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At Coventry, upon saint Lambert's day;
S C Ε Ν Ε ΙΙ.
A Room in the duke of Lancaster's
Enter' GAUNT, and dutchess of Gloster. Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Glostei's blood Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, To stir against the butches 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 beaven; Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Dutch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Ah, Gannt! his blood was thine; that bed, that
womb, That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee, Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and
breath'st, Yet art thon 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 despairs In suffering ihus thy brother to be slaughter’d, Thou shew'st the naked path way 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 'yenge my Gloster's death. Gaunt. Heaven's, is the quarrel; for heaven's
substitute, His deputy annointed in his sight, Hath caus'd his death :'the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge ; for I may never lift An angry arın against bis minister. Dutch.
Where then, alas! may I complain
myself? Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion
and defence. Dutch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou go'st to Coventry ,,there to bebold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: 0, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's, 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, 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 sometime's 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! Dutch. Yet one word more; Grief bound
eth 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 0, what? With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see, But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what cheer there for welcome, but my
groans ? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where; Desolate, desolate, will I bence, and die; The last leave of thee takes my weeping eyea
Gosford - Green near Coventry:
Enter the Lord Marslial and AUMERLE.
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet.
Aum. Why then, the champions are prepard,
For nothing but his majesty's approach
Flourish of trumpets. Enter King RICHARD, who takes
his seat on his throne ; GAUNT, and several noblemen, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and answered by another trumpet within.
cause Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who
thou art, And why thou com’st, thus. knightly clad in
Against what man thou com'st, and wbat thy
quarrel; Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath; And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour! Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of
Norfolk; Who hither come engaged by my oath, (Which, heaven defend, a knight should vio.
[He takes his seat.]
Trumpet' sounds. Enter BOLINOBROKE in armour;
preceded by a herald. K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is, and why he cometh hither This paied in habliments of war ; And formally according to our law Depose him in the justice of his cause. Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st
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, Amt; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's
valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray duke of Norfolk, That he's a traitor, fvul and dangerous, To God of heaven, king Richard; and to me; And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Mar. On pain of death, no person be so
bold, Or daring hardy, as to touch the lists; Except the marshal, and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. - Boling. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sove
reign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty : For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ; Then let us take a ceremonious leave, And loving farewell, of our several friends. Mar. The appellant in 'all duty greets your
bighness, And cravęs to kiss your hand, and take his leave.