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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,

Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glos[blood One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, [ter, The which no balm can cure, but his heart-One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Which breath'd this poison. Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, Rage must be withstood:- Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all

K. Rich.
Give me his gage:-lions make leopards tame.
Nor. Yea, but not change his 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 loan, 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. [foul sin! Boling. O, God defend my soul from such Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dar'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 and lances arbitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate :
Since we cannot atone you, we shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.
Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms
Be ready to direct these home alarms.

[Exeunt. SCENE II.-London. 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 phials of his sacred blood,
Or seven fair branches springing from one root;

faded,

By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb, [thee, That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion'd 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. God's is the quarrel; for God's sub-
His deputy anointed in his sight, [stitute,
Hath caus'd his death: the which, if wrong-
fully,

Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
An angry arm against his minister.

myself?

Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain [defence. Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and 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 wrong 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 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 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 hear there for welcome, but my groans? [there, Therefore commend me; let him not come 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?

[in.

Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, [trumpet. Stays but the summons of the appellant's 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, Bushy, Bagot, Green, and others, 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 chamThe cause of his arrival here in arms : [pion 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, [arms; And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel :

Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thine oath;
As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!
Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke
of Norfolk,

Who hither come engaged by my oath,
(Which, God 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 heaven!
[He takes his seat.
Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke, in arm-
our, preceded by a Herald.

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in

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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 God'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 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
highness,

[leave. And craves to kiss your hand, and take his K. Rich. [Descends from his throne.] 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, I take my leave of you ;Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: O thou, the earthly author of my blood,— Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up To reach at victory 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 furbish new the name of John of Gaunt, Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.

Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!

Be swift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy:
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and
live.

Boling. Mine innocency, and Saint George
to thrive !
[He takes his seat.
Nor. [Rising.] However God, or fortune,
cast my lot,

There lives or dies, true to King Richard's A loyal, just, and upright gentleman. [throne,

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 the right! Boling. [Rising.] Strong as a tower in hope, I cry, Amen.

Mar. [To an Officer.] Go bear this lance to Thomas, duke of Norfolk.

1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,

And make us wade even in our kindred's blood;

Therefore, we banish you our territories :-
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our
Shall not regreet our fair dominions, [fields,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Boling. Your will be done: this must my
comfort be,-
[me;

That sun that warms you here shall shine on
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 sly slow hours shall not determinate
The dateless limit of thy dear exile ;-
The hopeless word of-never to return
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign
liege,
[mouth:
And all unlook'd for from your highness'
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air,

Stands here for God, his sovereign, and him-
On pain to be found false and recreant, [self, Have I deserved at your highness' hands.
To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow-The language I have learn'd these forty years,

bray,

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.
K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and

their spears,

And both return back to their chairs again Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound, While we return these dukes what we decree.[A long flourish.

[To the Combatants.] Draw near,
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 fostered;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
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 [cradle
To wake our peace, which in our country's
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
Which so rous'd up with boist rous untun'd
drums,
[bray,
With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace,

My native English, now I must forego,
And now my tongue's use is to me no more,
Than an unstringèd viol, or a harp;
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up,
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,
Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips;
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now:
What is thy sentence, then, but speechless
death,
[breath?
Which robs my tongue from breathing native
K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compas-

sionate :

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Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to God,
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves,)
To keep the oath that we administer :-
You never shall (so help you truth and God!)
Embrace each other's love in banishment;
Nor never look upon each other's face;
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor never by advised purpose meet
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
Boling. I swear.

Nor. And I, to keep all this.

[Flourish. Exeunt King Richard and train. Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must

not know,

Boling. Norfolk, so far, as to mine enemy;-Six years we banish him, and he shall go. By this time, had the king permitted us, One of our souls had wander'd in the air, Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burden of a guilty soul. [traitor, Nor. No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence! But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.— Farewell, my liege.-Now no way can I stray: Save back to England, all the world's my way.

From where you do remain, let paper show.

Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will As far as land will let me, by your side. [ride, Gaunt. O! to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,

[Exit.

