Richard the second E-Book

William Shakespeare

• Herausgeber: William Shakespeare
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true;
That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
Besides I say and will in battle prove,
Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English eye,
That all the treasons for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
Further I say and further will maintain
Upon his bad life to make all this good,
That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,
And consequently, like a traitor coward,
Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood:
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
To me for justice and rough chastisement;
And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

Leseprobe

William Shakespeare

Richard the second

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Table of contents

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5

Dramatis Personae KING RICHARD THE SECOND JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk DUKE OF SURREY EARL OF SALISBURY LORD BERKELEY BUSHY - Servant to King Richard BAGOT - Servant to King Richard GREEN - Servant to King Richard EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND HENRY PERCY, surnamed Hotspur, his son LORD ROSS LORD WILLOUGHBY LORD FITZWATER BISHOP OF CARLISLE ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER LORD MARSHAL SIR PIERCE OF EXTON SIR STEPHEN SCROOP Captain of a band of Welshmen QUEEN TO KING RICHARD DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER DUCHESS OF YORK Lady attending on the Queen Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants SCENE: Dispersedly in England and Wales.

Act 1

Scene 1 London. KING RICHARD II's palace. Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other Nobles and Attendants KING RICHARD II Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son,Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,Which then our leisure would not let us hear,Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? JOHN OF GAUNT I have, my liege. KING RICHARD II Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;Or worthily, as a good subject should,On some known ground of treachery in him? JOHN OF GAUNT As near as I could sift him on that argument,On some apparent danger seen in himAim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. KING RICHARD II Then call them to our presence; face to face,And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hearThe accuser and the accused freely speak:High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY HENRY BOLINGBROKE Many years of happy days befalMy gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! THOMAS MOWBRAY Each day still better other's happiness;Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,Add an immortal title to your crown! KING RICHARD II We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,As well appeareth by the cause you come;Namely to appeal each other of high treason.Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou objectAgainst the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? HENRY BOLINGBROKE First, heaven be the record to my speech!In the devotion of a subject's love,Tendering the precious safety of my prince,And free from other misbegotten hate,Come I appellant to this princely presence.Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,And mark my greeting well; for what I speakMy body shall make good upon this earth,Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,Too good to be so and too bad to live,Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.Once more, the more to aggravate the note,With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove. THOMAS MOWBRAY Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this:Yet can I not of such tame patience boastAs to be hush'd and nought at all to say:First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs meFrom giving reins and spurs to my free speech;Which else would post until it had return'dThese terms of treason doubled down his throat.Setting aside his high blood's royalty,And let him be no kinsman to my liege,I do defy him, and I spit at him;Call him a slanderous coward and a villain:Which to maintain I would allow him odds,And meet him, were I tied to run afootEven to the frozen ridges of the Alps,Or any other ground inhabitable,Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.Mean time let this defend my loyalty,By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,Disclaiming here the kindred of the king,And lay aside my high blood's royalty,Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.If guilty dread have left thee so much strengthAs to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop:By that and all the rites of knighthood else,Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. THOMAS MOWBRAY I take it up; and by that sword I swearWhich gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,I'll answer thee in any fair degree,Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:And when I mount, alive may I not light,If I be traitor or unjustly fight! KING RICHARD II What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?It must be great that can inherit usSo much as of a thought of ill in him. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true;That Mowbray hath received eight thousand noblesIn name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,Like a false traitor and injurious villain.Besides I say and will in battle prove,Or here or elsewhere to the furthest vergeThat ever was survey'd by English eye,That all the treasons for these eighteen yearsComplotted and contrived in this landFetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.Further I say and further will maintainUpon his bad life to make all this good,That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,And consequently, like a traitor coward,Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood:Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,To me for justice and rough chastisement;And, by the glorious worth of my descent,This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. KING RICHARD II How high a pitch his resolution soars!Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? THOMAS MOWBRAY O, let my sovereign turn away his faceAnd bid his ears a little while be deaf,Till I have told this slander of his blood,How God and good men hate so foul a liar. KING RICHARD II Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,As he is but my father's brother's son,Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow,Such neighbour nearness to our sacred bloodShould nothing privilege him, nor partializeThe unstooping firmness of my upright soul:He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.Three parts of that receipt I had for CalaisDisbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;The other part reserved I by consent,For that my sovereign liege was in my debtUpon remainder of a dear account,Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death,I slew him not; but to my own disgraceNeglected my sworn duty in that case.For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,The honourable father to my foeOnce did I lay an ambush for your life,A trespass that doth vex my grieved soulBut ere I last received the sacramentI did confess it, and exactly begg'dYour grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd,It issues from the rancour of a villain,A recreant and most degenerate traitorWhich in myself I boldly will defend;And interchangeably hurl down my gageUpon this overweening traitor's foot,To prove myself a loyal gentlemanEven in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.In haste whereof, most heartily I prayYour highness to assign our trial day. KING RICHARD II Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me;Let's purge this choler without letting blood:This we prescribe, though no physician;Deep malice makes too deep incision;Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed;Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.Good uncle, let this end where it begun;We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. JOHN OF GAUNT To be a make-peace shall become my age:Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. KING RICHARD II And, Norfolk, throw down his. JOHN OF GAUNT When, Harry, when?Obedience bids I should not bid again. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. THOMAS MOWBRAY Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:The one my duty owes; but my fair name,Despite of death that lives upon my grave,To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here,Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear,The which no balm can cure but his heart-bloodWhich breathed this poison. KING RICHARD II Rage must be withstood:Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. THOMAS MOWBRAY Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame.And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,The purest treasure mortal times affordIs spotless reputation: that away,Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chestIs a bold spirit in a loyal breast.Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:Take honour from me, and my life is done:Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;In that I live and for that will I die. KING RICHARD II Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight?Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my heightBefore this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongueShall wound my honour with such feeble wrong,Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tearThe slavish motive of recanting fear,And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. Exit JOHN OF GAUNT KING RICHARD II We were not born to sue, but to command;Which since we cannot do to make you friends,Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day:There shall your swords and lances arbitrateThe swelling difference of your settled hate:Since we can not atone you, we shall seeJustice design the victor's chivalry.Lord marshal, command our officers at armsBe ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt Scene 2   The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with DUCHESS JOHN OF GAUNT Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's bloodDoth more solicit me than your exclaims,To stir against the butchers of his life!But since correction lieth in those handsWhich made the fault that we cannot correct,Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. DUCHESS Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,Or seven fair branches springing from one root:Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,One flourishing branch of his most royal root,Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt,Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb,That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd theeMade him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consentIn some large measure to thy father's death,In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,Who was the model of thy father's life.Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair:In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:That which in mean men we intitle patienceIs pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. JOHN OF GAUNT God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,His deputy anointed in His sight,Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully,Let heaven revenge; for I may never liftAn angry arm against His minister. DUCHESS Where then, alas, may I complain myself? JOHN OF GAUNT To God, the widow's champion and defence. DUCHESS Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.Thou goest to Coventry, there to beholdOur cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!Or, if misfortune miss the first career,Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,They may break his foaming courser's back,And throw the rider headlong in the lists,A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wifeWith her companion grief must end her life. JOHN OF GAUNT Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry:As much good stay with thee as go with me! DUCHESS Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls,Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:I take my leave before I have begun,For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so;Though this be all, do not so quickly go;I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?--With all good speed at Plashy visit me.Alack, and what shall good old York there seeBut empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?And what hear there for welcome but my groans?Therefore commend me; let him not come there,To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die:The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt Scene 3   The lists at Coventry. Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE Lord Marshal My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? DUKE OF AUMERLE Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Lord Marshal The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. DUKE OF AUMERLE Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stayFor nothing but his majesty's approach. The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD enters with his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in arms, defendant, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, demand of yonder championThe cause of his arrival here in arms:Ask him his name and orderly proceedTo swear him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal In God's name and the king's, say who thou artAnd why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel:Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath;As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! THOMAS MOWBRAY My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;Who hither come engaged by my oath--Which God defend a knight should violate!