K. Rich.
We did indeed observe—Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his way?

Aum.
I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
But to the next high-way, and there I left him.

K. Rich.
And say, what store of parting tears were shed?

Aum.
Faith none by me; except the north-east wind,
(Which then blew bitterly against our faces)
Awak'd the sleepy rheume, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

K. Rich.
What said your cousin when you parted with him?

Aum.
Farewel.
And for my heart disdained that my tongue
Should so prophane the word, that taught me craft
To counterfeit oppression of such grief,
That word seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
^{t note}But would the word farewel have lengthen'd hours,
And added years to his short banishment,

He should have had a volume of farewels;
But since it would not, he had none of me.

K. Rich.
He is our kinsman, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Our self, and Bushy, Bagot here and Green
Observ'd his courtship to the common people:
How he did seem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtesie,
What reverence he did throw away on slaves;
Wooing poor crafts-men with the craft of ^{u note}smiles,
And patient under-bearing of his fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affections with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
A brace of dray-men 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 subject's next degree in hope.

Green.
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.

K. Rich.
We will our self in person to this war;
And, for our coffers with too great a court,
And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
We are inforc'd to farm our royal realm,
The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand; if they 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.

K. Rich.
What news?

Bushy.
Old John of Gaunt is sick, my lord,
Suddenly taken, and hath sent post haste
T'intreat your Majesty to visit him.

K. Rich.
Where lyes he?

Bushy.
At Ely-house.

K. Rich.
Now put it, heav'n, in his 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 heav'n we may make haste, and come too late. [Exeunt.

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