K. Rich. Rage must be withstood:
Give me his gage: Lions make Leopards tame. Mowb. Yea, but not change their spots: take but my fhame,
And I refign my gage. My dear, dear lord,
The pureft treasure mortal times afford,
Is fpotlefs 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 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. Coufin, throw down your gage; do you begin.
Boling. Oh, heav'n defend my foul from fuch foul fin! Shall I feem creft-fall'n in my father's fight,
Or with pale beggar face impeach my height, Before this out-dar'd Daftard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my Honour with fuch feeble wrong, Or found fo base a parle, my teeth_shall tear The flavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding, in his high difgrace, Where fhame doth harbour, ev'n in Mowbray's face. [Exit Gaunt. K. Rich. We were not born to fue, but to command, Which fince we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives fhall anfwer it, At Coventry upon Saint Lambert's day. There fhall your Swords and Lances arbitrate The fwelling diff'rence of your fettled hate:
4 Or with pale beggar face-] i. e. with a face of fupplication. But this will not fatisfy the Oxford Editor, he turns it to baggard fear.
5 The flavish motive-] Motive, for inftrument
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.
Changes to the Duke of Lancaster's Palace.
Enter Gaunt and Dutchefs of Gloucester.
Las! the I had in Glofter's blood A both more follicit me, than your Exclaims,
To ftir against the butchers of his life.
But fince 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 fees the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Dutch. Finds brotherhood in thee no fharper fpur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward's fev'n fons, whereof thy felf art one,
Were as fev'n vials of his facred blood;
Or fev'n fair branches, fpringing from one root:
Some of those sev'n are dry'd by Nature's Courfe;
Some of those branches by the Deft❜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 fpilt;
Is hackt down, and his fummer 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'ft and breath'ft,
Yet art thou flain in him; thou doft confent
In fome large measure to thy father's death
In that thou feeft thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life;
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is defpair.
In fuff'ring thus thy brother to be flaughter'd,
Thou fhew'ft the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching ftern murther how to butcher thee.
That which in mean men we entitle Patience,
Is pale cold Cowardise in noble breasts,
What fhall I fay? to fafeguard thine own life,
The best way is to 'venge my Glo'fter'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 felf?
Gaunt. To heav'n, the widow's Champion and De-
fence.
[wel.
Dutch. Why then, I will: farewel, old Gaunt, fare-
Thou go'ft to Coventry, there to behold
Our Cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
O, fit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's fpear,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breaft!
Or, if misfortune mifs the first career,
Be Mowbray's fins fo heavy in his bofom,
That they may break his foaming Courfer's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lifts,
A caitiff recreant to my coufin Hereford !
Farewel, old Gaunt; thy fometime brother's wife
With her companion Grief muft 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
it falls,
Not with the empty hollownefs, 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 fhall remember more. Bid him.
-oh, what?
With all good speed at Plafbie vifit me.
Alack, and what fhall good old York see there
But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,
Un-peopled offices, untrodden ftones ?
And what hear there for welcome, but my groans?
Therefore commend me,-let him not come there
To feek out forrow that dwells every where;
All defolate, will I from hence, and die;
The last Leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
The Lifts, at Coventry.
Enter the Lord Marshal, and the Duke of Aumerle.
Mar. Mdum. Yea, at all points, and longs to en
Y lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?
Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, fprightfully and bold, Stays but the Summons of th' Appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why, then the Champions are prepar'd, and stay
For nothing but his Majefty's approach. [Flourish. The trumpets found, and the King enters with his Nobles: when they are fet, Enter the Duke of Norfolk in arms, Defendant.
K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder Champion The cause of his arrival here in arms;
Ask him his name, and orderly proceed
To fwear him in the juftice of his Caufe.
Mar. In God's name and the King's, fay who thou art?
And why thou com'ft, thus knightly clad in arms?
Against what man thou com'ft, and what thy quarrel?
Speak truly on thy Knighthood, and thine Oath,
And fo defend thee heaven, and thy valour!
[folk, Mowb. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of NorWho 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 fucceeding Iffue,
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 self,
A traitor to my God, my King, and me;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heav'n!
The trumpets found. Enter Bolingbroke, Appellant,
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 juftice of his Cause.
Mar. What is thy name, and wherefore com❜ft thou Before King Richard, in his royal Lifts? [To Boling. Against whom comeft thou? and what's thy Quarrel? Speak like a true Knight, fo defend thee heav'n!
Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby
Am I, who ready here do ftand 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 Marfhal, and fuch Officers
Appointed to direct these fair defigns.
Boling, Lord Marshal, let me kifs my Sovereign's
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