Sivut kuvina

There shall your Swords and Lances arbitrate
The swelling diff'rence of your settled hate..
Since we cannot atone you, you fhall see
Justice decide the Victor's Chivalry.
Lord Marshal, bid our officers at Arms
Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Exeunt.


Changes to the Duke of Lancaster's Palace.

Enter Gaunt and Dutchess of Gloucester. Gaunt, A Las! * the part I had in Gloster's blood 71 Doth more sollicit me, than your Ex

To stir against the butchers of his life.
But since correction lyeth in those hands,
Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our Quarrel to the Will of heav'n;
Who when it fees the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

Dutch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper fpur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ?
Edward's sev'n fons, whereof thy self art one,
Were as fev'n vials of his sacred blood;
Or sev’n fair branches, springing from one root:
Some of those fev'n are dry'd by Nature's Course;
Some of those branches by the Delt’nies cut:
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster,
One vial, full of Edward's facred blood,
One flourishing branch of his most 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 metal, that self-mould that fashion'd thee;

* The part I had.] That is, my relation of consanguinity to Gloucester.



Made him a man; and though thou liy'st and breath'lt,
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 suff'ring thus thy brother to be slaughter’u,
Thou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murther how to butcher thee.
That which in mean men we entitle 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.

Gaunt. God's is the Quarrel; for God's Substitute,
His Deputy anointed in his fight,
Hath caus'd his death; the which if wrongfully,
Let God revenge, for I may never lift
An angry arm against his Minister.

Dutch. Where then, alas, may I complain myself?
Gaunt. To heav'n, the widow's Champion and De-

fence. .
Dutch. Why then, I will: farewel, old Gaunt, farewel.
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold
Our Cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
O, fit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
That it may enter burcher Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune miss the firit career,
Be Mowbray's fins so heavy in his bosom,
That they may break his foaming Courser's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
SA caitiff recreant to iny coulin Hereford!
Farewel, old Gaunt; thy sometime brother's wife
With her companion Grief must end her life.

8 A caitiff recreant-] Cai- Husov tñs apelās ároairulan obacco tiff originally signiñed a prisoner; quaz. next a slave, from the condition I n this passage it partakes of of prisoners; then a scoundrel, all these fignifications. from the qualities of a flave.


rrow ends nefore I have bebut weight:

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

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 fo quickly go: I shall remember more. Bid him-- oh, what? With all good speed at Plasnie visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York fee there But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled 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 ; All defolate, will I from hence, and die; The last Leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Excunt.

The Liffs, at Coventry.

Enter the Lord-Marshal, and Aumerle.

Mar. M Y lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm’d? 1 Aum. Yea; at all points, and longs to

enter in. Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the Summons of th’Appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why, then the Champions are prepar'd, and

stay For nothing but his Majesty's approach. [Flourish,

The The trumpets found, and the King enters with Gaunt,

Bushy, Bagot, and others: when they are set, Enter the Duke of Norfolk in armour.

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 Mowbray.
And why thou com'ít, thus knightly clad in arms?
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel?
Speak truly on thy Knighthood, and thine Oath,
And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour!
Mowb. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of

Who hither come engag’d by my oath,
(Which, heav'n defend, a Knight should violate !)
Both to defend my Loyalty and Truth,
To God, my King, and his 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 heav'n!

The trumpets found. Enter Bolingbroke, Appellant,

in armour.

K. Rich. Marshal, aik 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,

e his fucceeding Ifue,] er, and therefore he might come Such is the reading of the first among other reasons for their folio; the later editions read my fake, but the old reading is more Ifue. Mowbray's Issue was, by this juft and grammatical. accusation, in danger of an attaind


Lih? rTo Boling.

Depose him in the justice of his Cause.
Mar. What is thy name, and wherefore com’st thou

Before King Richard, in his royal Lists? ITO
Against whom comest thou? and what's thy Quarrel?
Speak like a true Knight, so defend thee heav'n!

Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Am I, who ready here do stand in arms,
To prove, by heav'n's grace and my body's valour,
In Lists, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolk,
That he's a traitor 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 direct these fair designs.
Boling. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my Sovereign'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 Farewel, of our several friends. Mar. Th’Appellant 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 right,
So be thy Fortune in this royal fight!..
Farewel, my Blood; which if to-day thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

Boling. Oh, let no noble eye profane 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.


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