Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,
Their neclds to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.

Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;

We grant, thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.
Pand.
Give me leave to speak.

Bast. No, I will speak.
Lew.
We will attend to neither:-
Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war
Plead for our interest, and our being here.

Bast. 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 mock the deep-mouth'd 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-ribb'd death, whose office is this day
To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
Lew. Strike up our drums to find this danger out.
Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III-A Field of Battle.
Alarums. Enter KING JOHN, and HUBERT.
K. John. How goes the day with us? O, tell me,
Hubert.

Hub. Badly, I fear: How fares your majesty? K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long, Lies heavy on me: O, my heart is sick!

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,

Desires your majesty to leave the field;
And send him word by me, which way you go.
K. John. Tell him toward Swinstead, to the
abbey there.

Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply
That was expected by the Dauphin here,
Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands.
This news was brought to Richard but even now:
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

K. John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up, And will not let me welcome this good news.Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight: Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Another Part of the same. Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and others. Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with friends. Pem. Up once again; put spirit in the French; If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. Pem. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the field.

Enter MELUN wounded, and led by Soldiers. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. Sal. When we were happy, we had other names.

Pem. It is the count Melun. Sal. Wounded to death. Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold ;* Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, And welcome home again discarded faith. Seek out king John, and fall before his feet; For, if the French be lords of this loud day, He means to recompense the pains you take, By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworn, And I with him, and many more with me, Upon the altar at St. Edmund's Bury; Even on that altar, where we swore to you Dear amity and everlasting love.

Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view, Retaining but a quantity of life;

Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolved from his figure 'gainst the fire?'

What in the world should make me now deceive
Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
Why should I then be false; since it is true
That I must die here, and live hence by truth?
I say again, if Lewis do win the day,
He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east:

But even this night,-whose black contagious breath
Already smokes about the burning crest
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,-
Even this ill night your breathing shall expire;
Paying the fine of rated treachery,

Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king;
The love of him, and this respect besides,
For that my grandsire was an Englishman,-
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumor of the field;
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.

Sul. We do believe thee.-And beshrew my sou
But I do love the favor and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,
And calmly run on in obedience,

Even to our ocean, to our great king John.-
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New flight:
And happy newness, that inten's old right.
[Exeunt, leading off MELUN.

SCENE V.-The French Camp
Enter LEWIS and his Train.

Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loth to set; But stay'd and made the western welkin blush, When the English measur'd backward their own ground,

In faint retire: O, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil we bid good night;
And wound our tatter'd colors clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!
Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
Lew.
Here:-What news
Mess. The count Melun is slain; the English lords,
By his persuasion, are again fall'n off:
And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,
Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands.

Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news!-Beshrew thy very

heart!

I did not think to be so sad to-night,
As this hath made me.-Who was he, that said,
King John did fly, an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary powers?
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
Lew. Well; keep good quarter, and good care
to-night;

The day shall not be up so soon as I,
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI.-An open Place in the Neighborhood
of Swinstead-Abbey.

Enter the Bastard and HUBERT meeting.
Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or
I shoot.

Bast. A friend:-What art thou?
Hub.

Of the part of England. Bust. Whither dost thou go!

Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not I demand Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? Bast. Hubert, I think.

Hub.

Thou hast a perfect thought:

I will, upon all hazards, well believe

Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well Who art thou?

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless night,

Have done me shame:-1 rave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue,
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Bust. Come, come; sans compliment, what news
abroad?

Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night, To find you out.

Bast.

Brief, then; and what's the news? Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news; I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk:
I left him almost speechless, and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil; that you might
The better arm you to the sudden time,
Than if you had at leisure known of this.
Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him?
Hub. A monk, I tell you: a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king
Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover.
Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty?
Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all
come back,

And brought prince Henry in their company;
At whose request the king has pardon'd them,
And they are all about his majesty.

[Exeunt.

Bast. Withold thine indignation, mighty heaven!
And tempt us not to bear above our power!-
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide,
These Lincoln washes have devoured them;
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
Away, before! conduct me to the king;
I doubt, he will be dead, or e'er I come.
SCENE VII.-The Orchard of Swinstead-Abbey.
Enter Prince HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.
P. Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood
Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain
(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-
house)

Doth by the idle comments that it makes,
Foretell the ending of mortality.

Enter PEMBroke.

To thrust his icy lingers in my maw,
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold:-I do not ask you inuch
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait♦
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.

P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my tears That might relieve you!

K. John. The salt in them is hot.-
Within me is a hell; and there the poison
Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannize
On unreprievable condemned blood.
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 any heart is crack'd and burn'd; 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 modules of confounded royalty. And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod,

Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward; Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him For, in a night, the best part of my power, As I upon advantage did remove, Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The King dres Were in the washes, all unwarily,

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead as

ear.

My liege! my lord!-But now a king,-now thus. P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop, What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, When this was not a king, and now is clay!

Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind, To do the office for thee of revenge; And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, As it on earth hath been thy servant still.Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres Where be your powers? Show now your mende

faiths;

belief,

That, being brought into the open air,

It would allay the burning quality

Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard

here.

