ACT II.

SCENE, Ely-houfe.

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

W

GAUNT.

ILL the King come, that I may breathe my laft

In wholesome counsel to his unftay'd youth? York. Vex not your felf, nor ftrive not with your breath 1;

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 fcarce, 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 glofe;

More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before: The fetting Sun, and mufick in the clofe.

As the last taste of fweets, is fweeteft laft;

Writ in remembrance, more than things long part;
Though Richard my life's counfel would not hear,
My death's fad Tale may yet undeaf his ear.

York. His ear is stopt with other flatt'ring charms,
As praises of his State; there are, befide,
Lascivious meeters, to whofe venom'd found
The open ear of youth doth always liften:
Report of Fashions in proud Italy,

Whofe manners 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 buz'd into his ears?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
T 2

Where

Where Will doth mutiny with wits regard.
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 last;
For violent fires foon burn out themselves.

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

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

This fortress, 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,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defenfive to a house,
Against the envy of lefs happier Lands;
This nurse, 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 service 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 fhame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment-bonds.
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a fhameful Conqueft of it self.
Ah! would the fcandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my cnfuing death!

Enter

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 ?

i

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 abstains 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,
Whofe hollow womb inherits nought but bones.
K. Rich. Can fick men play fo nicely with their names?
Gaunt. No, mifery makes fport to mock it felf:
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 those that die.
K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, fay'ft, thou flatter'ft me.
Gaunt. Oh! no, thou dy't, though I the ficker be,
K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, I fee thee ill.
Gaunt. Now he, that made me, knows, I fee thee ill;
Ill in my felf, but feeing thee too, ill.

Thy death-bed is no leffer than the Land,
Wherein thou lieft in Reputation fick;
And thou, too careless Patient as thou art,
Giv'ft thy anointed body to the cure
Of thofe phyficians, that firft wounded thee:
A thousand flatt'rers fit within thy Crown,
Whofe compass is no bigger than thy head,
And yet ingaged in fo fmall a verge,
Thy wafte is no whit leffer than thy Land.
Oh, had thy Grandfire, with a prophet's eye,

T 3

Seen

Seen how his fon's fon fhould deftroy 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 thy felf.
Why, Coufin, wert thou Regent of the world,
It were a fhame to let this Land by leafe:
But for thy world enjoying but this Land,
Is it not more than fhame, to fhame it fo?
Landlord of England art thou now, hot 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,

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, fpare 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 Glo' fter, plain well-meaning foul,
(Whom fair befal in heav'n 'mongst happy fouls!)
May be a precedent and witness good,

That thou tefpect'st not fpilling Edward's blood.
Join with the prefent Sickness that I have,
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too-long-wither'd flower.
Live in thy fhame, but die not shame 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 have;
For both haft thou, and both become the Grave.
York. I do befeech your Majefty, impute
His words to wayward ficklinefs, and age:

He

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, so his;

As theirs, fo mife; 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 Lancafter hath spent.
York. Be York the next, that must be bankrupt so!
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

K. Rich. The ripeft fruit first falls, and fo doth he;
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be;
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars;
We must fupplant those rough rug-headed Kerns,
Which live like venom, where no venom else,
But only they, have privilege to live.

And, for these great affairs do ask fome Charge,
Towards our affistance 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 Glo'fter's death, not Hereford's Banishment,
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 Soveraign's face.
1 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;
In 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,