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KING Richard the Second.
Duke of York,
Uncles to the
John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster,
Bolingbroke, Son to John of Gaunt, afterwards King
Henry the Fourth.
Aumerle, Son to the Duke of York.
Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.
Earl of Salisbury.
Servants to King Richard.
Earl of Northumberland.
Percy, Son to Northumberland.
Bishop of Carlisle.
Sir Stephen Scroop.
Abbot of Weftminster.
Sir Pierce of Exton.
Queen to King Richard.
Dutchess of Gloucefter.
Dutchess of York.
Ladies, attending on the Queen.
Heralds, two Gardiners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants.
SCENE, difperfedly, in feveral Parts of England.
Of this the Editions, earlier I have a collation by Mr. Theothan the first Folio, are, bald.
I. 4to, by Valentine Simmes, for Andrew Wife, 1598, of which
II. 4to, for Mathew Law, 1615, from which the firft Folio was printed.
Enter King Richard, John of Gaunt, with other
Nobles and Attendants.
King RICHAR D.
LD John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
Haft thou, according to thy oath and bond,
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold fon,
Here to make good the boift'rous late Appeal,
Which then our leifure would not let us hear,
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
Gaunt. I have, my liege.
K. Rich. Tell me moreover, haft thou founded him,
The Life and Death of King Richard II.] But this Hiftory comprizes little more than the Two laft Years of this Prince. The Action of the Drama begins with Bolingbroke's appealing the Duke of Norfolk, on an
Accufation of high Treafon, which fell out in the Year 1398; and it clofes with the Murder of King Richard at Pomfret-Caftle towards the End of the Year 1400, or the Beginning of the enfuing Year. THEOBALD.
If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,
Or worthily, as a good Subject should,
On fome known ground of treachery in him?
Gaunt. As near as I could fift him on that
On fome apparent Danger seen in him
Aim'd at your Highness; no invet'rate malice.
K. Rich. Then call them to our prefence; face to
And frowning brow to brow. Our felves will hear
Th' accufer, and th' accufed freely speak.
High-ftomach'd are they Both, and full of ire
In rage, deaf as the fea; hafty as fire.
Enter Bolingbroke and Mowbray.
Boling. May many years of happy days befal
My gracious Sovereign, my moft loving Liege!
Mowb. Each day ftill better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your Crown!
K. Rich. We thank you both, yet one but flatters us,
As well appeareth by the cause you come ;
Namely, t'appeal each other of high Treafon.
Coufin of Hereford, what doft thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
Boling. Firft (Heaven be the record to my speech!)
In the devotion of a Subject's love,
Tend'ring the precious fafety of my Prince,
And free from other mif- begotten hate,
Come I Appellant to this princely prefence.
-Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my Greeting well; for what I speak,
My body fhall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine foul anfwer it in heav'n.
Thou art a traitor and a mifcreant;
Too good to be fo, and too bad to live;
Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier feem the clouds, that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the Note,
With a foul Traytor's Name ftuff I thy throat;
And wish, so please my Sov'reign, ere I move,
What my Tongue speaks, my Right-drawn Sword
Mowb. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal; 'Tis not the tryal of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this caufe betwixt us twain;
The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this.
Yet can I not of fuch tame patience boast,
As to be hufht, and nought at all to say.
First, the fair Rev'rence of your Highness curbs me,
From giving reins and fpurs to my free speech;
Which elfe would poft, until it had return'd
These terms of Treafon doubled down his throat.
Setting afide his high blood's Royalty,
And let him be no kinfman to my Leige,
I do defie him, and I fpit at him;
Call him a fland'rous coward, and a villain;
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds,
And meet him, were I ty'd to run a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground * inhabitable,
Where never Englishman durft fet his foot.
Mean time, let this defend my Loyalty;
By all my hopes, moft falfly doth he lie.
Boling, Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my
Disclaiming here the kindred of a King,
And lay afide my high blood's Royalty,
Which fear, not rev rence, makes thee to except.
If guilty Dread hath left thee so much strength,
Right-drawn] Drawn in a right or juft Cause,
* Inhabitable.] That is, n't habitable, uninhabitable.
As to take up mine Honour's pawn, then stoop;
By that, and all the rights of Knighthood elfe,
Will I make good against thee," arm to arm,
What I have spoken, or thou canst devise.
Mowb. I take it up, and by that Sword I swear, Which gently laid my Knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
Or chivalrous defign of knightly tryal;
And when I mount, alive may I not light,
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight!
K. Rich. What doth our Coufin fay to Mowbray's
It must be great, that can inherit us
So much as of a thought of Ill in him.
Boling. Look, what I faid, my life fhall prove it
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles,
In name of lendings for your Highness' foldiers,
The which he hath detain'd for lewd imployments;
Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
Befides, I fay, and will in battle prove,
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furtheft verge,
That ever was furvey'd by English eye,
That all the treafons for thefe eighteen years,
Complotted and contrived in this Land,
Fetch from falfe Mowbray their firft head and spring.
Further, I fay, and further will maintain
Upon his bad Life to make all This good,
That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death;
Suggeft his foon-believing adverfaries;
And confequently, like a traitor-coward,
Sluic'd out his inn'cent foul through ftreams of blood;
Which blood, like facrificing Abel's, cries
Even from the tonguelefs caverns of the earth,
To me, for juftice, and rough chastisement.
And by the glorious Worth of my Defcent,
This arm fhall do it, or this life be spent.
K. Rich. How high a pitch his refolution foars!