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 received eight thousand nobles

In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,

The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,

冰粉

Like a false traitor and injurious villain.

Besides I say and will in battle prove,
Or here or elsewhere 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 Gloucester's death,
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,

And consequently, like a traitor coward,

Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of 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.

King Richard. How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?

Mowbray. 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,

90

ΙΙΟ

King Richard. 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 neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize

120

The unstooping firmness of my upright soul:
He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

Mowbray. 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
Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;
The other part reserved 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. For Gloucester's death,

I slew him not; but to my own disgrace
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
Once did I 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 I 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

130

140

Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray

150

Your highness to assign our trial day.

K. Richard. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me;

Let's purge this choler 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 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: 160 Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

King Richard. And, Norfolk, throw down his.

Gaunt.

When, Harry, when?

Obedience bids I should not bid again.

K. Richard. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. Mowbray. 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 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 breathed this poison.

King Richard.

Rage must be withstood:

Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.

170

Mow. Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame,

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.

180

King Richard. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.
Bolingbroke. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!

Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong,

190

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.

[Exit Gaunt. King Richard. 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 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.

200

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace.

Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS
OF GLOUCESTER.

Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock'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.

Duchess. 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 Gloucester,
One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,

ΙΟ

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 livest and breathest,
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 showest the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
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 Gloucester's death.

Gaunt. God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,
His deputy anointed in His sight,

Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully,
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift

An angry arm against His minister.

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

Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and defence.

Duchess. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
Thou goest 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!

20

30

40

50