Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat thou liest!
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers:
The other part reserved I by consent;
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt,
Upon remainder of a dear account,

Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:

Now swallow down that lie.-For Gloster's death,-
I slew him not; but to my own disgrace,
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.-
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster,
The honorable father to my foe,

Once did I lay an ambush for your life,-
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul:
But, ere I last received the sacrament,
I did confess it, and exactly begged
Your grace's pardon; and, I hope, I had it.
This is my fault: as for the rest appealed,
It issues from the rancor of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor:
Which in myself I boldly will defend;
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot,

To prove myself a loyal gentleman

Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom:

In haste whereof, most heartily I pray

Your highness to assign our trial day.

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me:

Let's purge this choler without letting blood:

This we prescribe, though no physician;

Deep malice makes too deep incision:

Forget, forgive, conclude, and be agreed;

Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed.

Norfolk, throw down; there is no boot.

Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame!
The one my duty owes: but my fair name
(Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,)
To dark dishonor's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here;
Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear;
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
Which breathed this poison.

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood:

Give me his gage:-lions make leopards tame.

Nor. Yea, but not change their spots: take but my shamo,
And I resign my gage. My dear, dear lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford,
Is-spotless reputation; that away,

Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay;
A jewel in a ten times barred-up chest
Is- -a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honor is my life; both grow in one.
Take honor from me, and my life is done:
Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try;
In that I live, and for that will I die.

K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you begin.
Boling. O God defend my soul from such foul sin!
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound mine honor with such feeble wrong,
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive of recanting fear,

And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace,

Where shame doth harbor, even in Mowbray's face.

K. Rich. We were not born to sue; but to command: Which, since we can not do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,

At Coventry, upon St. Lambert's day;

There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate ;-
Since we can not atone you, we shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.-

Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms
Be ready to direct these home alarms.

Ex. CCXLIII.-SCENE FROM KING JOHN-ACT V.

SHAKSPEARE

PANDULPH, LEWIS THE DAUPHIN, FAULCONBRIDGE.

Pand. Hail, noble prince of France;

The news is this,-King John has reconciled
Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,

That so stood out against the holy church;
The great metropolis and see of Rome;
Therefore thy threatening colors now wind up,
And tame the savage spirit of wild war;
That, like a lion fastened up at hand,

It may lie gently at the foot of peace,
And be no further harmful than in show.

Lewis. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back; I am too high-born to be propertied,

To be a secondary at control,

Or useful serving-man and instrument

To any sovereign state throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of war
Between this chastised kingdom and myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this fire;
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With that same weak wind which kindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right,
Acquainted me with interest to this land,
Yea, thrust this enterprize into my heart;
And come you now to tell me, John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
I, by the honor of my marriage-bed,

After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
And, now it is half conquered, must I back,

Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne,
What men provided, what munition sent,

To underprop this action? Is 't not I,
That undergo this charge? Who else but I,
And such as to my claim are liable,

Sweat in this business, and maintain this war?
Have I not heard these islanders shout out,
Vive le roy! as I have banked their towns?
Have I not here the best cards for the game
To win this easy match played for a crown?
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
No, on my soul, it never shall be said.

Pand. You look but on the outside of this work.
Lewis. Outside or inside, I will not return

Till my attempt so much be glorified

As to my ample hope was promised

Before I drew this gallant head of war,

And culled these fiery spirits from the world,

To out-look conquest, and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.
Enter FAULCONBRIDGE.

Faul. According to the fair play of the world,
Let me have audience; I am sent to speak,
My holy lord of Milan, from the king

I come to learn how you have dealt for him;
And, as your answer, I do know the scope
And warrant limited unto my tongue.

Pand. The dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties;
He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms.

Faul. By all the blood that ever fury breathed,
The youth says well.-Now hear our English king;
For thus his royalty doth speak in me.

He is prepared; and reason too, he should.
This apish and unmannerly approach,
This harnessed mask and unadvised revel,
This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops,
The king doth smile at; and is well prepared
To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,
From out the circle of his territories.

That hand, which had the strength, even at your door,
To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch;
To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells;

To crouch in litter of your stable planks;

To lie, like pawns, locked up in chests and trunks;
To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out
In vaults and prisons; and to thrill, and shake,
Even at the crying of your nation's crow,
Thinking his voice an armed Englishman ;-
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here,
That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
No;-know, the gallant monarch is in arms;
And like an eagle o'er his eyry towers,
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.-
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
Blush for shame;

For your own ladies, and pale-visaged maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums;
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,
Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.

Lewis. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace.

We grant, thou canst out-scold us; fare thee well.
We hold our time too precious to be spent

With such a babbler.

Pand. Give me leave to speak.

Faul. No, I will speak.

Lewis. We will attend to neither.

Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war

Plead for our interests, and our being here.

Fuul. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out; And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start

An echo with the clamor of thy drum,

And even at hand a drum is ready braced,
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;
Sound but another, and another shall,
As loud as thine rattle the welkin's ear,

And pluck the deep-mouthed thunder; for at hand
(Not trusting to this halting legate here,

Whom he hath used rather for sport than need,)

Is warlike John: and in his forehead sits

A bare-ribbed death, whose office is this day

To feast upon whole thousands of the French.

Lewis. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.
Fuul. And thou shalt find it, dauphin, do not doubt.

Ex. CCXLIV.-VILLAINY OUTWITTED.-DIALOGUE FROM

THE WIFE.

ST. PIERRE, FERRARDO.

St. Pier. Are we alone?

KNOWLES.

Fer. What's this?

St. Pier. Are we alone! where are the craven minions That overpowered me in the corridor,

And at thy bidding dragged me hither?

Fer. Pshaw!

Art thou no wiser than to heed them? know'st not

'Twas done upon my instruction-mine-thy friend's?

St. Pier. Are we alone?

Fer. We are alone.

St. Pier. Art sure

That door is unattended? that no minions

Watch it without?