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  • Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and GREEN at one
    door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another

  • We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,
    How far brought you high Hereford on his way?

  • I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
    But to the next highway, and there I left him.

  • And say, what store of parting tears were shed?

  • Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,
    Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
    Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
    Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

  • What said our cousin when you parted with him?

  • 'Farewell:'
    And, for my heart disdained that my tongue
    Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
    To counterfeit oppression of such grief
    That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
    Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours
    And added years to his short banishment,
    He should have had a volume of farewells;
    But since it would not, he had none of me.

  • He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
    When time shall call him home from banishment,
    Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
    Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green
    Observed his courtship to the common people;
    How he did seem to dive into their hearts
    With humble and familiar courtesy,
    What reverence he did throw away on slaves,
    Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles
    And patient underbearing of his fortune,
    As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
    Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
    A brace of draymen bid God speed him well
    And had the tribute of his supple knee,
    With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;'
    As were our England in reversion his,
    And he our subjects' next degree in hope.

  • Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts.
    Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,
    Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
    Ere further leisure yield them further means
    For their advantage and your highness' loss.

  • We will ourself in person to this war:
    And, for our coffers, with too great a court
    And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
    We are inforced to farm our royal realm;
    The revenue whereof shall furnish us
    For our affairs in hand: if that come short,
    Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;
    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;
    For we will make for Ireland presently.
    Enter BUSHY
    Bushy, what news?

  • Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,
    Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste
    To entreat your majesty to visit him.

  • Now put it, God, in the physician's mind
    To help him to his grave immediately!
    The lining of his coffers shall make coats
    To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.
    Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him:
    Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!