GAUNT.O,to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?BOLINGBROKE.I have too few to take my leave of you,When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.GAUNT.Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.BOLINGBROKE.Joy absent,grief is present for that time.GAUNT.What is six winters?They are quickly gone.BOLINGBROKE.To men in joy;but grief makes one hour ten.GAUNT.Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure.BOLINGBROKE.My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.GAUNT.The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return.BOLINGBROKE.Nay,rather,every tedious stride I make Will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love.Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages;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 wise man ports and happy havens.Teach thy necessity to reason thus:There is no virtue like necessity.Think not the King did banish thee,But thou the King.Woe doth the heavier sit Where it perceives it is but faintly home.Go,say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,And not the King exil'd thee;or suppose Devouring pestilence hangs in our air And thou art flying to a fresher clime.Look what thy soul holds dear,imagine it To lie that way thou goest,not whence thou com'st.Suppose the singing birds musicians,The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd,The flowers fair ladies,and thy steps no more Than a delightful measure or a dance;For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.BOLINGBROKE.O,who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?O,no!the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites,but lanceth not the sore.GAUNT.Come,come,my son,I'll bring thee on thy way.Had I thy youtli and cause,I would not stay.BOLINGBROKE.Then,England's ground,farewell;sweet soil,adieu;My mother,and my nurse,that bears me yet!Where'er I wander,boast of this I can:Though banish'd,yet a trueborn English man.Exeunt
SCENE 4.London.The court
Enter the KING,with BAGOT and GREEN,at one door;and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another
KING RICHARD.We did observe.Cousin Aumerle,How far brought you high Hereford on his way?AUMERLE.I brought high Hereford,if you call him so,But to the next high way,and there I left him.KING RICHARD.And say,what store of parting tears were shed?AUMERLE.Faith,none for me;except the north-east wind,Which then blew bitterly against our faces,Awak'd the sleeping rheum,and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.KING RICHARD.What said our cousin when you parted with him?AUMERLE.'Farewell.'And,for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word,that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
Marry,would the word 'farewell'have length'ned hours And added years to his short banishment,He should have had a volume of farewells;But since it would not,he had none of me.KING RICHARD.He is our cousin,cousin;but 'tis doubt,When time shall call him home from banishment,Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.Ourself,and Bushy,Bagot here,and Green,Observ'd his courtship to the common people;How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy;What reverence he did throw away on slaves,Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune,As 'twere to banish their affects with him.Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;A brace of draymen bid God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee,With 'Thanks,my countrymen,my loving friends';As were our England in reversion 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 stand out in Ireland,Expedient manage must be made,my liege,Ere further leisure yicld them further means For their advantage and your Highness'loss.KING RICHARD.We will ourself in person to this war;And,for our coffers,with too great a court And liberal largess,are grown somewhat light,We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm;The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand.If that come short,Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;Whereto,when they shall know what men are rich,They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,And send them after to supply our wants;For we will make for Ireland presently.
Enter BUSHY
Bushy,what news?BUSHY.Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick,my lord,Suddenly taken;and hath sent poste-haste To entreat your Majesty to visit him.KING RICHARD.Where lies he?BUSHY.At Ely House.KING RICHARD.Now put it,God,in the physician's mind To help him to his grave immediately!The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.Come,gentlemen,let's all go visit him.Pray God we may make haste,and come too late!ALL.Amen.Exeunt