Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland; For our affairs in hand: If that come short, Bushy, what news? Enter Bushy. Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord; Suddenly taken; and hath sent post-haste, K. Rich. Where lies he? Bushy. At Ely-house. K. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's mind, To help him to his grave immediately! * Expeditious. + Because. 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 unstaied 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 their lives before; As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last: York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As, praises of his state: then, there are found Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity * Flatter. That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him, whose way himself will choose; "Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd; And thus, expiring, do foretell of him ; His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last; For violent fires soon burn out themselves: Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes; Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This fortress, built by nature for herself, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 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? I Gaunt. Ŏ, how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt* in being old : Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd 1; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast, I mean-my children's looks; And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their names? Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that live? Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die. K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st-thou fiatter'st me. Gaunt. Oh! no; thou diest, though I the sicker be. Lean, thin. K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see the ill. Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. K. Rich. Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood, Now by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, son, For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, * Mad. |