Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
First, heaven be the record to my speech! In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.-
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak,
My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant;
Too good to be so, and too bad to live,
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
And wish, (so please my sovereign) ere I move,
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword
may prove.
Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal.
"Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain:
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this;
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
As to be hush'd, and naught at all to say.
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech,
Which else would post, until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
I do defy him, and I spit at him;
Call him a slanderous coward, and a villain:
Which to maintain I would allow him odds,
And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable
Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty :-
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie,
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers:
The other part reserv'd I by consent;
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt,
Upon remainder of a dear account,
Now, swallow down that lie. - For Gloster's
Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen. Disclaiming here the kindred of the king; And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except: If guilty dread have left thee so much strength, As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop. By that and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.
Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it [nobles, That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employ. ments, Like a false traitor, and injurious villain.
I slew him not; but to mine own disgrace,
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.-
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul;
But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament,
I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it.
This is my fault: as for the rest appeal'd,
It issues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor;
Which in myself I boldly will defend,
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
To prove myself a loyal gentleman
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.
To be a make-peace shall become my age.Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage.
King Richard. And, Norfolk, throw down his.
Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven:
Who when they see the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ?
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
When, Harry? when? Were as seven phials of his sacred blood,
Obedience bids, I should not bid again.
King Richard.
Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there is no boot.
Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
The one my duty owes; but my fair name,
Despite of death that lives upon my grave,
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here;
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear;
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
Which breath'd this poison.
King Richard.
Rage must be withstood.
Give me his gage: -lions make leopards tame.
Norfolk.
Yea, but not change his spots: take but my
shame,
And I resign my gage. My dear, dear lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten times barr'd-up chest
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:
Take honour from me, and my life is done.
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
In that I live, and for that will I die.
Cousin, throw down your gage: do you begin.
Bolingbroke.
O! God defend my soul from such deep sin.
Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound mine honour with such feeble
wrong,
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive of recanting fear,
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, [face.
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's
[Exit Gaunt.
We were not born to sue, but to command:
Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day.
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate:
Since we cannot atone you, we shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.-
Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms
Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. The same. A Room in the Duke
of Lancaster's Palace.
Enter Gaunt, and Duchess of Gloster.
Gaunt.
Aias! the part I had in Gloster's blood
Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims,
To stir against the butchers of his life:
But since correction lieth in those hands,
Or seven fair branches springing from one root:
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster,
Some of those branches by the destinies cut;
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood,
Is crack'd,
One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
and all the precious liquor spilt;
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe.
Ah! Gaunt, his blood was thine: that bed, that
womb,
That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee,
Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and
breath'st,
Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father's death,
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life.
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair:
Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.
That which in mean men we entitle patience,
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,
The best way is to venge my Gloster's death.
God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,
Ilis deputy anointed in his sight,
Hath caus'd his death; the which, if wrongfully,
Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift
An angry arm against his minister.
Where then, alas! may I complain myself?
To God, the widow's champion and defence.
Duchess.
Why, then, I will. - Farewell, old Gaunt.
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
O! sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast;
Or if misfortune miss the first career,
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,
That they may break his foaming courser's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford.
Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's
With her companion grief must end her life.
Gaunt.
Sister, farewell: I must to Coventry.
As much good stay with thee, as go with me!
Duchess.
Yet one word more. - Grief boundeth where
it falls,
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:
I take my leave before I have begun,
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York.
Lo! this is all: - nay, yet depart not so;
Though this be all, do not so quickly go:
I shall remember more. Bid him-O! what?-
With all good speed at Plasky visit me.
My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Nor-
Who hither come engaged by my oath, [folk;
(Which, God defend, a knight should violate!)
Both to defend my loyalty and truth,
To God, my king, and my succeeding issue.
Against the duke of Hereford, that appeals me;
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me:
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
Trumpets sound. Enter Bolingbroke, in ar-
mour, preceded by a Herald.
Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither
Thus plated in habiliments of war;
And formally, according to our law,
Depose him in the justice of his cause.
O! let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear.
As confident as is the falcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.-
My loving lord, I take my leave of you; -
Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle; -
Not sick, although I have to do with death,
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath..
Lo! as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:
O! thou [To Gaunt,] the earthly author of my
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up
To reach at victory above my head,
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers;
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,
And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt,
Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.
God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
Be swift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy:
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.
Mine innocence, and Saint George to thrive!
Norfolk.
However God, or fortune, cast my lot,
There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne,
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.
Never did captive with a freer heart
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
What is thy name, and wherefore com'st thou More than my dancing soul doth celebrate hither, Before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom com'st thou? and what is thy quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!
This feast of battle with mine adversary.-
Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years:
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,
Go I to fight. Truth bath a quiet breast.
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 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, My native English, now I must forego; And now my tongue's use is to me no more, Than an unstringed viol, or a harp; Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you have enjail'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth and lips; And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance Is made my jailor to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now; What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native
Return again, and take an oath with thee.
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that ye owe to God,
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves)
To keep the oath that we administer:-
You never shall (so help you truth and God!)
Embrace each other's love in banishment;
Nor never look upon each other's face;
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor never by advised purpose meet,
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
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