LITMIR.BIZ

         Mow. Then thus I turne me from my countries light

      To dwell in solemne shades of endlesse night

         Ric. Returne againe, and take an oath with thee,

      Lay on our Royall sword, your banisht hands;

      Sweare by the duty that you owe to heauen

      (Our part therein we banish with your selues)

      To keepe the Oath that we administer:

      You neuer shall (so helpe you Truth, and Heauen)

      Embrace each others loue in banishment,

      Nor euer looke vpon each others face,

      Nor euer write, regreete, or reconcile

      This lowring tempest of your home-bred hate,

      Nor euer by aduised purpose meete,

      To plot, contriue, or complot any ill,

      'Gainst Vs, our State, our Subiects, or our Land

      Bull. I sweare

      Mow. And I, to keepe all this

         Bul. Norfolke, so fare, as to mine enemie,

      By this time (had the King permitted vs)

      One of our soules had wandred in the ayre,

      Banish'd this fraile sepulchre of our flesh,

      As now our flesh is banish'd from this Land.

      Confesse thy Treasons, ere thou flye this Realme,

      Since thou hast farre to go, beare not along

      The clogging burthen of a guilty soule

         Mow. No Bullingbroke: If euer I were Traitor,

      My name be blotted from the booke of Life,

      And I from heauen banish'd, as from hence:

      But what thou art, heauen, thou, and I do know,

      And all too soone (I feare) the King shall rue.

      Farewell (my Liege) now no way can I stray,

      Saue backe to England, all the worlds my way.

      Enter.

        Rich. Vncle, euen in the glasses of thine eyes

      I see thy greeued heart: thy sad aspect,

      Hath from the number of his banish'd yeares

      Pluck'd foure away: Six frozen Winters spent,

      Returne with welcome home, from banishment

         Bul. How long a time lyes in one little word:

      Foure lagging Winters, and foure wanton springs

      End in a word, such is the breath of Kings

         Gaunt. I thanke my Liege, that in regard of me

      He shortens foure yeares of my sonnes exile:

      But little vantage shall I reape thereby.

      For ere the sixe yeares that he hath to spend

      Can change their Moones, and bring their times about,

      My oyle-dride Lampe, and time-bewasted light

      Shall be extinct with age, and endlesse night:

      My inch of Taper, will be burnt, and done,

      And blindfold death, not let me see my sonne

      Rich. Why Vncle, thou hast many yeeres to liue

         Gaunt. But not a minute (King) that thou canst giue;

      Shorten my dayes thou canst with sudden sorow,

      And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow:

      Thou canst helpe time to furrow me with age,

      But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:

      Thy word is currant with him, for my death,

      But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath

         Ric. Thy sonne is banish'd vpon good aduice,

      Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gaue,

      Why at our Iustice seem'st thou then to lowre?

        Gau. Things sweet to tast, proue in digestion sowre:

      You vrg'd me as a Iudge, but I had rather

      You would haue bid me argue like a Father.

      Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,

      I was too strict to make mine owne away:

      But you gaue leaue to my vnwilling tong,

      Against my will, to do my selfe this wrong

         Rich. Cosine farewell: and Vncle bid him so:

      Six yeares we banish him, and he shall go.