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were as seven vions, whereof thuning Fires

To ftir against the Butchers of his Life.
But fince Corre&ion lyeth in those Hands
Which made the Fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our Quarrel to the Will of Heav'n;
Who when they see the Hours ripe on Earth,
Will rain hoc Vengeance on Offenders Heads.

Dutch. Finds Brotherhood in thee no sharper Spur ?
Hath Love in thy old Blood no living Fire ?
Edward's seven Sons, whereof thy felt art one,
Were as seven Vials of his sacred Blood;
Or seven fair Branches springing from one Root: ,
Some of those seven are dry'd by Nature's Course;
Some of those Branches by the Destinies cut:
But Thomas, my dear Lord, my Life, my Gloster;
One Vial full of Edward's sacred Blood,
One flourishing Branch of his moft Royal Root,
Is crack’d, and all the precious Liquor spilt;
Is hackt 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 Mettle, that self-Mould that fashion'd thee,
Made him a Man; and though thou livist and breath'ft,
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 ;
In suffering thus thy Brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou shew'st the naked Pathway to thy Life,
Teaching stern Murther how to burcher thee.
That which in mean Men, we incicle Patience;
Is pale cold Cowardise in noble Breasts.
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own Life.
The best way is to venge my Gloster's Death.

Gannt. Heav'n's is the Quarrel; for Heav'n's Substitute His Deputy anointed in his Sight Hath caus'd his Death; the which if wrongfully Let Heav'n revenge, for I may never lift An angry Arm against his Minister.

Dutch. Where then, alas, may I complain my self? Gaunt. To Heav'n, the Widow's Champion and defencés Vol. III.


Dutch. Why then I will: Farewel; old Gaunt;
Thou go'l to Coventry, there to behold
Our Cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
O 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 Caytiff recreant to my Cousin Hereford.
Farewel, old Gaunt; thy sometimes Brother's Wife,
With her Companion Grief, must end her Life.

Gaunt. Sister, farewel; I must to Coventry. '
As much good stay with thee, as go with me.

Dutch. Yet one Word more; Grief boundeth where i 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, Edward 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 oh, what? With all good Speed at Plappie vifit me. Alack, and what shall good old Tork there see, But empty Lodgings, and unfurnish'd Walls, Un-peopld Offices, untrodden Stones? And what hear there for Welcome, but my Groans? Therefore commend me, let him not come there To seek out Sorrow that dwells every where; Desolare, desolate will I hence, and die; The last Leave of thee, takes my weepiog Eye. [Exeunt.


Enter Marshal and 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,
Siays but th: Summons of the Appealant's Trumpet.

.... Aan. Aum. Why then the Champions are prepard, and stay For nothing but his Majesty's Approach. : [Flourish. Enter King Richard, Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green, and

others; then Mowbray in Armour, and an Herald. · K. Rich, Marshal, demand of yonder Champion 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, say who thou art?

[TO Mowb. And why thou com'lt, thus knightly clad in Arms? Against what Man thou com'ft, and what's thy Quarrel; Speak truly en ihy Knighthood, and thine Oath, And fo defend chee Heaven, and thy Valour,

Mowb. My Name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolki
Who hither come, engaged by my Oath,
Which Heav'o defend a Knight should violate
Both to defend my Loyalty and Truth,
To God, my King, and his succeedigg 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 my self,
A Traitor to my God, my King, and me;
And as I truly fight, defend me Heav'n.

A Tucket sounds. Enter Bullingbroke, and an Herald.
K. Rich. Marshal; ask yonder Knight in Arms,
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither,
Thus placed in Habiliments of War:
And formally according to our Law
Depose him in the Justice of his Cause.

Mar. What is thy Name, and wherefore com’lt thou hither
Before King Richard, in his Royal Lists? [To Bulling.
Against whom com'st thou? And what's thy Quarrels
Speak like a true Knight, so defend thee Heav'n.

Bulling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Am 1, who ready here do ítand in Arms, To prove, by Heav'n's Grace, and my Body's Valour, . In Lifts on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolk, That he's a Traicor foul and dangerous, To God of Heav'n, King Richard, and to me; And as I truly fight, defend me Heav'n.



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 dire& these fair Designs.

Bulling. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my Soveraign's Hand,
And bow my Knee before his Majesty :
For Mowbray and my self are like two Men

That vow a long and weary Pilgrimage, Į Then let us take a ceremonious Leave And loving Farewel of our several Friends. Mar. The Appealant in all duty greets your Highness, .

[To K. Rich. And craves to kiss your Hand, and take his leave..

K. Rich. We will descend and fold him in our Arms.
Cousin of Hereford, as thy Cause is juft,
So be thy Fortune in this Royal Fight:
Farewel, my Blood, which if to Day thou fhied,
Lament we may, but not Revenge chee dead.

Bulling. Oh let no noble Eye prophane a Tear
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's Spear:
As confident, as is the Faulcon'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,
Bur lusty, young, and chearly drawing breath.
Lo, as at English Feasts, so I regreet
The daintielt last, to make the end most sweet.
Oh thou the Earthy Author of my Blood,
Whose youthful Spirit in me regenerate,
Doch with a two-fold vigour lift me up
To reach at Vidory 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 furnish new the Name of John a Gaund
Even in the lusty 'haviour of his Son.
- Gaunt. Heav'n in thy good Cause make thee perd
Be swift like Lightning in the Execution,
And let thy Blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing Thunder on the Cask

d per Dicious Enemy.

Of thy amaz'd po hicious

ouze up thy Chful Blood, be valiant, and live.
Bulline. Mincm hocence, and St. George to thrive,

Mob. However Heav'n or Fortune cast my Lot,
There lives, os dies, true to King Richard's Throne,
A loyal, just, and upright Gentleman:
Never did Captain with a freer Heart
Caft off his Chains of Bondage, and embrace
His golden uncontrould Enfranchisement,
More than my dancing Soul doth celebrate
This feast of Batcel, with mine Adversary,
Most mi hry Liege, and my Companion Peers,
Take from my Mouth che wish of happy Years;
As gentle, and as jocond, as to jest,
Go I to fight: Truth hath a quict Breast.

K. Rich. Farewel, my Lord, securely I espy
Virtue with Valour, couched in chine Eye.
Order the Trial, Marshal, and begin.

Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Receive thy Launce, and Heav'n defend thy Right.

Bulling. Strong as a Tower, in hope, I cry Amen.
Mar. Go bear this Launce to Thomas Duke of Norfolk.

i Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Stands here for God, his Soveraign, and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A Traitor to his God, his King, and him,
And dares him to set forward to the fight.

2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his Soveraign, and to him disloyal :
Couragiously, and with a free Desire,
Attending but the signal to begin. [A charge founded.,

Mar. Sound Trumpers, and set forward Combatants. Stay, the King hath chrown his Warder down.

K. Ricb. Let them lay by their Helmets, and their Spears, And both return back to their Chairs again : Withdraw with us, and let the Trumpets found,


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