Enter the BASTARD.

Bast. O! I am scalded with my violent motion And spleen of speed to see your majesty.

K. John. O cousin! thou art come to set mine eye:

The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd, 52 And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail

Are turned to one thread, one little hair;

My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
And then all this thou seest is but a clod
And module of confounded royalty.

56

76

be

80

If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeun!.

us rue,

LORD WILLOUGHBY.
LORD FITZWATER.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE.
ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER.
LORD MARSHAL.

SIR PIERCE OF EXTON.
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP.

SCENE I.-London. A Room in the Palace. Enter KING RICHARD, attended; JOHN OF GAUNT, and other Nobles.

K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,

Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, 4 Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt. I have, my liege.

K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,

8

The accuser and the accused freely speak:

17

[Exeunt some Attendants. High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Re-enter Attendants, with BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY.

Boling. Many years of happy days befall 20 My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

Mow. Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown!

24

K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,

28

As well appeareth by the cause you come;
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
Boling. First,-heaven be the record to my
speech!-

In the devotion of a subject's love,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince, 32
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear

My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant;
Too good to be so and too bad to live,
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; 44
And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,
What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword
may prove.

Mow. Let not my cold words here accuse my

nobles

88

In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,

92

Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
Besides I say and will in battle prove,
Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English eye,
That all the treasons for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land,
96
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and
spring.

Further I say and further will maintain
Upon his bad life to make all this good,
That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,
And consequently, like a traitor coward,
Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams
of blood:

101

Call him a slanderous coward and a villain:
Which to maintain I would allow him odds,
And meet him, were I tied to run afoot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable,
Wherever Englishman durst set his foot.
Meantime let this defend my loyalty:
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw
my gage,

68

Disclaiming here the kindred of the king; And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except: 72

If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: By that, and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, 76 What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. Mow. I take it up; and by that sword I swear,

Which gently laid my knighthood on my shculder,

I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial.
And when I mount, alive may I not light,
If I be traitor or unjustly fight!

80

K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?

face

84

Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death, 132

180

140

I slew him not; but to mine own disgrace
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
For you, my noble 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;
But ere I last receiv'd the sacrament
I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
Your Grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.
This is my fault: as for the rest appeal'd,
It issues from the rancour 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 chamber'd in his
bosom.

In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.

K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage: do you begin.

Boling. O! God defend my soul from such

deep sin.

148

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me;

152

156

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 month to bleed.
Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.
Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my
age:

160 Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. Gaunt. When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again. K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. Mow. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.

164

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,-168
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here,
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear,
The which no balm can cure but his heart-
blood

172 Which breath'd this poison. K. Rich. Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. Mow. Yea, but not change his spots: but my shame,

take

And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford

176

Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 192 The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. [Exit GAUNT.

K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command: 196

Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day:
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 200
The swelling difference of your settled hate:
Since we cannot atone you, we shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.
Marshal, command our officers-at-arms
Be ready to direct these home alarms. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-The Same. A Room in the DUKE
OF LANCASTER'S Palace.

204