| ACT II SCENE I | Ely House. | |
| | Enter JOHN OF GAUNT, sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, &c. | |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Will the king come, that I may breathe my last | |
| | In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? | |
| DUKE OF YORK | Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; | |
| | For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. | 5 |
| JOHN OF 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 listen'd more | 10 |
| | Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; | |
| | More are men's ends mark'd 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: | 15 |
| | Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, | |
| | My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. | |
| DUKE OF YORK | No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, | |
| | As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, | |
| | Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound | 20 |
| | The open ear of youth doth always listen; | |
| | Report of fashions in proud Italy, | |
| | Whose manners still our tardy apish nation | |
| | Limps after in base imitation. | |
| | Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-- | 25 |
| | So it be new, there's no respect how vile-- | |
| | That is not quickly buzzed into his ears? | |
| | Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, | |
| | Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. | |
| | Direct not him whose way himself will choose: | 30 |
| | 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. | |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Methinks I am a prophet new inspired | |
| | And thus expiring do foretell of him: | |
| | His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, | |
| | For violent fires soon burn out themselves; | 35 |
| | Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; | |
| | He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; | |
| | With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: | |
| | Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, | |
| | Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. | 40 |
| | This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, | |
| | This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, | |
| | This other Eden, demi-paradise, | |
| | This fortress built by Nature for herself | |
| | Against infection and the hand of war, | 45 |
| | This happy breed of men, this little world, | |
| | This precious stone set in the silver sea, | |
| | Which serves it in the office of a wall, | |
| | Or as a moat defensive to a house, | |
| | Against the envy of less happier lands, | 50 |
| | This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, | |
| | This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, | |
| | Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, | |
| | Renowned for their deeds as far from home, | |
| | For Christian service and true chivalry, | 55 |
| | 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, | |
| | Dear for her reputation through the world, | |
| | Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, | 60 |
| | Like to a tenement or pelting farm: | |
| | England, bound in with the triumphant sea | |
| | Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege | |
| | Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, | |
| | With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: | 65 |
| | That England, that was wont to conquer others, | |
| | Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. | |
| | Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, | |
| | How happy then were my ensuing death! | |
| | Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD WILLOUGHBY. | |
| DUKE OF YORK | The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; | 70 |
| | For young hot colts being raged do rage the more. | |
| QUEEN | How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? | |
| KING RICHARD II | What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt? | |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | O how that name befits my composition! | |
| | Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: | 75 |
| | Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; | |
| | And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? | |
| | For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; | |
| | Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: | |
| | The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, | 80 |
| | 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 inherits nought but bones. | |
| KING RICHARD II | Can sick men play so nicely with their names? | 85 |
| JOHN OF 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. | |
| KING RICHARD II | Should dying men flatter with those that live? | |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | No, no, men living flatter those that die. | 90 |
| KING RICHARD II | Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me. | |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. | |
| KING RICHARD II | I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. | |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; | |
| | Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. | 95 |
| | Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land | |
| | Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; | |
| | And thou, too careless patient as thou art, | |
| | Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure | |
| | Of those physicians that first wounded thee: | 100 |
| | A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, | |
| | Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; | |
| | And yet, incaged in so small a verge, | |
| | The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. | |
| | O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye | 105 |
| | Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, | |
| | From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, | |
| | Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, | |
| | Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. | |
| | Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, | 110 |
| | It were a shame to let this land by lease; | |
| | But for thy world enjoying but this land, | |
| | Is it not more than shame to shame it so? | |
| | Landlord of England art thou now, not king: | |
| | Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou-- | 115 |
| KING RICHARD II | A lunatic lean-witted fool, | |
| | Presuming on an ague's privilege, | |
| | Darest with thy frozen admonition | |
| | Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood | |
| | With fury from his native residence. | 120 |
| | Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, | |
| | Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, | |
| | This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head | |
| | Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. | |
| JOHN OF GAUNT | O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, | 125 |
| | For that I was his father Edward's son; | |
| | That blood already, like the pelican, | |
| | Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: | |
| | My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul, | |
| | Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls! | 130 |
| | May be a precedent and witness good | |
| | That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: | |
| | Join with the present sickness that I have; | |
| | And thy unkindness be like crooked age, | |
| | To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. | 135 |
| | Live in thy shame, 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 off by his Attendants | |
| KING RICHARD II | And let them die that age and sullens have; | 140 |
| | For both hast thou, and both become the grave. | |
| DUKE OF YORK | I do beseech your majesty, impute his words | |
| | To wayward sickliness and age in him: | |
| | He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear | |
| | As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. | 145 |
| KING RICHARD II | Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; | |
| | As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. | |
| | Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. | |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. | |
| KING RICHARD II | What says he? | |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Nay, nothing; all is said | 150 |
| | His tongue is now a stringless instrument; | |
| | Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. | |
| DUKE OF YORK | Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! | |
| | Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. | |
| KING RICHARD II | The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; | 155 |
| | His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. | |
