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ACT I.

SCENE 1.-London.-A Room in the Palace. Enter King RICHARD, attended; JOHN of GAUNT,

and other Nobles, with him.

K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd caster,

Hast thou, according to thy oath and band⚫ Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? Gaunt. I have, my liege.

K. Rich. Tell me moreover, hast thou sounded him,

If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
Or worthily, as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him?
Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argu-
ment,-

On some apparent danger seen in him,
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice.
K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face to
face,

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak :-
[Exeunt some Attendants.
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Re-enter ATTENDANTS, with BOLINGBROKE and
NORFOLK.

Boling. May many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! Nor. Each day still 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

ters us,

may prove.

Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my real: 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this, Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post, until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him-a slanderous coward, and a villain : Which to maintain, I would allow him odds; And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable⚫ Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw

my gage,

As well appeareth by the cause you come ;
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ?
Boling. First, (heaven be the record to my
speech!)

In the devotion of a subject's love,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,

Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop; By that, and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.

Nor. 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,

Uninhabitable.

So much as of a thought of ill in him.
Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove
it true,-

That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles,
In name of leading for your highness' soldiers;
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain.
Besides I say, and will in battle prove,-
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English eye,-
That all the treasons, for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land,

Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.

Further I say, and further will maintain,
Upon his bad life, to make all this good,-
That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death;
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries;
And, consequently, like a traitor coward,

toot:

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 loain, 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;

blood:

Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth
To me, for justice, and rough chastisement;
And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent,

K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars :-
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?
Nor. 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 my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir
(As he is but my father's brother's son,)
Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow,
Soch neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul;
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou;
Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow.

Ner. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou jest!
Three parts of that receipt I had tor Calais,
Dabursed I duly to his highness' soldiers:
The other part reserved I by consent;
For that my sovereign liege 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 Gloster's death,-
I slew him not; but, to my own disgrace,
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.-
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
ace did I lay an ambush for your life,
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul:
Bat, ere I last received 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 appeal'd,
It issues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor:
Which in myself I boldly will defend;
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening ¶ traitor's foot,
To prove myself a loyal gentleman

Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom :
In haste whereof, most ieartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled 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.
Cant. To be a make-peace shall become my age:
Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage.
K. Rich. Aud, Norfolk, throw down his.

+ Wicked.

• Possess. Reproach to his ancestry Arrogant.

Prompt. Charged.

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. O, God defend my soul from such foul

sin!

SCENE II.-The same.-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 lite.
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:
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 Gloster,-
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood,
One flourishing branch of his most royal root,-
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe.
Ab, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that
womb,

That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee,
Made him a man: and though thou liv'st, and

breath'st,

In suffering thus thy brother to be slanghter'd,
Thou shew'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. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's
substitute,

His deputy anointed in his sight,

Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully,
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
An angry arm against his minister.

Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain my. self?

Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and defence.

Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thon 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 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-0, what?
With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see,
Bat empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?

And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans?
Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
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. Lasts 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 to 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 prepared, and

stay

thou art,

rel:

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 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 quar
rel ?

Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaver!
"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,
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray duke of Norfolk,
That he's a traitor, foul, and dangerons,
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 sovereign'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 high-

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 gored with Mowbray's spear:
As confident, as is the falcon's flight
Against a bird, do 1 with Mowbray fight.-
My loving lord, [To Lord Marshal.] 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 regret

(Te Gaunt

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. Heaven 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 casquet
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 heaven, or fortune, cast
my lot,

There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne,
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman:
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.-

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

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home-return.

Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 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?

|

Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits,
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 exiled 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 comest:
Suppose the singing birds, musicians;

The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence t 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 lancet not the sore.
Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on
thy way:

Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay. Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet

soil, adieu;

My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!
Where-e'er I wander, boast of this I can,-
Though banish'd, yet a true born Englishman.

[Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same.-A Room in the King's Castle.

Enter King RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREEN;
AUMERLE following.

K. Rich. We did observe.-Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his way?
Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
But to the next highway, and there I left him.

K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were shed?

Aum. 'Faith, none by me: except the north-east wind,

Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awaked 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 hum.

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, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.

Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,
Observed 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 effects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
A brace of draymen bid-God speed him well,
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.

Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland;-
Expedient manage must be made, my liege;
Ere further leisure yield them further means,
For their advantage and your highness' loss.

K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war.
And, for our coffers-with too great a court,
And liberal largess,-are grown somewhat light,
We are enforced 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;
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
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.

SCENE 1.-London.-A Room in Ely-house. GAUNT, on a Couch; the Duke of YORK, and other: standing by him.

Gaunt. Will the king come? That I may breathe my last

In wholesome counsel to his unstaied 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 dying men
Enforce attention, like deep harmony:

Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in

More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before:
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:
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
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.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity,