Boling. How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs, End in a word; Such is the breath of kings. Gaunt. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me, He shorteus four years of my son's exile: t For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend, Can change their moons, and bring their times My oil-dry'd lamp, and time-bewasted light, live. 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 caunot buy my breath, K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave; tion sour. You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather, 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, Six years we banish him, and he shall go.. [Flourish. Exeunt K. RICHARD and Train.] Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, From where you do remain, let paper show. Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, As far as land will let me, by your side. Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, Es That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? Boling. 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. Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly gone. Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure. Boling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so, Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home - return. Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me, what a deal of world 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, And thou art flying to a fresher clime. com'st: Suppose the singing birds, musicians; The grafs whereon thou tread'st, the presence strew'd; The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps, no more For gnarling sorrow hath lefs power to bite Or wallow naked in December snow, Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way: Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay. Boling. Then, England's ground, farewel; sweet soil, adieu! My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! The same. A Room in the King's Castle. T Enter King RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREEN; 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 high-way, and there I left him. K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were shed?: Aum. 'Faith, none by me: except the northeast wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Aum. Farewell: And for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so prophane 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 bours, And added years to his short banishment, doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, What reverence he did throw away on slaves; well, And had the tribute of his supple knee, As were our England in reversion his, Nor for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland; - war. And, for our coffers with too great a court, are grown somewhat light, We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm;. |