| | So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: | |
| | We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, | |
| | Which live like venom where no venom else | |
| | But only they have privilege to live. | 160 |
| | And for these great affairs do ask some charge, | |
| | Towards our assistance we do seize to us | |
| | The plate, corn, revenues and moveables, | |
| | Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. | |
| DUKE OF YORK | How long shall I be patient? ah, how long | 165 |
| | Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? | |
| | Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment | |
| | Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, | |
| | Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke | |
| | About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, | 170 |
| | Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, | |
| | Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. | |
| | I am the last of noble Edward's sons, | |
| | Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: | |
| | In war was never lion raged more fierce, | 175 |
| | In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, | |
| | Than was that young and princely gentleman. | |
| | His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, | |
| | Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; | |
| | But when he frown'd, it was against the French | 180 |
| | And not against his friends; his noble hand | |
| | Did will what he did spend and spent not that | |
| | Which his triumphant father's hand had won; | |
| | His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, | |
| | But bloody with the enemies of his kin. | 185 |
| | O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, | |
| | Or else he never would compare between. | |
| KING RICHARD II | Why, uncle, what's the matter? | |
| DUKE OF YORK | O my liege, | |
| | Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased | 190 |
| | Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. | |
| | Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands | |
| | The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? | |
| | Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? | |
| | Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? | 195 |
| | Did not the one deserve to have an heir? | |
| | Is not his heir a well-deserving son? | |
| | Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time | |
| | His charters and his customary rights; | |
| | Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; | 200 |
| | Be not thyself; for how art thou a king | |
| | But by fair sequence and succession? | |
| | Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!-- | |
| | If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, | |
| | Call in the letters patent that he hath | 205 |
| | By his attorneys-general to sue | |
| | His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, | |
| | You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, | |
| | You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts | |
| | And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts | 210 |
| | Which honour and allegiance cannot think. | |
| KING RICHARD II | Think what you will, we seize into our hands | |
| | His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. | |
| DUKE OF YORK | I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell: | |
| | What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; | 215 |
| | But by bad courses may be understood | |
| | That their events can never fall out good. | |
| | Exit | |
| KING RICHARD II | Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight: | |
| | Bid him repair to us to Ely House | |
| | To see this business. To-morrow next | 220 |
| | We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: | |
| | And we create, in absence of ourself, | |
| | Our uncle York lord governor of England; | |
| | For he is just and always loved us well. | |
| | Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; | 225 |
| | Be merry, for our time of stay is short | |
| | Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT. | |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. | |
| LORD ROSS | And living too; for now his son is duke. | |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | Barely in title, not in revenue. | |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Richly in both, if justice had her right. | 230 |
| LORD ROSS | My heart is great; but it must break with silence, | |
| | Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. | |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more | |
| | That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! | |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? | 235 |
| | If it be so, out with it boldly, man; | |
| | Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. | |
| LORD ROSS | No good at all that I can do for him; | |
| | Unless you call it good to pity him, | |
| | Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. | 240 |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne | |
| | In him, a royal prince, and many moe | |
| | Of noble blood in this declining land. | |
| | The king is not himself, but basely led | |
| | By flatterers; and what they will inform, | 245 |
| | Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, | |
| | That will the king severely prosecute | |
| | 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. | |
| LORD ROSS | The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, | |
| | And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined | 250 |
| | For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. | |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | And daily new exactions are devised, | |
| | As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: | |
| | But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? | |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, | 255 |
| | But basely yielded upon compromise | |
| | That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows: | |
| | More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. | |
| LORD ROSS | The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. | |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. | 260 |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. | |
| LORD ROSS | He hath not money for these Irish wars, | |
| | His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, | |
| | But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. | |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! | 265 |
| | But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, | |
| | Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm; | |
| | We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, | |
| | And yet we strike not, but securely perish. | |
| LORD ROSS | We see the very wreck that we must suffer; | 270 |
| | And unavoided is the danger now, | |
| | For suffering so the causes of our wreck. | |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death | |
| | I spy life peering; but I dare not say | |
| | How near the tidings of our comfort is. | 275 |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. | |
| LORD ROSS | Be confident to speak, Northumberland: | |
| | We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, | |
| | Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. | |
| NORTHUMBERLAND | Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay | 280 |
| | In Brittany, received intelligence | |
| | That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, | |
| | | |
| | That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, | |
| | His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, | |
| | Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, | 285 |
| | Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint, | |
| | All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne | |
| | With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, | |
| | Are making hither with all due expedience | |
| | And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: | 290 |
| | Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay | |
| | The first departing of the king for Ireland. | |
| | If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, | |
| | Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, | |
| | Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, | 295 |
| | Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt | |
| | And make high majesty look like itself, | |
| | Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; | |
| | But if you faint, as fearing to do so, | |
| | Stay and be secret, and myself will go. | 300 |
| LORD ROSS | To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. | |
| LORD WILLOUGHBY | Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. | |
| | Exeunt | |
