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Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
Thou 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
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 sometime 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, But 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 everywhere: Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die; The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
SCENE III.-Gosford Green, near Coventry.
Lists set out, and a Throne. HERALDS, fc. 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 For nothing but his majesty's approach. Flourish of Trumpets.- Enter KING RICHARD, who takes his
seat on his throne ; GAUNT, and several Noblemen, who take their places. A Trumpet is sounded, and answered by another Trumpet within. Then enter NORFOLK in armour, preceded by a Herald. K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms:
Ask him his name; and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.
Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who thou art,
And why thou com’st, thus knightly clad in arms:
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel :
Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath;
And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour!
Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk;
Who hither come engaged by my oath
(Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate !),
Both to defend my loyalty and truth,
To God, my king, and my succeeding issue,
Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me;
And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of himself,
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
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 quarrel ?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven !
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 dangerous,
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 highness,
And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave.
K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our 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 I 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 regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:
O thou, the earthly author of my blood, — [To GAUNT.
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a twofold 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 amazingf 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 uncontrolld 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, I
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
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 traitor 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. Draw near,
(To the Combatants.
And list, what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soild
With that dear blood which it hath foster'd;
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 roused up with boisterous untuned 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:-
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 unstring'd viol or a harp ;
Or like a cunning instrument cased up,
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have enjail'd my tongue,
Doubly portcullised, with my teeth and lips;
, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my jailer 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.
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 advisedt 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 po way can I stray;
Save back to England, all the world's my way.