Page 2875 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1

And for we think the eagle-wingèd pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts [130]
With rival-hating envy set on you
To wake our peace, which in our country’s cradle
Draws the sweet infant-breath of gentle sleep,
Which so rous’d up with boist’rous untuned drums,
With harsh-resounding trumpets’ dreadful bray, [135]
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace
And make us wade even in our kindred’s blood:
Therefore we banish you our territories.
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life [140]
Till twice five summers have enrich’d our fields
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

BOLINGBROKE

Your will be done. This must my comfort be:
That sun that warms you here shall shine on me, [145]
And those his golden beams to you here lent
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.

RICHARD

Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce.
The sly slow hours shall not determinate [150]
The dateless limit of thy dear exile.
The hopeless word of “never to return”
Breathe I against thee upon pain of life.

MOWBRAY

A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook’d-for from your Highness’ mouth. [155]
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air
Have I deservèd at your Highness’ hands.
The language I have learnt these forty years,
My native English, now I must forgo, [160]
And now my tongue’s use is to me no more
Than an unstringèd viol or a harp,
Or like a cunning instrument cased up -