--Both to defend my loyalty and truthTo God, my king and my succeeding issue,Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals meAnd, by the grace of God and this mine arm,To prove him, in defending of myself,A traitor to my God, my king, and me:And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, appellant, in armour, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,Both who he is and why he cometh hitherThus plated in habiliments of war,And formally, according to our law,Depose him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither,Before King Richard in his royal lists?Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and DerbyAm I; who ready here do stand in arms,To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour,In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,To God of heaven, King Richard and to me;And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Lord Marshal On pain of death, no person be so boldOr daring-hardy as to touch the lists,Except the marshal and such officersAppointed to direct these fair designs. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand,And bow my knee before his majesty:For Mowbray and myself are like two menThat vow a long and weary pilgrimage;Then let us take a ceremonious leaveAnd loving farewell of our several friends. Lord Marshal The appellant in all duty greets your highness,And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. KING RICHARD II We will descend and fold him in our arms.Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,So be thy fortune in this royal fight!Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O let no noble eye profane a tearFor me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear:As confident as is the falcon's flightAgainst a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.My loving lord, I take my leave of you;Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;Not sick, although I have to do with death,But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreetThe daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:O thou, the earthly author of my blood,Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,Doth with a twofold vigour lift me upTo reach at victory above my head,Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers;And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt,Even in the lusty havior of his son. JOHN OF GAUNT God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!Be swift like lightning in the execution;And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,Fall like amazing thunder on the casqueOf thy adverse pernicious enemy:Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive! THOMAS MOWBRAY However God or fortune cast my lot,There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne,A loyal, just and upright gentleman:Never did captive with a freer heartCast off his chains of bondage and embraceHis golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,More than my dancing soul doth celebrateThis feast of battle with mine adversary.Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,Take from my mouth the wish of happy years:As gentle and as jocund as to jestGo I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. KING RICHARD II Farewell, my lord: securely I espyVirtue with valour couched in thine eye.Order the trial, marshal, and begin. Lord Marshal Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. Lord Marshal Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. First Herald Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself,On pain to be found false and recreant,To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,A traitor to his God, his king and him;And dares him to set forward to the fight. Second Herald Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,On pain to be found false and recreant,Both to defend himself and to approveHenry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal;Courageously and with a free desireAttending but the signal to begin. Lord Marshal Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. A charge sounded Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. KING RICHARD II Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,And both return back to their chairs again:Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets soundWhile we return these dukes what we decree. A long flourish Draw near,And list what with our council we have done.For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'dWith that dear blood which it hath fostered;And for our eyes do hate the dire aspectOf civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword;And for we think the eagle-winged prideOf sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,With rival-hating envy, set on youTo wake our peace, which in our country's cradleDraws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums,With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,Might from our quiet confines fright fair peaceAnd make us wade even in our kindred's blood,Therefore, we banish you our territories:You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fieldsShall not regreet our fair dominions,But tread the stranger paths of banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Your will be done: this must my comfort be,Sun that warms you here shall shine on me;And those his golden beams to you here lentShall point on me and gild my banishment. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:The sly slow hours shall not determinateThe dateless limit of thy dear exile;The hopeless word of 'never to return'Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. THOMAS MOWBRAY A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:A dearer merit, not so deep a maimAs to be cast forth in the common air,Have I deserved at your highness' hands.The language I have learn'd these forty years,My native English, now I must forego:And now my tongue's use is to me no moreThan an unstringed viol or a harp,Or like a cunning instrument cased up,Or, being open, put into his handsThat knows no touch to tune the harmony:Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips;And dull unfeeling barren ignoranceIs made my gaoler to attend on me.I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,Too far in years to be a pupil now:What is thy sentence then but speechless death,Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? KING RICHARD II It boots thee not to be compassionate:After our sentence plaining comes too late. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then thus I turn me from my country's light,To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. KING RICHARD II Return again, and take an oath with thee.Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;Swear by the duty that you owe to God--Our part therein we banish with yourselves--To keep the oath that we administer:You never shall, so help you truth and God!Embrace each other's love in banishment;Nor never look upon each other's face;Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcileThis louring tempest of your home-bred hate;Nor never by advised purpose meetTo plot, contrive, or complot any ill'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. HENRY BOLINGBROKE I swear. THOMAS MOWBRAY And I, to keep all this. