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And is't not pity, O my grieved friends! That we, the sons and children of this isle, Were born to see so sad an hour as this; Wherein we step after a stranger march Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up

Her enemies' rauks, (I must withdraw and weep
Upon the spot of this enforced cause,)
To grace the gentry of a land remote,
And follow unacquainted colours here?

What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove
That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,
And grapple thee unto a pagan shore;
Where these two Christian armies might combine
The blood of malice in a vein of league,
And not to spend it so unneighbourly!

Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this;
And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom,
Do make an earthquake of nobility.

O! what a noble combat hast thou fought
Between compulsion and a brave respect!
Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks.
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation;

But this effusion of such manly drops,

This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd
Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,

And with a great heart heave away this storm:
Commend these waters to those baby eyes,
That never saw the giant world enrag'd;
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping.

Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
Into the purse of rich prosperity,

As Lewis himself:-so, nobles, shall you all,
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.

Enter PANDULPH attended.

And even there, methinks, an angel spake.
Look, where the holy legate comes apace,
To give us warrant from the hand of Heaven,
And in our actions set the name of right,
With holy breath.

Pand.

Hail, noble prince of France! The next is this,-King John hath reconcil'd Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in, That so stood out against the holy church, The great metropolis and see of Rome : Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up, And tame the savage spirit of wild war; That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, It may lie gently at the foot of Peace, And be no further harmful than in show.

Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not

back;

I am too high-born to be propertied,

To be a secondary at control,

Or useful serving-man and instrument,

To any sovereign state throughout the world.

Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this fire;
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right,
Acquainted me with interest to this land,-
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;
And come you now to tell me, John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
1, by the honour of my marriage-bed,
After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back,
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne,
What men provided, what munition sent,
To underprop this action ? is't not I
That undergo this charge? who else but I,
And such as to my claim are liable,

Sweat in this business, and maintain this war?
Have I not heard these islanders shout out,
Vive le roi! as I have bank'd their towns?
Have I not here the best cards for the game,
To win this easy match play'd for a crown?
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
No, on my soul, it never shall be said.

Pand. You look but on the outside of this work.

Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return, Till my attempt so much be glorified As to my ample hope was promised Before I drew this gallant head of war, And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, To outlook conquest, and to win renown Even in the jaws of danger and of death.— [Trumpet sounds

What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

Enter the Bastard, attended.

Bast. According to the fair-play of the world,
Let me have audience; I am sent to speak
My holy lord of Milan, from the king

I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;
And, as you answer, I do know the scope
And warrant limited unto my tongue.

Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful opposite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties;
He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.

Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, The youth says well:-Now hear our English king For thus his royalty doth speak in me. He is prepar'd; aud reason, too, he should: This apish and unmannerly approach, This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel, This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops, The king doth smile at, and is well-prepar'd To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, From out the circle of his territories.

That hand which had the strength, even at your door,

To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch;
To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells;
To crouch in litter of your stable planks;

To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks;
To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out
In vaults and prisons; and to thrill and shake
Even at the crying of your nation's crow,
Thinking his voice an armed Englishman;-
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here,
That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
No: know, the gallant monarch is in arms,
And, like an eagle, o'er his aiëry towers,

To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.-
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame :
For your own ladies and pale visag'd maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums;
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,
Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.

Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face it peace;

We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.

Pand.

Bast. No, I will speak.

Lew.

Give me leave to speak.

We will attend to neither:

Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war

Plead for our interest, and our being here.

Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;

And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd,
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;
Sound but another, and another shall,
As loud as thine. rattle the welkin's ear,
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand
(Not trusting to this halting legate here,
Whom he ha h us'd rather for sport than need)
Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
A bare-ribb'd Death, whose office is this day
To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.
Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not
doubt.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The same. A Field of Battle.
Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT.

K. John. How goes the day with us? O tell me,
Hubert.

Hub. Badly, I fear: how fares your majesty?
K. John. This fever that hath troubled me so long,

Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick!

