For our affairs in hand: If that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank char ters; 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; K. Rich. Bushy, what news? Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord; Suddenly taken; and hath sent post- haste, Bushy. At Ely house. V K. Kich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's mind, you To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats vIZ. To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.ca Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late! [Exeunt.] ACT II. SCENE I. London. A Room in Ely-house. GAUNT on a couch; the duke of YORK and others standing by him. Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstay'd youth. York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. 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 Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd, than heir lives before: The setting sun, and musick, at the close, As the laste of sweets, is sweetest last; Writ in rememberance, more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As, praises of his state; then, there are found Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new in spir'd; And thus, expiring, do foretell of him: short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This fortress, built by nature for herself, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, : Hath made a shameful conquest of itself: Enter King RICHARD, and Queen: AUMERLE, Bushy, York. The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt? Gaunt. O, how that name besits my compo sition! Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old: Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, Gaunt. No! no; men living flatter those that die K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st thou flatter'st me. Gaunt. Oh! no; thou dy'st, though I the sicker be. K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, I see thee ill. Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, K. Rich. Thou, a lunatick lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Dar'st with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, |