London. A Room in the KING'S Castle. |
| |
Enter KING RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREEN at one door; AUMERLE at another. |
| K. Rich. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, |
| How far brought you high Hereford on his way? |
| Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, |
| But to the next highway, and there I left him. |
| K. Rich. And say, what store of parting tears were shed? |
| Aum. Faith, none for me; except the northeast 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. |
| K. Rich. What said our cousin when you parted with him? |
| Aum. '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 lengthen'd 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. |
| K. Rich. 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 yield them further means |
| For their advantage and your highness' loss. |
| K. Rich. 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 post-haste |
| To entreat your majesty to visit him. |
| K. Rich. Where lies he? |
| Bushy. At Ely House. |
| K. Rich. Now, put it, God, in his 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. |
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