At Coventry upon Saint Lambert's day.
There fhall your Swords and Lances arbitrate
The fwelling diff'rence of your settled hate:
Since we cannot atone you, you shall see
Juftice decide the Victor's Chivalry.
Lord Marshal, bid our officers at Arms
Be ready to direct these home-alarms.
Changes to the Duke of Lancaster's Palace.
Enter Gaunt and Dutchess of Gloucefter.
Las! the part I had in Glo'fter's blood
Doth more follicit me, than your Exclaims, To ftir against the butchers of his life.
But fince correction lyeth in those hands,
Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our Quarrel to the will of heav'n;
Who when it fees the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Dutch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper fpur ?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward's fev'n fons, whereof thy felf art one,
Were as fev'n vials of his facred blood;
Or fev'n fair branches, fpringing from one root:
Some of those fev'n are dry'd by Nature's Courfe;
Some of those branches by the Deft'nies cut:
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glo'fter,
(One vial, full of Edward's facred blood;
One flourishing branch of his moft royal root ;)
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor fpilt ;
Is hackt down, and his fummer 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'ft and breath'st,
Yet art thou flain in him; thou doft confent
In fome large measure to thy father's death;
In that thou fee'ft thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life;
C
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair.
In fuff'ring thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou fhew'ft the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching ftern murther how to butcher thee.
That which in mean men we entitle Patience,
Is pale cold Cowardise in noble breasts :
What fhall I fay? to fafeguard thine own life,
The best way is to 'venge my Glo'fter's death.
Gaunt. God's is the Quarrel; for God's Subftitute, His Deputy anointed in his fight,
Hath caus'd his death; the which if wrongfully,
Let God revenge, for I may never lift
An angry arm against his Minister.
Dutch. Where then, alas, may I complain my felf? Gaunt. To heav'n, the widow's Champion and Defence. [wel. Dutch. Why then, I will: farewel, old Gaunt, fareThou go'ft to Coventry, there to behold
Our Coufin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
O, fit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's fpear,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune mifs the first career,
Be Mowbray's fins fo heavy in his bofom,
That they may break his foaming Courfer's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lifts,
A caitiff recreant to my coufin Hereford!
Farewel, old Gaunt; thy fometime brother's wife
With her companion Grief muft end her life.
Gaunt. Sifter, farewel; I muft to Coventry.
As much Good ftay with thee, as go with me!
Dutch. Yet one word more; grief boundeth where
it falls,
Not with the empty hollownefs, but weight:
I take my leave, before I have begun ;
For Sorrow ends not, when it feemeth done.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York:
Lo, this is all-nay, yet depart not so ;
Though this be all, do not fo quickly go :
I fhall remember more. Bid him
With all good speed at Plasbie vifit me.
Alack, and what fhall good old York fee there
But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,
Un-peopled offices, untrodden stones ?
And what hear there for welcome, but my groans?
Therefore commend me,-let him not come there
To feek out forrow that dwells every where ;
All defolate, will I from hence, and die;
The laft Leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.
Enter the Lord Marshal, and the Duke of Aumerle.
Y lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?
Aum. Yea, at all points, and longs to en-
Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, fprightfully and bold, Stays but the Summons of th' Appellant's trumpet.
Aum. Why, then the Champions are prepar'd, and stay For nothing but his Majefty's approach. [Flourish. The trumpets found, and the King enters with his Nobles: when they are fet, Enter the Duke of Norfolk in arms, Defendant.
K. Rich. Marthal, demand of yonder Champion The cause of his arrival here in arms;
Ask him his name, and orderly proceed
To fwear him in the justice of his Cause.
Mar. In God's name and the King's, fay who thou
art? [To Mowb. And why thou com'ft, thus knightly clad in arms? Againft what man thou com'ft, and what thy quarrel? Speak truly on thy Knighthood, and thine Oath, And fo defend thee heaven, and thy valour!
Mob. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Nor
Who hither come engaged by my oath,
(Which, heav'n defend, a Knight fhould violate!)
Both to defend my Loyalty and Truth,
To God, my King, and my fucceeding Iffue,
Against the Duke of Hereford, that appeals me ;
And by the grace of God, and this mine arm,
То prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my King, and me ;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heav'n!
Enter Bolingbroke, Appellant,
K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder Knight in arms,
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 juftice of his Caufe.
Mar. What is thy name, and wherefore com'ft thou Before King Richard, in his royal Lifts?
Against whom comeft thou? and what's thy Quarrel?
Speak like a true Knight, fo defend thee heav'n!
Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancafer and Derby
Am I, who ready here do ftand in arms,
To prove, by heav'n's grace and my body's valour,
In Lifts, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolk,
That he's a traitor foul and dangerous,
To God of heav'n, King Richard, and to me ;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heav'n!
Mar. On pain of death, no perfon be fo bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the Lifts,
Except the Marshal, and fuch Officers
Appointed to direct these fair defigns.
Boling. Lord Marfhal, let me kifs my Sovereign's
And bow my knee before his Majefty
For Mowbray and my felf are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious Leave,
And loving Farewel, of our feveral friends.
Mar. Th' Appellant in all duty greets your Highness,
And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave.
K. Rich. We will defcend and fold him in our arms. Coufin of Hereford, as thy Cause is right,
So be thy Fortune in this royal fight !
Farewel, my Blood; which if to day thou fhed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
Boling. Oh, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's fpear:
As confident, as is the Faulcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My loving lord, I take my leave of you,
Of you, my noble Coufin, lord Aumerle;
Not fick, although I have to do with Death;
But lufty, young, and chearly drawing Breath.
Lo, as at English Feafts, fo I regreet
The daintiest laft, to make the end most sweet:
Oh thou! the earthly author of my blood, [To Gaunt.
Whofe youthful fpirit, 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 Bleffings fteel my Lance's point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen Coat,
And furbish new the Name of John O' Gaunt
Ev'n in the lufty 'haviour of his fon.
Gaunt. Heav'n in thy good Caufe make thee profpeBe fwift like Lightning in the execution,
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the Cafque
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.
Rouze up thy youthful blood, be brave and live.
Boling. Mine innocence, God and St. George to
thrive!
Mob. However heav'n or fortune caft my lot, There lives, or dies, true to King Richard's Throne, A loyal, juft and upright Gentleman :
Never did Captive with a freer heart
Caft off his chains of bondage, and embrace
His golden uncontroul'd enfranchisement,
More than my dancing foul doth celebrate
This Feast of battle, with mine adversary.
Moft mighty Liege, and my companion Peers,
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years;
• As gentle and as jocund, as to just,
Go I to fight: Truth hath a quiet breast.
6 As gentle and as jocund, as to JEST.] Not fo neither. We fhould read, to JUST, i, e. to tilt or tourny, which was a kind of fport too.
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