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Have I not here the best cards for the game,

To win this easy match, play'd 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.

Lew. Outside or inside. 1 will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified,
As to iny ample hope was promised
Before I drew this gallant head of war.
And cull'd these fiery spirits from tke world,
To outlook conquest, and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.—

[ Trumpet sounds. What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

Enter the Bastard, attended.

Bast. 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
1 come, to learn how you have dealt for him;
And, as you answer, 1 do know the scope
And warrant limited unto iny 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.

Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd. The youth says well.—Now, hear our English king; For thus his royalty doth speak in me. He is prepar'd; and reason too, he should: This apish and unmannerly approach. This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel, This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops. The king doth smile at; and is well prepar'd 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, lock'd 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 arm6d Englishman ;— Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, That in your chambers gave you chastisement J No I Know, the gallant monarch is in anus; And, like an eagle o'er his aiery, towers. To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.— And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts. You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb Of your dear mother England, blush for shame; For your own ladies, ana pale-visag'd 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.

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
And so shall you, being beaten: do but start [out;
An echo with the clamour of thy drum.
And even at hand a drum is ready brae'd.
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 lcg;ite here,
Whom he hath us'd 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 your drums, to find this danger out.

Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.—Near St. Edmund's-Bury. A Field of Battle.

Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert. K. John. Howgoes the dav with us? Q» teU me, Hubert.

Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty t A" John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long, Lies heavy on me ;—O, my heart is sick I Pinter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge, Desires your majesty to leave the field, And send him word by ine which way you go. A', yokn. TeU 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.

A'. Joh>i. Ah me 1 this tyrant fever burns me up, And will not let me welcome this good news. Set on toward Swinstead: to my Titter straight Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Exeunt,

SCENE IV.—NearS: Edmund's-Bury. Another Part of the Field.

EtUer Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, and others.

Sat. I did not think the king so stor'd with fnends.

Pern. 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.

Pern. They say, king John sore sick hath left the field.

Enter Meluu, -wounded, and led by Soldiers. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. Sal. When we were happy we had other names. Pern: It is the count Melun.

Sat. Wounded to death.

Mel. Fry, 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 tak«By cutting off your heads: thus hath he s And 1 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 e /erlasting love. .Sir/. May this be possible* mry this be true? Met. Have I not hideous dead within my view Retaining but a quantity of iii>. Which bleeds away, even as a fo; tu of wax Resulvclh from his figure 'gaiustine firef What in the world should make'ine now deceive. Since I must lose the use of ail deceit? Why should 1, then, be false, since it is true That 1 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 cast: 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 grandsirc was an Englishman,— Awakes my conscience to confess all this. In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence From forth the noise and rumour 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.

Sal. We do believe thee:—and beshrew my soul. But I do love the favour 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 1 do see the cruel pangs of death Right in thine eye.—Away, my friends! New flight. And liappy newness, that intend* old right.

'leading off Melun.

V.—Near St. Edmund's-Bury. The French
Camp.

Enter Lewis and his train.

Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set. But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush. When the English measur'd backward their own In faint retire. 0, bravely came we off, [ground, When with a volley of our needless shot. After such bloody toil, we bid good night; And wound our tottering colours clearly up, Last in the field, and almost lords of it 1 Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin!

Lew. Here :—what news?

Mess. The count Mclun is slain: the English lords. By his persuasion, are again fallen off; And your supply, which you have wished so long. Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands.

Lew, Ah, foul shrewd news 1—Beshrew thy very I did not think to be so sad to-night, [heart I—

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 toThe day shall not be up so soon as I, [night: To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.—An open Place in the Neighbourhood o/\ Swinstead-Abbey.

Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting; Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I Bast. A friend.—What art thou? [shoot. Hub. Or the part of England

Bast. 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, 1 think?

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought:

I will, upon all hazards, well believe
Thou art my friend, that knowest my tongue so well.
Who art thou?

Bast. Who thou wilt: an if thou please.

Thou mayest befriend me so much as to think
I come one way of the I'lantagenets. [night,

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless
Have done me shame:—brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent breaking from thy tongue
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

Bast. 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.

