and lips;And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now:
What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?
KING RICHARD.
It boots thee not to be compassionate:
After our sentence plaining comes too late.
MOWBRAY.
Then thus I turn me from my country’s light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
[Retiring.]
KING RICHARD.
Return again, and take an oath with thee.
Lay on our royal sword your banish’d hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to God,—
Our part therein we banish with yourselves—
To keep the oath that we administer:
You never shall, so help you truth and God!—
Embrace each other’s love in banishment;
Nor never look upon each other’s face;
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor never by advised purpose meet
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill
‘Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
BOLINGBROKE.
I swear.
MOWBRAY.
And I, to keep all this.
BOLINGBROKE.
Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:—
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our souls had wand’red in the air,
Banish’d this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish’d from this land:
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burden of a guilty soul.
MOWBRAY.
No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banish’d as from hence!
But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know;
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.
Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;
Save back to England, all the world’s my way.
[Exit.]
KING RICHARD.
Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banish’d years
Pluck’d four away.—[To BOLINGBROKE.] Six frozen winters spent,
Return with welcome home from banishment.
BOLINGBROKE.
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 shortens four years of my son’s exile;
But little vantage shall I reap thereby:
For, ere the six years that he hath to spend
Can change their moons and bring their times about,
My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light
Shall be extinct with age and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me see my son.
KING RICHARD.
Why, uncle, thou hast many years to 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 can’st 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 cannot buy my breath.
KING RICHARD.
Thy son is banish’d upon good advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave.
Why at our justice seem’st thou then to lower?
GAUNT.
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
You urg’d me as a judge; but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
O! had it been a stranger, not my child,
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
I was too strict to make mine own away;
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
