His golden uncontroul'd enfrahchisement, K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: fecurely I efpy Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I'cry-amen. To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, And dares him to fet forward to the fight. 2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found falfe and recreant, Both to defend himself, and to approve Attending but the fignal to begin. [A charge founded. Mar. Sound, trumpets; and fet forward, combatants. Stay, the king has thrown his warder down. K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets, and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again ות n This feaft of battle]-War is death's feaft. to jeft,]-to bear a part in a revel, or mask. warder]-truncheon. Withdraw with us ;-and let the trumpets found, Draw near, [A long flourish; after which, the king Speaks to the combatants. And lift, what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth fhould not be foil'd Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' fwords; [And for we think, the eagle-winged pride Of sky-afpiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, fet you on To wake our peace, which in our own country's cradle Draws the fweet infant breath of gentle fleep ;] Which fo rouz'd up with boisterous untun'd drums, And harsh-refounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating fhock 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 fummers 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 fun, 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 fome unwillingness pronounce : The fly-flow hours fhall not determinate To wake our peace,]-by thefe tumultuous jars. 4 regreet-revifit. The The dateless limit of thy dear exile ;- Mowb. A heavy fentence, my moft fovereign liege, As to be caft forth in the common air, That knows no touch to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you have 'engoal'd my tongue, Is made my gaoler to attend on me. Too far in years to be a pupil now; What is thy fentence then, but fpeechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compaffionate; W After our sentence, plaining comes too late. Mowb. Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in folemn fhades of endless night. K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal fword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven, dear-fad, dreadful, fatal. A dearer mede, and not, &c.-A better reward. tengoal'd]-imprisoned. W "portcullis'd,]-barr'd. compaionate,]-plaintive, to deplore thy fate. (Our (Our part therein we banish with yourselves) To keep the oath that we adminifter: You never fhall, (fo help you truth and heaven!) Nor ever look upon each other's face; This lowering tempeft of your home-bred hate; To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, 'Gainst us, our state, our fubjects, or our land. Boling. I swear. Mowb. And I, to keep all this. Boling. Norfolk, fo far as to mine enemy ;- Mowb. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor, And I from heaven banifh'd, as from hence! And all too foon, I fear, the king fhall rue. Farewell, my liege :-Now no way can I stray; 2 Save back to England, all the world's my way. [Exit. * (Our part therein]-Our claim to your allegiance. Yegreet,]-mutually falute, addrefs each other in any friendly manner. 2 fo far as to mine enemy ;]-fo far have I addreffed thee as mine enemy; take my last advice friendly, as I give it. Save back to England, all the world's my way.]-Except returning to England; the whole world befide is open before me. Hath Hath from the number of his banish'd years [To Boling. Return with welcome home from banishment. My inch of taper will be burnt and done, fon. K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou haft many years to live. Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou can'ft give: Shorten my days thou canft with sullen forrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow: To smooth his fault I would have been more mild: party-verdi-was a party in the verdict. A par |