K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspéct [eyes Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away.-[To Boling.] Six frozen winters spent,

Return with welcome home from banishment.
Boling. How long a time lies in one little
word!

Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs,
End in a word: such is the breath of kings.

Gaunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of
He shortens four years of my son's exile : [me
But little vantage shall I reap thereby ;
For, ere the six years that he hath to spend,
Can change their moons and bring their times
about,

My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light,
Shall be extinct with age and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me see my son.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years
[canst give:
Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a

to live.

morrow;

Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him for my death,
But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good
advice,

Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave:
Why at our justice seem'st thou, then, to lower?!
Gaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in
digestion sour.

You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
O, had it been a stranger, not my child,
To smooth his fault I should have been more
A partial slander sought I to avoid,
An in the sentence my own life destroy'd.
Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
I was too strict, to make mine own away;
But

[mild:

you gave leave to my unwilling tongue, Against my will, to do myself this wrong. K. Rich. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid

him so:

That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?
Boling. I have too few to take my leave of

you,

time.

When the tongue's office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.
Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a
[time.
Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that
Gaunt. What is six winters? they are
quickly gone.
[hour ten.
Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one
Gaunt. Call it a travel, that thou tak'st for
pleasure.

Boling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.

[so,

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps
Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home-return. [make
Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I
Will but remember me, what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages; and in the end,
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
But that I was a journeyman to grief? [visits,
Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
Teach thy necessity to reason thus ;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not the king did banish thee,
But thou the king: woe doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not, the king exil'd thee; or suppose,
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou
Suppose the singing birds musicians; [com'st:
The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence
strew'd;

The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure, or a dance;
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.

Boling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good,
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more,
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.

Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee And liberal largess, are grown somewhat

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light,

We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand. If that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; [are rich, Whereto, when they shall know what men [Exeunt. They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter Bushy.

Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green;
Aumerle following.

K. Rich. We did observe. -Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his
way?
[him so,
Aum. Í brought high Hereford, if you call
But to the next highway, and there I left him.
K. Rich. And say, what store of parting
tears were shed?
[east wind,

Bushy, what news?

[my lord,
Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick,
Suddenly taken; and hath sent post-haste,
To entreat your majesty to visit him.

K. Rich. Where lies he?
Bushy. At Ely-house.

[mind, K. Rich. Now, put it, God, in his physician's

Aum. 'Faith, none for me; except the north-To help him to his grave immediately!
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

K. Rich. What said our cousin when you
parted with him?

Aum. Farewell and for my heart disdainèd that my tongue [craft Should so profane the word, that taught me To counterfeit oppression of such grief, [grave. That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's Marry, would the word "farewell" have

lengthen'd hours,

And added years to his short banishment,
He should have had a volume of farewells;
But, since it would not, he had none of me.
K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis
doubt,
[ment,
When time shall call him home from banish-
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,
Observ'd his courtship to the common people;
How he did seem to dive into their hearts
With humble and familiar courtesy ;
What reverence he did throw away on slaves;
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles.
And patient underbearing of his fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
Off his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
goes

The lining of his coffers shall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.-
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him :
Pray God, we may make haste, and come too
late.
[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-London.

An Apartment in

Ely-house.

Gaunt on a couch; the Duke of York, and others, standing by him.

Gaunt. Will the king come, that I may breathe my last

In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?
York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with
your breath;

For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dy-

ing men

Enforce attention like deep harmony:
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent
in vain ;
[in pain.
For they breathe truth that breathe their words
He that no more must say, is listen'd more,
Than they whom youth and ease have taught
to glose:
[before:

A brace of draymen bid God speed him well,More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives

And had the tribute of his supple knee,
With-"Thanks, my countrymen, my loving
friends;"

As were our England in reversion his,
And he our subjects' next degree in hope.
Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go
these thoughts.
[land.-
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ire-
Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
Ere farther leisure yield them farther means,
For their advantage, and your highness' loss.
K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this

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The setting sun, and music at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long

past:

[hear, Though Richard my life's counsel would not My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,

As praises of his state: then, there are found
Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound
The open ear of youth doth always listen;
Report of fashions in proud Italy,
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
Limps after, in base imitation.

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