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.

GAUNT.
Now, he that made me knows I see thee ill;
Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick:
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Committ'st thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;