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:--By this time, had the king permitted us,One of our souls had wander'd in the air.Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;Since thou hast far to go, bear not alongThe clogging burthen of a guilty soul. THOMAS MOWBRAY No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor,My name be blotted from the book of life,And I from heaven banish'd as from hence!But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know;And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;Save back to England, all the world's my way. Exit KING RICHARD II Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyesI see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspectHath from the number of his banish'd yearsPluck'd four away. To HENRY BOLINGBROKE Six frozen winter spent,Return with welcome home from banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE How long a time lies in one little word!Four lagging winters and four wanton springsEnd in a word: such is the breath of kings. JOHN OF GAUNT I thank my liege, that in regard of meHe shortens four years of my son's exile:But little vantage shall I reap thereby;For, ere the six years that he hath to spendCan change their moons and bring their times aboutMy oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted lightShall be extinct with age and endless night;My inch of taper will be burnt and done,And blindfold death not let me see my son. KING RICHARD II Why uncle, thou hast many years to live. JOHN OF GAUNT But not a minute, king, that thou canst give:Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;Thy word is current with him for my death,But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. KING RICHARD II Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave:Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? JOHN OF GAUNT Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.You urged me as a judge; but I had ratherYou would have bid me argue like a father.O, had it been a stranger, not my child,To smooth his fault I should have been more mild:A partial slander sought I to avoid,And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,I was too strict to make mine own away;But you gave leave to my unwilling tongueAgainst my will to do myself this wrong. KING RICHARD II Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so:Six years we banish him, and he shall go. Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train DUKE OF AUMERLE Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know,From where you do remain let paper show. Lord Marshal My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,As far as land will let me, by your side. JOHN OF GAUNT O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? HENRY BOLINGBROKE I have too few to take my leave of you,When the tongue's office should be prodigalTo breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. JOHN OF GAUNT Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Joy absent, grief is present for that time. JOHN OF GAUNT What is six winters? they are quickly gone. HENRY BOLINGBROKE To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. JOHN OF GAUNT Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure. HENRY BOLINGBROKE My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. JOHN OF GAUNT The sullen passage of thy weary stepsEsteem as foil wherein thou art to setThe precious jewel of thy home return. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Nay, rather, every tedious stride I makeWill but remember me what a deal of worldI wander from the jewels that I love.Must I not serve a long apprenticehoodTo foreign passages, and in the end,Having my freedom, boast of nothing elseBut that I was a journeyman to grief? JOHN OF GAUNT All places that the eye of heaven visitsAre 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 borne.Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honourAnd not the king exiled thee; or supposeDevouring pestilence hangs in our airAnd thou art flying to a fresher clime:Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine itTo lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest:Suppose the singing birds musicians,The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd,The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no moreThan a delightful measure or a dance;For gnarling sorrow hath less power to biteThe man that mocks at it and sets it light. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, who can hold a fire in his handBy thinking on the frosty Caucasus?Or cloy the hungry edge of appetiteBy bare imagination of a feast?Or wallow naked in December snowBy thinking on fantastic summer's heat?O, no! the apprehension of the goodGives but the greater feeling to the worse:Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle moreThan when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. JOHN OF GAUNT Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way:Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. HENRY 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 Englishman. Exeunt Scene 4   The court. Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and GREEN at one door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another KING RICHARD II We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,How far brought you high Hereford on his way? DUKE OF AUMERLE I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,But to the next highway, and there I left him. KING RICHARD II And say, what store of parting tears were shed? DUKE OF AUMERLE Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,Which then blew bitterly against our faces,Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chanceDid grace our hollow parting with a tear. KING RICHARD II What said our cousin when you parted with him? DUKE OF AUMERLE 'Farewell:'And, for my heart disdained that my tongueShould so profane the word, that taught me craftTo counterfeit oppression of such griefThat words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hoursAnd 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 II 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 GreenObserved his courtship to the common people;How he did seem to dive into their heartsWith humble and familiar courtesy,What reverence he did throw away on slaves,Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smilesAnd 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 wellAnd 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 yield them further meansFor their advantage and your highness' loss. KING RICHARD II We will ourself in person to this war:And, for our coffers, with too great a courtAnd liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,We are inforced to farm our royal realm;The revenue whereof shall furnish usFor 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 goldAnd 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 post hasteTo entreat your majesty to visit him. KING RICHARD II Where lies he? BUSHY At Ely House. KING RICHARD II Now put it, God, in the physician's mindTo help him to his grave immediately!The lining of his coffers shall make coatsTo 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