Draw near,[864][865] And list what with our council we have done.[865] For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd 125 With that dear blood which it hath fostered;[866] And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword;[867] And for we think the eagle-winged pride[868] Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,[868] 130 With rival-hating envy, set on you[868][869] To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle[868][870] Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;[868][871] Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums,[872][873][874] With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,[874][875] 135 And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,[874][876] Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace,[873][874][877] And make us wade even in our kindred's blood;[874][878] Therefore, we banish you our territories: You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,[879] 140 Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields[880] Shall not regreet our fair dominions,[881] But tread the stranger paths of banishment. _Boling._ 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[882] Shall point on me and gild my banishment. _K. Rich._ Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,[883] Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate[884] 150 The dateless limit of thy dear exile;[885] The hopeless word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.[886] _Mow._ 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[887] As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hands. The language I have learn'd these forty years,[888] My native English, now I must forego: 160 And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp; Or like a cunning instrument cased up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony: 165 Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,[889][890] Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips;[889][891] And dull unfeeling barren ignorance[889] Is made my gaoler to attend on me.[889][892] I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, 170 Too far in years to be a pupil now: What is thy sentence then but speechless death,[893] Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? _K. Rich._ It boots thee not to be compassionate:[894] After our sentence plaining comes too late.[895] 175