SCENE I.London.Ely House
Enter JOHN OF GAUNT,sick,with the DUKE OF YORK,etc.
GAUNT.Will the King come,that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid 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.The setting sun,and music at the close,As the last taste of sweets,is sweetest last,Writ in remembrance 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 whose taste the wise are fond,Lascivious metres,to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen;Report of fashions in proud Italy,Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation.Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-So it be new,there's no respect how vile-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;With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder;Light vanity,insatiate cormorant,Consuming means,soon preys upon itself.This royal throne of kings,this scept'red isle,This earth of majesty,this seat of Mars,This other Eden,demi-paradise,This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war,This happy breed of men,this little world,This precious stone set in the silver sea,Which serves it in the office of a wall,Or as a moat defensive to a house,Against the envy of less happier lands;This blessed plot,this earth,this realm,this England,This nurse,this teeming womb of royal kings,Fear'd by their breed,and famous by their birth,Renowned for their deeds as far from home,For Christian service and true chivalry,As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom,blessed Mary's Son;This land of such dear souls,this dear dear land,Dear for her reputation through the world,Is now leas'd out-I die pronouncing it-Like to a tenement or pelting farm.England,bound in with the triumphant sea,Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of wat'ry Neptune,is now bound in with shame,With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds;That England,that was wont to conquer others,Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.Ah,would the scandal vanish with my life,How happy then were my ensuing death!
Enter KING and QUEEN,AUMERLE,BUSHY,GREEN,BAGOT,
Ross,and WILLOUGHBY
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?KING RICHARD.What comfort,man?How is't with aged Gaunt?GAUNT.O,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;Watching breeds leanness,leanness is an 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.KING RICHARD.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.KING RICHARD.Should dying men flatter with those that live?GAUNT.No,no;men living flatter those that die.KING RICHARD.Thou,now a-dying,sayest thou flatterest me.GAUNT.O,no!thou diest,though I the sicker be.KING RICHARD.I am in health,I breathe,and see thee ill.GAUNT.Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;Ill in myself to see,and in thee seeing ill.Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;And thou,too careless patient as thou art,Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee:A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;And yet,in caged in so small a verge,The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
