ACT I.

SCENE I. London. KING RICHARD's palace. Enter KING RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other Nobles and Attendants.

K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honor'd Lancaster,

Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

Gaunt. I have, my liege.

K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,

argument,

On some apparent danger seen in him
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice.
K. Rich. Then call them to our presence;
face to face,

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear

The accuser and the accused freely speak: High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Enter BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY, Boling. Many years of happy days befal 20 My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! Mow. Each day still better other's happi

As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

Boling. First, heaven be the record to my speech!

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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 i
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
With a foul traitor's name stuff thy throat;
And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,
What my tongue speaks my right drawn
sword may prove.

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Mow. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal :

'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
The bitter clamor of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; 50
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 nought at all to say:
First, the fair reverence of your highness

curbs me

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 afoot
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.
Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I
throw my gage,

Disclaiming here the kindred of the king, 70
And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to ex-

cept.

If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honor'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. Mow. I take it up; and by that sword I

[diers In name of lendings for your highness' sol The which he hath detain'd for lewd employ ments,

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Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
Besides I say and will in battle prove,
Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English eye,
That all the treasons for these eighteen year
Complotted and contrived in this land
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head ar
spring.

Further I say and further will maintain
Upon his bad life to make all this good,
That he did plot the Duke of Glouceste

death,

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And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
Til I have told this slander of his blood,
How God and good men hate so foul a liar.
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes
and ears:

Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
As he is but my father's brother's son,
Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow,
Such neighbor nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul :
He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

Mo. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,

Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.

Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais
Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;
The other part reserved I by consent,
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
Upon remainder of a dear account,

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Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death,

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I slew him not; but to my own disgrace
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honorable 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 received 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 rancor of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor :
Which in myself I boldly will defend ;
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
on 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 150
Your highness to assign our trial day.

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be

ruled by me;

Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
This we prescribe, though no physician;
Deep ralice makes too deep incision;
Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed;
Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.

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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 honor is my life; both grow in one;
Take honor from me, and my life is done:
Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try;
In that I live and for that will I die.

K. Rich. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.

Boling. 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 out-dared dastard? Ere my

SCENE II. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S

palace.

Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER,

Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood

Doth more solicit me than your exclaims,
To stir against the butchers of his life!
But since correction lieth in those hands
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."

Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?

Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? 10 Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,

Or seven fair branches springing from one root:

Some of those seven are dried by nature's

course,

Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,

One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,
One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
Is crack'd, 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. 21
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 livest and breathest,

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.
Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: 29
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
That which in mean men we intitle patience
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,
The best way is to venge my Gloucester's
death.

Gaunt. God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,

His deputy anointed in His sight,

Hath caused his death: the which if wrong

fully,

Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift 40 An angry arm against His minister.

Duch. Where then, alas, may I complain myself?

Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and defence.

Duch. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.

Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold

Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:

O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford' spear,

That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune miss the first career,
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, 50
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
wife

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! Duch. Yet one word more grief boundeth

where it falls,

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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 thy 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-ah, what?-
With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see
But empty lodings and unfurnish'd walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
And what hear there for welcome but my
groans?
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Therefore commend me; let him not come

there,

To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.
Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die :
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
[Exeunt

SCENE III. The lists at Coventry.

Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE.

Mar. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd ?

Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.

Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully

and bold,

Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet.

Aum. Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay

For nothing but his majesty's approach.

The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with
his nobles, GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN
and others. When they are set, enter Mow
BRAY in arms, defendant, with a Herald.
K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder cham
pion

The cause of his arrival here in arms:
Ask him his name and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.

Mar. In God's name and the king's, sa

who thou art

And why thou comest thus knightly clad

arms.

Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel :

Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath;

As so defend thee heaven and thy valor!

Mo. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk ;

Who hither come engaged by my oath-
Which God defend a knight should violate !—
Both to defend my loyalty and truth

To God, my king and my succeeding issue, 20 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!
The trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE,
appellant, in armor, with a Herald.

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in

arms,

loth who he is and why he cometh hither hus plated in habiliments of war,

And formally, according to our law,
Depose him in the justice of his cause.

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Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore Comest thou hither,

Before King Richard in his royal lists ? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?

Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby

Am I who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by God's grace and my body's valor,

In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,
To God of heaven, King Richard and to me;
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

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Mer. On pain of death, no person be so

bold

Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear: 60 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 Aumerie; 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, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigor lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armor 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 a Gaunt, Even in the lusty havior of his son.

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Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!

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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.

Boling. Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive !

Mow. 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, 90
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
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 hath a quiet breast.

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I

On pain to be found false and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow-
brav,

A traitor to his God, his king and him;
And dares him to set forward to the fight.
Sec. Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray,
Duke of Norfolk,
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