Thomas of Norfolk, what fay'st thou to this?

Mowb. 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 our brother, nay, our Kingdom's heir, As he is but our father's brother's son ; Now by ’my Scepter's awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour-nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing priv'lege him, nor partialize Th’unstooping firmness of my upright soul. He is our Subject, Morebray, so art thou'; Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow.

Mowb. Then, Boling broke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest! Three parts of that Receipt I had for Calais, Disburst I to his Highness' soldiers; The other part referv'd I by confent, For that my sovereign Leige 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 Gloucester's death, I new him not; but, to mine 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 an ambush for 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 pardon; and, I hope, I had it, This is my fault; as for the rest appeald, It issues from the rancor of a villain, A recreant and most degen'rate traitor ; Which in my self I boldly will defend,

your life,

3 My Scepter's awe.]

The reverence due to my Scepter.
B 4

And

And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot;
To prove my self 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 tryal-day.

K. Rick. 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 ;

a
Throw down, my Son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

K. Rich. And, 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. *
Mowb. My self I throw, dread Sovereign, at thy

foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my Shamę ;
The one my duty owes; but my fair Name,

5
Despight of death, That lives upon my Grave,
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgrac’d, impeachd, and baffled here,

4 This we preferibe, though no too, the rhyming verses are of a tysician, &c. ) I must make much better talte than all the one Remark, in general, on the others, which rather strengthens Rhymes throughout this whole my conjeure.

Pope. play ; they are so much inferior No 0001.] That is, no udto the rest of the writing, that vanta e, no ule, in delay or rethey appear to me of a different fusal. hand. What confirms this, is, 5 My fair Name, &c.] That is, that the context does every Niy name that lives on my grave in where exactly (and frequently delight of death. This easy parmuch better) connect without fage mot of the Editors seem to the inserted rhymes, except in a have mistaken. very few places; and jult there

Pierc'd

Pierc'd to the soul with Nander'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.
Mowb. 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. Oh, heav'ndefend my soul from such foul sin! Shall I feem crest-fall’n in my father's sight,

Or with pale beggar face impeach my height, Before this out-dar'd Daftard ? Ere my tongue Shall wound my Honour with such feeble wrong, Or found so base a parle, my teeth shall tear * The Navish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding, in his bigh disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, ev'n 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 diff'rence of your settled hate.
Since we cannot atone you, you shall see
Justice decide the Victor's Chivalry.
Lord Marshal, bid our officers at Arms
Be ready to direct these home-alarms. (Exeunt.

A

Changes to the Duke of Lancaster's Palace.

Enter Gaunt and Dutchefs of Gloucester.
Gaunt. Las ! * the part I had in Glo'ster's blood

Doth more follicit me, than your Ex

claims,
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 lees the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

Dutch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ?
Edward's fev'n sons, whereof thy self art one,
Were as fiv'n vials of his facred blood;
Or sev'n fair branches, springing froin one root :
Some of thole sev'n are dry'd by Nature's Course;
Some of those branches by the Dest'nies cut:
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glofter,
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;

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 suff'ring thus thy brother to be Naughter'd,
Thou shew't 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 Glo'ster'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 my self?
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, 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 fins fo heavy in his bofom,
That they may break his foaming Courser's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
' A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!
Farewel, old Gaunt; thy sometime brother's wife
With her companion Grief must end her life.

] Cai. Ημισυ της αρτης απιαίαι δέλιον dif originally signified a prisiner; ήμαρ. next a save, from the condition In this paslage it partakes of of prisoners; then a scoundrel, all these fignifications. from the qualities of a llave.