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.

Obedience bids I should not bid again.

160

When, Harry, when?

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.
Mow. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:

I

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

K. Rich.

Rage must be withstood:
Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.
Mow. Yea, but not change his spots: take but
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,

The

purest treasure mortal times afford

Is spotless reputation: that away,

Men are 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.

my

shame,

K. Rich. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.
Boling. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!
Shall I seem crest-fall'n ia my father's sight?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this out-dar'd dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound my honour 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 harbour, even in Mowbray's face.

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190

[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:

tence is dislocated for the sake of rhyme.

188 Despite of death: that is, that lives upon my grave despite of death. The sen16 his spots: a heedless adaptation of the words of the well known passage in Jere

mình xin. 20.

There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate:
Since we can not atone you, we shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.

Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms
Be ready to direct these home alarms.

SCENE II. London.

200

[Exeunt.

The DUKE OF LANCASTER's palace.

Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER.

Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Glou'ster'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 vials 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 Glou'ster,
One vial 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 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 slaughter'd,
Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murther how to butcher thee:

202 atone make at one again; reconcile.

1 Glow ster: Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester, Gaunt's brother; who was accused of treason, and put to death at Calais in 1397.

7 Who, when they see, etc. Heaven God was commonly referred to by a plural pronoun. hours has the quantity of a dissyllable.

That which in mean men we intitle patience

Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,
The best way is to venge my Glou'ster'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.

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

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 thy brother, Edmund York.
Lo, this is all:
Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
- nay, yet depart not so;
I shall remember more. Bid him.

-ah, 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 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.

40

50

60

[Exeunt.

he was only fifty-eight years old. S., ignorant of his age, supposed him to be older. Old Gaunt. He is repeatedly spoken of in this play as very aged and infirm ; but

sometimes late.

Plashy: a castle in Essex; the seat of Thomas of Woodstock.

SCENE III. The lists near Coventry.

Enter the DUKE OF SURREY, as Lord Marshal, and the DUKE OF 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 prepar'd, and stay

For nothing but his majesty's approach.

The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his nobles, GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, enter MOWBRAY in arms, defendant, with 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:
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath;

And so defend thee heaven and thy valour!

Mow. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;
Who hither come engaged by my oath -

Which God defend a knight should violate! —
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 my God, my King, and me:

And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

The trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE, appellant, in armour, with a Herald.
K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,

Both who he is and why he cometh hither

Thus plated in habiliments of war,

10

20

And formally, according to our law,

Depose him in the justice of his cause.

30

Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou hither,

Before King Richard in his royal lists?

Against whom com'st thou? and what 's thy quarrel?

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,

Scene III. I doubt that this scene was written by S., except some two or three of the later speeches.

30 Depose him in swear him in. The unwarrantable perversion of the sense of “depose" is manifest, but there is no corruption.

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!

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 highness,
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 gor'd with Mowbray's spear:
As confident as is the falcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.

40

50

[To Lord Marshal.] My loving lord, I take my leave of you; 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:

[To Gaunt.] O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,

Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up

To reach at victory above my head,

Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers;

And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,

That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,

And furbish new the name of John o' Gaunt,

Even in the lusty haviour of his son.

Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution;

And let thy blows, doubly redoubleèd,

Fall like amazing thunder on the

casque

10 spirit: one syllable, spreet.

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20

70

80