Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland: - For our affairs in hand. If that come short, Bushy, what news? Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord; Suddenly taken; and hath sent post-haste, To entreat your majesty to visit him. K. Rich. Where lies he. Bushy. At Ely-house. K. Rich. Now put it, Heaven, in his physician's mind, To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats 'Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. London. A Room in Ely-house. GAUNT on a couch; the DUKE OF YORK, and others standing by him. Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstayed youth. York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. He, that no more must say, is listened more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze; More are men's ends marked, than their lives before: The setting sun and music at 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. No; it is stopped with other flattering sounds, Whose manners still our tardy, apish nation Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, His rash, fierce blaze of riot cannot last; For violent fires soon burn out themselves: Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder: Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This fortress, built by nature for herself, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Feared by their breed, and famous by their birth, (For Christian service, and true chivalry,) As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son: This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land, Enter KING RICHARD and Queen; AUMERLE, BUSHY, York. The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young, hot colts, being raged, do rage the more. Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt? Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition! 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 sleeping England long time have I watched; Watching breeds leanness; leanness is all gaunt. The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast, I mean my children's looks; And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt; Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inhabits nought but bones. K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their names? Gaunt. No; misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that live? Gaunt. No, no; men living, flatter those that die. K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st-thou flatter'st me. Gaunt. O, no; thou diest, though I the sicker be. K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to sce, and in thee, seeing ill. Thy deathbed is no lesser than thy land, Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Committ'st thy anointed body to the cure K. Rich. ? -a lunatic, lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Dar'st with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood, That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapped out, and drunkenly caroused. That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!— [Exit, borne out by his Attendants. K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. York. I do beseech your majesty, impute his words 1 To wayward sickliness and age in him. He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear K. Rich. Right; you say true; as Hereford's love, so his; As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. K. Rich. What says he? North. Nay, nothing; all is said: His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent; our pilgrimage must be: So much for that. Now for our Irish wars. But only they, hath privilege to live. And, for these great affairs do ask some charge, The plate, coin, revenues, and movables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possessed. York. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first; |