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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 fpirit in a loyal breaft. 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'n defend my soul from such foul sin! Shall I seem crest-falln in my father's sight, * Or with pale beggar face impeach my height, Before this out-dar'd Dastard ? Ere my tongue Shall wound my Honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear $ The Navish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding, in his high 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:
4. Or with pale beggar face-] 1. e. with a face of supplication. But this will not satisfy the Oxford Editor, he turns it to baggard fear. $ The favila motive-r) Motive, for instrument,
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.
S CE N E III.
Changes to the Duke of Lancaster's Palace.
Enter Gaunt and Dutchess of Gloucester.
Gaunt. Las! the
part I had
Doth more sollicit me, than your Exclaims,
To ftir 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 sees the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Dutch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper fpur ?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ?
Edward's sev'n fons, whereof thy self art one,
Were as sev'n vials of his facred blood;
Or sev’n fair branches, springing from one root:
Some of those sev’n are dry'd by Nature's Course ;
Some of those branches by the Deft'nies cut :
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glofter,
(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 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 felf-mould that fashion'd thee;
Made him a man ; and though thou liv'st and breath'ft,
Yet art thou Nain in him ; thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father's death ;
In that thou seeft thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life ;
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair.
In fuff'ring thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou shew'st 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 sight,
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 Defence.
(wel. Dutch. Why then, I will: farewel, old Gaunt, fareThou 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.
Gaunt. Sifter, farewel ; I must to Coventry.
As much Good stay with thee, as go with me!
Dutch. Yet one word more ; grief boundeth where
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 fo;
Though this be all, do not fo quickly go:
I shall remember more. Bid him -oh, what?
With all good speed at Plajhie visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York see there
But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,
Un-peopled offices, untrodden stones?
And what hear there for welcome, but my groans?
Therefore commend me, let him not come there
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where;
All desolate, will I from hence, and die ;
The last Leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
C E N E IV.
The Lifts, at Coventry.
Enter the Lord Marshal, and the Duke of Aumerle.
Mawm tren, at all points, and longs to en-
lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?
Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,
Stays but the Summons of th’ Appellant's trumpet.
Aum. Why, then the Champions are prepar’d, and
For nothing but his Majesty's approach. (Flourish.
The trumpets found, and the King enters with his No-
bles: when they are set, Enter the Duke of Norfolk
in arms, Defendant.
K. Ricb. 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
(To Mowb, And why thou com'ft, thus knightly clad in arms?
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel?
Speak truly on thy Knighthood, and thine Oath,
And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour! [folk,
Mowb. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Nor-
Who hither come engaged by my oath,
(Which, heav'n 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 my felf,
A traitor to my God, my King, and me ;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heav'n!
The trumpets found. Enter Bolingbroke, Appellant,
in armour. K. Ricb. 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. [hither,
Mar. What is thy name, and wherefore com'ft thou Before King Richard, in his royal Lists ? [To Boling. Against whom comest thou ? and what's thy Quarrel? Speak like a true Knight, so defend thee heav'n!
Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby
Am I, who ready here do stand in arms,
To prove, by heav'n's
grace and my body's valour,
In Lifts, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolk,
That he's a traitor foul and dangerous,
To God of heav'n, King Richard, and to me ;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heav'n!
Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the Lifts,
Except the Marshal, and such Officers
Appointed to direct these fair designs. [hand,
Boling, Lord Marshal, let me kiss my Sovereign's