Doth he still rage?

[Exit BIGOT.
Pem.
He is more patient
Than when you left him; even now he sung.
P. Hen. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes,
In their continuance, will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies;
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death
should sing.-

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death;
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born To set a form upon that indigest

Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
Re-enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in KING
JOHN in a Chair.

K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow

room;

It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I shrink up.

P. Hen.

How fares your majesty?

Sal. It seems you know not then so much as we' The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin; And brings from him such offers of our peace With purpose presently to leave this war. As we with honor and respect may take,

Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath despatch'd
To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the cardinal:
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,
To consummate this business happily.
If you think meet, this afternoon will post

Bast. Let it be so:-And you, my noble prince, With other princes that may best be spared, Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd, For so he will'd it.

Bast.

Thither shall it then.
And happily may your sweet self put on
To whom, with all submission, on my knee.
The lineal state and glory of the land!
I do bequeath my faithful services
And true subjection everlastingly.

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make,
To rest without a spot for evermore.
P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you
thanks,

And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe,
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.→
This England never did (nor never shall)
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again,

off;

And none of you will bid the winter come,

• Without

And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us rue If England to itself do rest but true.

[Exeunt

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

K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honor'd Lan

caster,

Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, 1 Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, 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,

If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
Or worthily as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him?
Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argu-

ment,

On some apparent danger seen in him,
Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice.
K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face
to face,

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak:
[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
NORFOLK.

Boling. May many years of happy days befall y gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! Nor. Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown!

K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flat

ters us,

As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.

1 Bond

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,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.-
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak,
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;
And wish, (so please my sovereign.) ere I move,
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may
prove.

Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal. "Tis not the trial of a woman's war,

The bitter clamor of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain:
The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this,
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say:
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech:
Which else would post, until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
And let him be no kinsman to my liege,

I do defy him, and I spit at him;
Call him-a slanderous coward, and a villain
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds,
And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable,"
Wherever Englishman durst set his 1 pt.
Uninhabitable

Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,-
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw
my gage,

Disclaiming here the kindred of a king;
And lay aside my high blood's royalty,-
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except:
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength,
As to take up mine honor's pawn, then stoop;
By that, and all the rights of knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.
Nor. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear,
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
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!

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

It must be great, that can inherit us
So much as of a thought of ill in him.

Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it true;

That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles,
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers;
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain.
Besides I say, and will in battle prove,-
Or here, or elswhere, 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,
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 Gloster's death;
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries;
And, consequently, like a traitor coward,
Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams

blood:

Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
To me, for justice, and rough chastisement;
And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent,

K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?
Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face,
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
Till I have told this slander of his blood,
How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar.

Let's purge this cnoler 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.-
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.
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.

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, impeach'd, and baffled here; Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear; The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison.

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood; Give me kis gage:-Lions make leopards tame. Nor. Yea but not change their spots: take bu

my shame,

K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, and

ears:

Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
(As he is but my father's brother's son,)
Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow,
Such neighbor nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul;
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou;
Free speech, and fearless, I do thee allow.

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,
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers:
The other part reserv'd 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.

death,

For Gloster's

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 in 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 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 chair.ber'd in his bosom:

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-tear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere iny 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. [Exit GAUNT

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

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
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.
SCENE II.-The same. A Room in the Duke of
Lancaster's Palace.

[Exeunt

Enter GAUNT and DUCHESS OF GLOSTER. Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Gloster's bloo To stir against the butchers of his life. Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, But since correction lieth in those hands, Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when he sees the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offende s' heads.

Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?" Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven phials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the destinies cut: But, Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster,One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root,Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;

Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that
womb,

That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee, Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and breath'st,

Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father's death,
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair:
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
That which in mean men we entitle-patience,
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,
The best way is-to 'venge my Gloster's death.
Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's
substitute,

His deputy anointed in his sight,

Hath caus'd his death: the which, if wrongfully,
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
An angry arm against his minister.

Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself? Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and defence.

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 Mowbray's breast! 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-O, 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 every where:
Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die;
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Gosford Green, near Coventry. Lists set out, anda Throne. Heralds, &c., 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 armor, preceited 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:

• Her house in Essex.

Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath;
And so defend thee heaven, and thy valor!
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 myself,
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 armor, preceded by a Herald.

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in a me
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither
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 at thou hither,

Before king Richard, in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quar rel?

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 valor, 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 high

ness,

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;-

[TO GAUNT.

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,—
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a two-fold vigor lift me up
To reach at victory above my head,-
Add proof unto mine armor with thy prayers;
And with thy blessing 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 'havior of his son.

Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make the Be swift like lightning in the execution: prosperous! 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 innocen, and saint George to thrive! [He takes his seat. Nor. [Rising.] However heaven, or fortune, cast There lives or dies, true to king Richard' throne, my lot, A loyal, just, and upright gentleman: Never did captive with a freer heart