Bust. Show me the very wound of this ill news:
I am no woman. 111 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 tune,
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. Whom 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 hath pardon d them,
And they are all about his majesty.

Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven.
And tempt us not to bear above our power I—
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing thuse flats, are taken by the tide,
These Lincoln washes have devoured them;
Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd.
Away, before 1 conduct me to the king;
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.—The Orchard of Swinstead Abbey.

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. P. Hen. It is to* 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.

Pern. His highness yet doth speak; and holds belief, That, being brought into the open air. It would allay the burning quality Of that fell poison which assaiieth him.

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.-* [Exit Bigot.

Doth he still rage?

Pern. He is more patient

Than when you left him ; even now he sung.

P. Hen. O, vanity of sickness 1 fierce extremes
In their continuance will not feci 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. jfohn. 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?

A'. John. Poison'd,—ill-fare ;—dead, forsook, cast And none of you will bid the winter come, [off; To thrust his icy fingers 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 much, I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait, And so ingratefut, you deny me that.

P. Hen, O, that there were some virtue in my tears. That might relieve you 1

K. John. The salt in them is hoL—

Within ine is a hell; and there the poison
Is, as a fiend, confin'd 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. yohn. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: The tackle of my 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 Oiie poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news oe uttered; And then all this thou seest is but a clod, And model of confounded royalty.

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

[The King dies.

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.—

My liege I my lord 1—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 now a king, and now is clay?>

Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind To do the office for thee of revenge, •\nd 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 mended And instantly return with me again, [faiths;

To. push destruction, and perpetual shame,

Out of the weak door of our fainting" land.
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

Sal. It seems you know not, then, so much as we:
The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest.
Who half an hour since caine from the Dauphin,
And brings from him such offers of our peace
A5 we witn honour and respect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.
, 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,
If you think meet, this afternoon will post
To consummate this business happily.

Bast. Let it be so: and you, my noble prince.
With other princes that may best be spar d,
Sliall wait upon your father s funeral

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

Bast. Thither sh:t!! it, th n;

And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land I'
To whom, with al! submission, on my knee,
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. [thanks,

P. Hen. I have a kind soul that would give you 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, 1 Come the three corners of the world in arms. And we shall shock them : nought shall make us rue. If England to itself do rest but true, \Exeunt,

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ACT I.

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,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
Agninst the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
Gaunt. I have, iny liege.

K. Rich. Tell ine, moreover, hast thou sounded
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice: [him,
Or worthily, as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in himt

Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that nrguOn some apparent danger seen in him, [ment,— 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
Th' accuser, and th' accused, freely speak :—

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

Rc-ettter Attendants, with Botingbroke and Norfolk.

Boliug. Many years of happy days befall My gracious sovereign, my most lovmg liege I

Aorf. Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap.
Add an immortal title to your crown 1
A'. 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.—
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray t

Bolinjr. First, (heaven be the record to my In the devotion of a subject's love. [speech 0

Tendering the precious safety of my prince,*
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.—
Mow, 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 iny 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 1 thy tin t at,
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 clamour of two eager tongnes, Can arbitrate this cause bctwuct 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 retucn'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat Setting aside his high Wood's royalty. And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 1 do defy htm, and I spit at him; Call him a sland'rous coward, and a villain; Which to maintain, 1 would allow him odds; And meet him, were 1 tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable, "Wherevex Englishman durst set his foot. Meantime, let this defend my loyalty,— !By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.

Baling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage.

Disclaiming here the kindred of the king;
And lay aside my high blood's royalty.
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except:
If guHty 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.
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 1 be traitor, or unjustly fight!

K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's ■It must be great, that can inherit us [charge? So much as of a thought of ill in him.

Baling. 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 forlewd employments,
Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
Besides, 1 say, and will in battle prove,—
Or here, or elsewhere, to the farthest 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
Farther, I say,—and farther will maintain
Upon his bad lifeto make all this good,—
That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death;

Suggest his soon-believing adversaries.
Ana consequently, like a traitor coward, fblood ..
Siuic'd out his innocent soul through streams ofj
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 I
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?

Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face. And bid his ears I little while be deaf. Till I have told this slander of his blood How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. [cars A'. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and 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 neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul: He is our subject, Mowbray, so an thou; Free speech and fearless, 1 to 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 hail for Calais, DisbmVd I duly lo his highness' soldiers; The other part reserv'd I by consent. For that my sovereign liege was in my debt, Upun remainder of a dear account.

Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:

"low swallow down that lie.—For Gloster's
slew him not; but, to mine own disgrace.
Neglected iny sworn duty in that case.
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe.
Once did 1 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 begg'd
Your grace's pardon, and 1 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 ctiamber'd in his bosom.
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.

A", Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'dby DW|
Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
This we prescribe, thoughno 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 :—

Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk s gage.
A". Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.
Gaunt. When, Harry? wheal

Obedience bids, I should not bid again.
K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there b
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 dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgrae'd, impeachVI, and baffled here; Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear. The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison.

A". Rich. Rage must be withstood :—

Give me his gage:—Hons make leopards tame.
Nor. Yea, but not change his spots: take but toy
shame.

And I resign my gage My dear dear lord.
The purest treasure mortal times afford.
Is spotless reputation; that away.
Men arc but gilded loam, or painted clay.
, A jewel in a ten times barr'd up chest
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;
Take honour from me, and my life is done:

Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
In that I live, and for that will I die. [beffin.
A'. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage ; do you
Boling. O, God defend my soul from .such foul sin
Shall 1 seem crest-faH'n in my father's sight
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this out-dar'd dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong,
Or sound so base a parte, my teeth shall tear
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;

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 yoK, we shall see

lustice design the victor's chivalry.

Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms

Be ready to direct these home alarms. [Exeunt

SCENE II.—London. A Room in the Duke of
Lancaster's Palace.

Enter Gaunt and Duchess of Gloster.
Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Gloster's blood

Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims.

To stir against the butchers of his life:
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 they see the hours ripe on earth.
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' 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 nourishing 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 I that bed, that womb.
That mettle, 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 sl.iughter'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. God's is the quarrel: for God'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.

Ditch. Where then, alas I may I complain myself?

Gaunt. To God, 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 I 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 I Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes 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 I

Ditch. Yet one word more.—Grief boundeth where it falls.

Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:

1 take my leave before I have begun;

For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.

Commend nie to my brother, Edmund York.

Lo 1 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 1 and what shall good old York there see,

But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,

Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?

And what hear 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.

Cists set out, anda Throne. Heralds, Gv., attending. Enter the Lord Marshal and Aumerle.

Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford ann'd? Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Mar, The duke of Norfolk, spright fully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why, then, the champions are prepard, and stay

For nothing but his majesty's approach.

Flourish of Trumpets. Enter King Richard. iuho takes his seat on his Throne; Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green, and others, who take their places. A Trumpet is sottnded, and ansTvered by another Trumpet within. Then enter Norfolk, in armour, preceded by a Herald. A*. 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. (art. Mar. In God's name and the king's, say ■who thou And why thou corn's! thus knightly clad in arms; Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thine oath; As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!

Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of NorWho hither come engaged by my oath, [folic. (Which, God defend, a Knight should violate I) Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God. my king, and his 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 iny God, my king, and me: And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven I

[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 coineth hither
Thus plated in habiliments of war;
And formally, according to our law.
Depose hiin in the justice of his cause.

Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com*sl thon Before king Richard in his royal lists? (hither, Against whom comest thou ? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven I

Boiing. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derbjt Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by God'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 1

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. [hand, Boling. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's 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, ana take his leave. A'. Rich. [Descends from his throne ] We will descend, and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right. So be thy fortune in this royal light. Karewefl, my blood; which if to-day thou shed. Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

Holing. O, let no noble eye profane a tear For me. if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear: As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord. I take my leave of you ;— Of you, liiy 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 vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head,— Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel iny 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. [perousr Gaunt. God in thy good c.iuse make thee prosBe swift like lightning in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious encmj: Rouse up thy youthful bloo . .,j valiant and live.

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