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And knows not how to do it, but with tears. And happily may your sweet self put on
Bast. 0, let us pay the time but needful woe, The lineal state and glory of the land!
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. To whom, with all submission, on my knee,
This England never did, (nor never shall,)
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
But when it first aid help to wound itself.
Come the three corners of the world in arms,
If England to itself do rest but true. (Exeunt.
KING RICHARD II.
Pet sous of the drama.
Larl of NORTHUMBERLAND: Henry Percy, his son.
Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of WestminsteR.
son to John of Gaunt; afterwards king Henry IV. Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen SCROOP.
Captain of a band of Welchmen.
Queen to king Richard.
Duchess of GLOSTER.
Duchess of YORK.
Lady attending on the queen.
Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners,
Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants.
A C T I.
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
, (heaven be the record to my speech!)
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ?
In the devotion of a subject's love,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.
Thou art atraitor, and a miscreant;
Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds, that in it fly.
Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argument,- With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat,
And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move,
K. Rich. Then call them to our presence;face to face, prove.
[Exeunt some Attendants. The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say:
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness, Which else would post, until it had return'd
Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
I do defy him, and I spit at him;
Call him a slanderons coward, and a villain
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen.
I slew him not, but to my own disgrace,
Neglected my sworn duty in that case. —
For you, my poble lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
A trespass, that doth vex my grieved soul:
I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, Thadit.
This is my fault. As for the rest appeal’d,
Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
Your highness to assign our trialday.
K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me!
Let's purge this choler without letting blood!
This we prescribe, though no physician;
Forget, forgive, conclude, and be agreed!
Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed. -
Good uncle, let this end where it begun!
Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age.
Obedience bids, I should not bid again.
K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down! we bid; there is no
boot. That ever was survey'd by English eye,
Nor. Myself Ithrow, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
The one my duty owes ;
To dark dishonour's use thon shalt not have.
I am disgrac’d, impeach'd, and baffled here,
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood,
Which breath'd this poison.
Give me his gage ! - Lions make leopards tame.
And I resign my gage. My dear, dear lord,
The purest treasure mortal times alsord,
Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, 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.
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are onr eyes an ears : Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try!
K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage! do you
Or with pale beggar fear impeach my height
Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong,
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.
[Exit Gaunt. For that my sovereign liege was in my debt,
K. Rich. We were not born to sne, but to command: Upon remainder of a dear account,
Which since we cannot do, to make yon friends,
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight. At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day!
I take my leave, before I have begun; There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done. The swelling difference of your settled hate;
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York! Since we cannot atone you, we shall see
Lo, this is all !- Nay, yet depart not so! Justice design the victor's chivalry.
Though this be all, do not so quickly go! Marshall, command our officer at arms
I shall remember more. Bid him-0, what? Be ready to direct these home-alarmıs ! [Exeunt. With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see, SCENE II. The same. A room in the Duke of Lan- But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, caster's palace.
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
And what cheer there for welcome, but my groaps ?
To seek out sorrow, that dwells every where ! To stir against the butchers of his life.
Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die; But since correction lieth in those hands,
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
SCENE III.—Gosford Green, near Coventry.
Lists set out, and a throne. Heralds, etc, attending.
Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry flereford arm’d?
Aum. Yea, at all points, aud longs to enter in. Were as seven phials of his sacred blood,
Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Or seven fair branches springing from one root. Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Āum. Why then, the champions are prepard, and Some of those branches by the destinies cut:
Flourish of trumpets. Enter King Richard,who takes
men, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded,
and answered by unother trumpet within. Then enBy envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe.
ter Norfolk in armour, preceded by a Herald.
To swear him in the justice of his cause!
Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who thou art, In that thou secst thy wretched brother die, And why thou com’st, thus knightly clad in arms ? Who was the model of thy father's life.
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel ? Call it not patience, Gaunt!it is despair.
Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath, In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour! Thon show'st the naked pathway to thy life,
Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk;
Who hither come engaged by my oath,
Both to defend my loyalty and truth,
Against the duke Hereford, that appeals me; Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's sub-And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm, stitute,
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me:
Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBROXE in armour,
preceded by a Herald.
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither
And formally, according to our law,
Depose him in the justice of his cause ! 0, sit my husband's wrongs on l?ereford's spear, Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast !
hither, Or, if misfortune miss the first career,
Before king Richard, in his royal lists?
Against whom comest thou ? and what's thy quarrel?
Boling: Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Aml; who ready here do stand in arms, Farewell
, old Gaunt! Thy sometimes brother's wife To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour, With her companion griefmust end her life. Gaunt. Sister, farewell! I must to Coventry.
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk,
That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous,
To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me;
Lo, The Oth Wh Dot Το Ad Ar TI ΑΣ EF
Ве An FE or RC
[He takes his seat.
no person be so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists!
And dares him to set forward to the fight.
2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Appointed to direct these fair designs.
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Heory of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Courageously, and with a free desire,
Attending but the signal to begin.
Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, comba-
[A charge sounded. And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.
K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their
And both return back to their chairs again! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thoa shed, Withdraw with us -and let the trumpets sound, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. While we return these dukes what we decree!Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear
[4 long Flourish. For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear!
[To the Combatants. As confident, as is the falcon's flight
And list what with our council we have done!
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd My loving lord, [To lord Marshal.]I take my leave of With that dear blood, which it hath fostered, you;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
of civil wounds, plough'd up with neighbours' swords; Not sick, although I have to do with death,
And for we think the eagle-winged pride
With rival-hating envy, set you on
Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun’d drums,
With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
Therefore, we banish you our territories.
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death,
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Boling. Your will be done! This must my comfort be,
That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me;
And those his golden beams, to you here lent,
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.
(He takes his seat. The fly-slow hours shall not determinate
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth!
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim,
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your highness' hand.
And now my tongue's use is to me no more,
Than an unstringed viol, or a harp,
Or, being open, put into his hands,
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
[am too old, to fawn upon a nurse,
What is thy sentence then, but speechless death, 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,
K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate;
After our sentence, plaining comes too late.
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.(Retiring.
K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee! Aum.Cousin,farewell!What presence must not know,
Mar. My lord, no leave takel; for I will ride,
Gaunt.O,to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, You never shall (so help you truth and heaven !) That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? Embrace each other's love in banishment,
Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you, Nor never look upon each other's face;
When the tongue's office should be prodigal, Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate, Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. Nor never by advised purpose meet,
Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,
Gauni. What is six winters ? they are quickly gone. 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. Boling. To men in joy; but grief'makes one hour ten. Boling. I swear.
Gaunt. Call it a travel, that thou tak’st for pleasure! Nor. And I, to keep all this.
Boling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so, Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy :
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. By this time, had the king permitted us,
Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps One of our souls had wanderd in the air,
Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
The precious jewel of thy home-return ! As now our flesh is banish'd from this land.
Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride, I make, Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm ! Will but remember me, what a deal of world Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
I wander from the jewels, that I love. The clogging burden of a guilty soul.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else,
Are to a wise man ports and happy heavens.
K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes Think not, the king did banish thee,
But thou the king! Woe doth the heavier sit,
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
To lie that
way, thou go'st, not whence thou com'st! Gaunt. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me, Suppose the singing bird, musicians; He shortens four years of my son's exile.
The grass,whereon thou tread'st,the presence strew'd;
The flowers; fair ladies, and thy steps no more,
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
Orcloy the hungry edge of appetite,
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more,
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.
K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay.
Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell! sweet
Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove indigestion sour. My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!
SCENE IV. -- The same. Aroom in the King's castle.
following: I was too strict, to make mine own away!
K. Rich. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,
Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were
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