QUEEN.
How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?
KING RICHARD.
What comfort, man? How is’t with aged Gaunt?
GAUNT.
O, how that name befits my composition!
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old.
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast,
And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?
For sleeping England long time have I watched;
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt.
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon
Is my strict fast—I mean my children’s looks,
And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt.
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.
KING RICHARD.
Can sick men play so nicely with their names?
GAUNT.
No, misery makes sport to mock itself.
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
KING RICHARD.
Should dying men flatter with those that live?
GAUNT.
No, no, men living flatter those that die.
KING RICHARD.
Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me.
GAUNT.
O, no, thou diest, though I the sicker be.
KING RICHARD.
I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.