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Not sick, although I have to do with death;
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:
Q thou, the earthly author of my blood,-

[To GAUNT.

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 naine 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 casque

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 uncontroul'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.
Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

[The King and the Lords return to their seats. Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance, and God defend the right! Boling. [Rising.] Strong as a tower in hope, I cry

amen.

Mar. Go bear this lance [To an Officer.] to Thomas, duke of Norfolk.

1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant,

To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traiter to his God, his king, and him,

And dares him to set forward to the fight.

2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk,

On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal;
Courageously, and with a free desire,

Attending but the signal to begin.

Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants.

[A charge sounded.

Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.

K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their

spears,

And both return back to their chairs again :~
Withdraw with us:-and let the trumpets sound,
While we return these dukes what we decree.-

[A long flourish. [To the Combatants.

Draw near,
And list what with our council we have done.

For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd
With that dear blood, which it hath fostered;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect

Of civil wounds, plough'd up with neighbours' swords;
And for we think the eagle-winged pride

Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,

With rival-hating envy, set you on

To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep:
Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums,
With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,

Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace,
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood ;—
Therefore we banish you our territories;--
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death,
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields,
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,

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.

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce : The fly-slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile ;The hopeless word of-never to return 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.
The language I have learn'd these forty years,
My native English now I must forego:
And now my tongue's use is to me no more,
Than an unstringed viol or a harp;

Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up,

Or, being open, put into his hands,

That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,
Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lips;
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now;

What is thy sentence then, but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?
K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate;
After our sentence, plaining comes too late.

Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [Retiring. K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;

Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven,
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves,)
To keep the oath that we administer :-

You never shall (so help you truth and heaven!)
Embrace each other's love in banishment;

Nor never look upon each other's face;
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile

This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor never by advised purpose meet,

To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,

'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. Boling. I swear.

Nor. And I, to keep all this.

Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy ;-
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our souls had wander'd in the air,
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:
Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burden of a guilty soul.

Nor. No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence! But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.Farewell, my liege :-Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way. [Exit. K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes

I see thy grieved heart; thy sad aspéct

Hath from the number of his banished years

Pluck'd four away;-Six frozen winters spent,

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