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Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and others.

Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with friends.

Pem. Up once again; put spirit in the French; If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

Pem. They say, King John, sore sick, hath left the field.

Enter MELUN, wounded, and led by Soldiers. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. Sal. When we were happy, we had other names. Pem. It is the Count Melun. Sal.

Wounded to death.

Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and
sold;

Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out King John, and fall before his feet;
For if the French be lords of this loud day,
He means to recompense the pains you take,
By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn,
And I with him, and many more with me,
Upon the altar of St. Edmund's Bury;
Even on that altar where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.

Sal. May this be possible? May this be true?
Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life,

Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?
What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit ?
Why should I then be false; since it is true
That I must die here, and live hence by truth?
1 say again, if Lewis do win the day,

He is forsworn, if e'er these eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east:

But even this night,-whose black contagious breath
Already smokes about the burning crest
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,-
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire;
Paying the fine of rated treachery,

Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king;
The love of him,-and this respect besides,
For that my grandsire was an Englishman,-
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you bear me hence,
From forth the noise and rumour of the field;
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.

Sal. We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And, like a baited and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,
And calmly run on in obedience,

Even to our ocean, to our great king John.
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death

Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! new flight,
And happy newness, that intends old right.

[Exeunt, leading off MELUN.

SCENE V.-The same. The French Camp.

Enter LEWIS and his Train.

Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set, But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, When the English measur'd backward their own ground

In faint retire. O! bravely came we off,
When, with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!
Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
Lew.
Here. What news?
Mess. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords,
By his persuasion, are again fallen off;
And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.
Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very

heart!

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night,

Thou, and eyeless

Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue,
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news
abroad?

Hub. Why, here I walk in the black brow of night,
To find you out.
Bast.
Brief, then; and what's the news?
Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,-
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news;

I am no woman-I'll not swoon at it.

Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk:

I left him almost speechless, and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil, that you might
The better arm you to the sudden time,
Than if you had at leisure known of this.

Bast. How did he take it? Who did taste to him?
Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The king
Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.
Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty ?
Hub. Why, know you not? The lords are all come

back,

And brought Prince Henry in their company;
At whose request, the king hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his majesty.

Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
And tempt us not to bear above our power!
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats are taken by the tide;
These Lincoln washes have devoured them;
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escap'd

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Away before; conduct me to the king:
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. [Exeunt.
SCENE VII.-The Orchard of Swinstead-Abbey.
Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.
P. Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood
Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain
(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,)
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
Foretell the ending of mortality.

Enter PEMBROKE.

Pem. His highness yet doth speak; and holds belief,

That, being brought into the open air,
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.Doth he still rage? [Exit BIGOT.

Pem. He is more patient Than when you left him; even now he sung. P. Hen. Ŏ vanity of sickness! fierce extremes, In their continuance, will not feel themselves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them insensible and his siege is now Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies;

Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death should sing.

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,

Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death;
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born To set a form upon that indigest,

Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
Re-enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in KING
JOHN, in a chair.

K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow room;
It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I shrink up.

P. Hen.

How fares your majesty?

K. John. Poison'd,-ill fare; dead, forsook, cast off, And none of you will bid the winter come, To thrust his icy fingers in my maw; Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold :-I do not ask you much, I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait, And so ingrateful, you deny me that.

P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my tears, That might relieve you !

K. John.

The salt in them is hot.

Within me is a hell; and there the poison

Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize

On unreprievable condemned blood.

Enter the Bastard.

Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to see your majesty.

K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye; The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair :

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ear.

My liege! my lord!-But now a king,-now thus. P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, When this was now a king, and now is clay ?

Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind, To do the office for thee of revenge; And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, As it on earth hath been thy servant still.Now, now, you stars, that move in your right [faiths; Where be your powers? Show now your mended And instantly return with me again,

spheres,

To push destruction and perpetual shame,
Out of the weak door of our fainting land:
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

Sal. It seems, you know not, then, so much as we:
The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,
Who half an hour since came from the dauphin:
And brings from him such offers of our peace
As we with honour and respect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.
Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath despatch'd
To the seaside, and put his cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the cardinal,

With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,
If you think meet, this afternoon will post

To consummate this business happily.

