Rofs. No good at all that I can do for him,
Unless you call it good to pity him,
|