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York. Wherefore do I this ? so the question stands. Briefly, to this end: we are all diseas'd, And with our surfeiting and wanton hours, Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, And we must bleed for it.: of which disease Our late King Richard being infected, dy'd. But, my most noble lord of Westmorland, I take not on me here as a physician: Nor do I, as an enemy to peace, Troop in the throngs of military men: But rather shew a while like fearful war, To diet rank minds, fick of happiness ; And purge th' obftru&ions, which begin to stop Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. I have in equal balance justly weigh'd What wrongs ourarms may do, what wrongs we suffer; And find our griefs heavier than our offences. We fee, which way the stream of time doth run, And are inforc'd from our most quiet Sphere, By the rough torrent of occasion; And have the summary of all our griefs, When time sball serve, to shew in articles; Which long ere this we offer'd to the King, And might by no suit gain our audience. When we are wrong'd and would unfold our griefs, We are deny'd access unto his perfon, Ev'n by those men that most have done us wrong. The danger of the days but newly gone, (Whose inemory is written on the earth With yet-appearing blood) and the Examples Of every minute's instance, present now, Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms: Not to break peace, or any branch of it; But to establish here a peace, indeed, Concurring both in name and quality.
Weft. When ever yet was your appeal deny'd ? Wherein have you been galled by the King ? What Peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you,
That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forg'd Rebellion with a Seal divine,
And confecrate Commotion's Civil Edge?
York. My brother general, the Common-wealth,
To Brother born an household Cruelty,
I make my quarrel in particular.
Weft. There is no need of any such redress;
Or if there were, it not belongs to you.
Mowb. Why not to him in part, and to us all,
That feel the bruises of the days before ;
And suffer the condition of these times
To lay an heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honours?
Weft. O my good-lord Mowbray,
Construe the times to their necessities,
And you shall say, indeed, it is the time,
And not the King, that doth you injuries.
Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,
Or from the King, or in the present time,
That you should have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on. Were you not restor'd
To all the Duke of Norfolk's Seigniories,
Your noble and right-well-remember'd father's ?
Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father loft,
That need to be reviy'd and breath'd in me?
The King, that loy'd him, as the State stood then,
Was, force-per-force, compellid to banish him.
And then, when Harry Bolingbroke and he
Being mounted and both roused in their feats,
Their neighing Coursers daring of the fpur,
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
Their eyes of fire sparkling through fights of steel,
And the loud trumpet blowing them together ;
Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke;
0, when the King did throw his warder down,
His own life hung upon the staff he threw;
Then threw he down himself, and all their lives,
That by indictment, or by dint of sword,
Haye since miscarried under Bolingbroke.
Weft. You speak, lord Mowbray, now, you know
The Earl of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman.
Whoknows, on whom fortune would then have fmild?
But if your father had been victor there,
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry;
For all the country in a general voice
Cry'd hate upon him; all their prayers and love
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,
And bless'd, and grac'd, indeed, more than the King.
But this is mere digreflion from my purpose.
Here come I from our princely General,
To know your griefs ; to tell you from his Grace,
That he will give you audience; and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just,
You shall enjoy them; every thing set off,
That might so much as think you enemies.
Mowb. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer, And it proceeds from policy, not love.
Weft. Mowbray, you over-ween to take it so:
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear,
For, lo! within a ken, our army lies;
Upon mine honour, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good.
Say you not then, our offer is compell'd.
Mowb. Well; by my will, we shall admit no parley.
Weft. That argues but the shame of your offence: A rotten case abides no handling.
Haft. Hath the Prince John a full commission, In very ample virtue of his father,
To hear and absolutely to determine
Of what conditions we fall stand upon ?
Weft. That is intended in the General's name:
I mule, you make so flight a question.
York. Then take, my lord of Westmorland, this
For this contains our general grievances :
Each several article herein redress'd,
All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are insinewed to this action,
Acquitted by a true fubftantial form;
And present executions of our wills
To us, and to our properties, confin'd;
We come within our lawful banks again,
And knit our powers to the arm
peace. West. This will I shew the General. Please you,lords, In light of both our battles, we may meet; And either end in peace, (which heav'n fo frame!) Or to the place of difference call the swords, Which must decide it. York. My lord, we will do so.
[Exit Weft. S CE N E III. Mowb.
"HERE is a thing within my bosom tells
That no conditions of our peace can stand.
Hast. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace
Upon such large terms and so absolute,
As our conditions shall infist upon,
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains,
Mowb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such,
That ev'ry slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, ev'ry idle, nice and wanton reason,
Shall to the King taste of this adion..
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
We shall be winnow'd with fo rough a wind,
That ev'n our corn fhall seem as light as chaff,
And good from bad find no partition.
York. No, no, my lord, note this; the King is weary
Of dainty and such picking grievances :
For he hath found, to end one doubt by death,
Revives two greater in the heirs of life.
And therefore will he * wipe his tables clean,
And keep no tell-tale to his memory,
That may repeat and history his lofs
To new remembrance. For full well he knows,
He cannot so precisely weed this land,
As his misdoubts present occafion;
His foes are so enrooted with his friends,
That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
He doch unfasten so and shake a friend.
So that this Land, like an offensive wife,
That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his infant up,
And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm
That was uprear'd to execution.
Haft. Besides, the King hath wafted all his rods
On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement:
So that his pow'r, like to a fangless Lion,
May offer, but not hold.
And therefore be assur'd, my good lord Marshal,
If we do now make our atonement well,
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.
Mowb. Be it fo.
Here is return'd my lord of Westmorland. .
West. The Prince is here at hand: pleaseth your
To meet his Grace, just distance 'tween our armies ?
* wipe his tables clean,] Alluding to vo.