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 so 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 quar rel : Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath; Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of 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, [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, Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold, Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty : That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Of you, my noble Cousin, lord Aumerle ;— The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: [To GAUNT. 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. Heaven in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution; Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live. Boling. Mine innocency, and Saint George to [He takes his seat. Nor. [Rising.] However heaven, or fortune, cast my lot, thrive! There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne, Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace Most mighty liege, — and my companion peers, Go I to fight; Truth hath a quiet breast. K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy eye. [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. 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, To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke On pain to be found false and recreant, To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal; Mar. Sound trumpets; and set forward, com batants. [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, swords; [And for we think the eagle-winged pride To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle But tread the stranger paths of banishment. Boling. Your will be done: This must my comfort be, That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me; 7 Truncheon. |