Bast. Let it be so :-And you, my noble prince,
With other princes that may best be spar'd,
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

P. Hen. At Worcester shall his body be interr'd; For so he will'd it.

Bast.

Thither shall it then.
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land!
To whom, with all submission, on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful services

And true subjection everlastingly.

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, To rest without a spot for evermore.

[thanks,

P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you And knows not how to do it, but with tears.

Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us rue, [Exeunt. If England to itself do rest but true.

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Lord Marshal, and another lord.
SIR PIERCE OF EXTON.
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP.

Captain of a band of Welshmen.

QUEEN to King Richard.
DUCHESS OF GLOSTER.
DUCHESS OF YORK.

Lady attending on the Queen.

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Two Gardeners. Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants.

SCENE: dispersedly in England and Wales.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-London. A Room in the Palace. Enter KING RICHARD, attended; JOHN OF GAUNT, and other Nobles, with him.

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

Hast thou, according to thine oath and hand,
Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let ns hear,
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ?
Gaunt. I have, my liege.

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

If he appeal the duke on ancient malice,

Or worthily, as a good subject should,

On some known ground of treachery in him?

Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that 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.
[Exeunt some Attendants.
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Re-enter Attendants, with BOLINGBROKE and
NORFOLK.

Boling. Many years of happy days befall
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown!

K. Rich. We thank you both; yet one but flat

ters us,

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 !)

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.

Nor. 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 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

Those 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,
Wherever Englishman durst set his foot.
Meantime, 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;
And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop;
By that, and all the rights of knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.

Nor. I take it up; and by that sword I swear, Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree,

Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
And, when I mount, alive may I not light,
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight!

K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge ?

It must be great that can inherit us
So much as of a thought of ill in him.

Boling. Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it

true:

That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers;
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
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 years,
Complotted and contrived in this land,

Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.

Further I say, and further will maintain
Upon his bad life to make all this good,

That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death;
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries;

And, consequently, like a traitor coward,

Sluic d out his innocent soul through streams of blood;

Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
To me for justice and rough chastisement:
And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent!

K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars !
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?
Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face,
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
Till 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 neighbour 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.

Nor. 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,
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,

Since last I went to France to fetch his queen.
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloster's death-
I slew him not; but, to my 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 in 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 pardor 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.

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me;
Let's purge this choler without letting blood.
This we prescribe, though no physician :
Deep malice makes too deep incision;
Forget-forgive; conclude, and be agreed:
Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed.
Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you, your son.
Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age;
Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.
K. Rich. Aud, Norfolk, throw down his.
Gaunt.
When, Harry, when ?
Obedience bids I should not bid again.

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there is no boot.

Nor. 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.

K. Rich.
Rage must be withstood.
Give me his gage. Lions make leopards tame.
Nor. Yea, but not change their 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.

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

Boling. O! God defend my soul from such foul

sin!

Shall I seem crest-fallen 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,
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.
[Exit GAUNT.

K. Rich. 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 aud lances arbitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate.
Since we cannot atone you, we shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.
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. Alas! 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
Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our quarrel to the will of Heaven;
Who, when he sees 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?
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 these seven are dried 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 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.
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 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.
Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair.
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
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.
Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for Heaven's sub-
stitute,

His 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.

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

Gaunt. To Heaven, the widow's champion and

defence.

Duch. 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 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,
Aud 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,

Not with the empty hollowness, but weight;
I take my leave before I have begun;
For sorrow ends not where 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 P
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 hence and die;
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Gosford Green, near Coventry. Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, &c., attending.

Enter the Lord 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, 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.

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. Then enter NORFOLK, in armour, preceded by a Herald.

K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion,

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