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  • Title: Richard II (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editor: Catherine Lisak
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-436-3

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    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Catherine Lisak
    Peer Reviewed

    Richard II (Folio 1, 1623)

    The life and death of Richard the second. 27
    Nor euer write, regreete, or reconcile
    480This lowring tempest of your home-bred hate,
    Nor euer by aduised purpose meete,
    To plot, contriue, or complot any ill,
    'Gainst Vs, our State, our Subiects, or our Land.
    Bull. I sweare.
    485Mow. And I, to keepe all this.
    Bul. Norfolke, so fare, as to mine enemie,
    By this time (had the King permitted vs)
    One of our soules had wandred in the ayre,
    Banish'd this fraile sepulchre of our flesh,
    490As now our flesh is banish'd from this Land.
    Confesse thy Treasons, ere thou flye this Realme,
    Since thou hast farre to go, beare not along
    The clogging burthen of a guilty soule.
    Mow. No Bullingbroke: If euer I were Traitor,
    495My name be blotted from the booke of Life,
    And I from heauen banish'd, as from hence:
    But what thou art, heauen, thou, and I do know,
    And all too soone (I feare) the King shall rue.
    Farewell (my Liege) now no way can I stray,
    500Saue backe to England, all the worlds my way. Exit.
    Rich. Vncle, euen in the glasses of thine eyes
    I see thy greeued heart: thy sad aspect,
    Hath from the number of his banish'd yeares
    Pluck'd foure away: Six frozen Winters spent,
    505Returne with welcome home, from banishment.
    Bul. How long a time lyes in one little word:
    Foure lagging Winters, and foure wanton springs
    End in a word, such is the breath of Kings.
    Gaunt. I thanke my Liege, that in regard of me
    510He shortens foure yeares of my sonnes exile:
    But little vantage shall I reape thereby.
    For ere the sixe yeares that he hath to spend
    Can change their Moones, and bring their times about,
    My oyle-dride Lampe, and time-bewasted light
    515Shall be extinct with age, and endlesse night:
    My inch of Taper, will be burnt, and done,
    And blindfold death, not let me see my sonne.
    Rich. Why Vncle, thou hast many yeeres to Iiue.
    Gaunt. But not a minute (King) that thou canst giue;
    520Shorten my dayes thou canst with sudden sorow,
    And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow:
    Thou canst helpe time to furrow me with age,
    But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:
    Thy word is currant with him, for my death,
    525But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath.
    Ric. Thy sonne is banish'd vpon good aduice,
    Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gaue,
    Why at our Iustice seem'st thou then to lowre?
    Gau. Things sweet to tast, proue in digestion sowre:
    530You vrg'd me as a Iudge, but I had rather
    You would haue bid me argue like a Father.
    Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
    I was too strict to make mine owne away:
    But you gaue leaue to my vnwilling tong,
    535Against my will, to do my selfe this wrong.
    Rich, Cosine farewell: and Vncle bid him so:
    Six yeares we banish him, and he shall go. Exit.
    Au. Cosine farewell: what presence must not know
    540From where you do remaine, let paper show.
    Mar. My Lord, no leaue take I, for I will ride
    As farre as land will let me, by your side.
    Gaunt. Oh to what purpose dost thou hord thy words,
    That thou teturnst no greeting to thy friends?

    545Bnll. I haue too few to take my leaue of you,
    When the tongues office should be prodigall,
    To breath th' abundant dolour of the heart.
    Gau. Thy greefe is but thy absence for a time.
    Bull. Ioy absent, greefe is present for that time.
    550Gau. What is sixe Winters, they are quickely gone?
    Bul. To men in ioy, but greefe makes one houre ten.
    Gau. Call it a trauell that thou tak'st for pleasure.
    Bul. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so,
    Which findes it an inforced Pilgrimage.
    555Gau. The sullen passage of thy weary steppes
    Esteeme a soyle, wherein thou art to set
    The precious Iewell of thy home returne.
    Bul. Oh who can hold a fire in his hand
    By thinking on the frostie Caucasus?
    560Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
    by bare imagination of a Feast?
    Or Wallow naked in December snow
    by thinking on fantasticke summers heate?
    Oh no, the apprehension of the good
    565Giues but the greater feeling to the worse:
    Fell sorrowes tooth, doth euer ranckle more
    Then when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.
    Gau. Come, come (my son) Ile bring thee on thy way
    Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay.
    570Bul. Then Englands ground farewell: sweet soil adieu,
    My Mother, and my Nurse, which beares me yet:
    Where ere I wander, boast of this I can,
    Though banish'd, yet a true-borne Englishman.

    Scoena Quarta.

    575Enter King, Aumerle, Greene, and Bagot.
    Rich. We did obserue. Cosine Anmerle,
    How far brought you high Herford on his way?
    Aum. I brought high Herford (if you call him so)
    but to the next high way, and there I left him.
    580Rich. And say, what store of parting tears were shed?
    Aum. Faith none for me: except the Northeast wind
    Which then grew bitterly against our face,
    Awak'd the sleepie rhewme, and so by chance
    Did grace our hollow parting with a teare.
    585Rich. What said our Cosin when you parted with him?
    Au. Farewell: and for my hart disdained yt my tongue
    Should so prophane the word, that taught me craft
    To counterfeit oppression of such greefe,
    That word seem'd buried in my sorrowes graue.
    590Marry, would the word Farwell, haue lengthen'd houres,
    And added yeeres to his short banishment,
    He should haue had a voIume of Farwels,
    but since it would not, he had none of me.
    Rich. He is our Cosin (Cosin) but 'tis doubt,
    595When time shall call him home from banishment,
    Whether our kinsman come to see his friends,
    Our selfe, and Bushy: heere Bagot and Greene
    Obseru'd his Courtship to the common people:
    How he did seeme to diue into their hearts,
    600With humble, and familiat courtesie,
    What reuerence he did throw away on slaues;
    Wooing poore Craftes-men, with the craft of soules,
    And patient vnder-bearing of his Fortune,
    As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
    605Off goes his bonnet to an Oyster-wench,
    c 2 A