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 eavy 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 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 Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: [it falls, 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-O, 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 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 prepar'd, 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
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,
And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms:
Against what man thou com'st, and what 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 violate!) Both to defend my loyalty and truth, To God, my king, and my 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 heaven!

[He takes his Seat.

Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBROKE in Armour,

preceded by a Herald.

K. Rich. Marshal, ask 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

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,
Am I; 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, foul 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 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 farewell, of our several friends.

Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your highness,

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! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear;
As confident, as is the falcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.--
My loving lord [To Lord Marshal], I take my leave of
Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle ;-
[you;-
Not sick, although I have to do with death;
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.-
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regret

The dainties last, to make the end most sweet:
O thou, the earthly author of my blood,- [To Gaunt.
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up
To reach at victory above my head,-
Add proof unto my armour 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 of Gaunt,
Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.

Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee pros

Be swift, like lightning, in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall, like amazing thunder, on the casque
Of thy advérse pernicious enemy:

[perous!

Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.

Boling. Mine innocency, and saint George to thrive! [He takes his Seat.

Nor. [Rising] However heaven, or fortune, cast my There lives, or dies, true to king Richard's throne, [lot, 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, 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 espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.-Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

[The King and the Lords return to their Seats. Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance: and God defend thee right! [amen. Boling. [Rising] Strong as a tower in hope, I cryMar. Go bear this lance [To an Officer] to Thomas

duke of Norfolk.

1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign, 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 sovereign, and to him, disloyal;
Courageously, and with a free desire,
Attending but the signal to begin.

Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. [A Charge sounded. Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. [spears, K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their And both return back to their chairs again:Withdraw with us:-and let the trumpets sound, While we return these dukes what we decree.

Draw near

[A long Flourish. [To the Combatants.

And list, what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd
With that dear blood which it hath foster'd;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspéct
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords;
[And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
With rival-hating envy, set you on
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;]
Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums,
With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace,
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood ;-
Therefore, we banish you our territories:
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death,
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields,
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

(be, -

Boling. Your will be done: This must my comfort That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me; And those his golden beams, to you here lent, Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,

Which I with some unwillingness pronounce :
The fly-slow hours shall not determinate