First the fair rev'rence of your Highness curbs me
From giving reins and fpurs to my free speech,
Which elfe would poft, until it had return'd
These terms of treafon doubled down his throat,
Setting afide his high blood's royalty,
Let him but be no kinsman to my Liege,
And I defie him, and I fpit at him,

Call him a flanderous coward, and a villain;
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds,
And meet him, were I ty'd to run a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground unhabitable,
Where never Englishman durft set his foot.
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty;
By all my hopes, moft falfly doth he lie.

Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of a King,

And lay afide my high blood's royalty,
(Which fear, not rev'rence, makes thee to except ;)
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength,
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop.
By that, and all the rites of knighthood elfe,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoken, as what thou haft devised.
Morub. I take it up, and by that fword I swear,
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,

Or chivalrous design of knightly tryal;

And when I mount, alive may I not light,

If I be traitor, or unjustly fight!

K. Rich. What doth our coufin lay to Motobray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us

So much as of a thought of ill in him.

Boling. Look, what I faid, my life fhall prove it true; That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, In name of lendings for your Highness' foldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd imployments; Like a falfe traitor and injurious villain. Befides, I fay, and will in battel prove, Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge VOL, IV.

Z

That

That ever was furvey'd by English eye;

That all the treafons for thefe eighteen years,
Complotted and contrived in this land,

Fetch from falfe Mowbray their first head and spring.
Further, I fay, and further will maintain,

That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,
Suggeft his foon-believing adverfaries,

And confequently, like a traitor-coward,

Sluc'd out his inn'cent foul through ftreams of blood;
Which blood, like facrificing Abel's, cries
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
To me, for juftice, and rough chastisement.
And by the glorious worth of my defcent,
This arm fhall do it, or this life be spent.

K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution foars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what fay'ft thou to this?
Motub. O, let my Sovereign turn away his face,
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,

"Till I have told this flander of his blood,

How God and good men hate fo foul a liar.

K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears.
Were he my brother, nay, our kingdom's heir,
As he is but my father's brother's fon;
Now by my scepter's awe, I make a vow,
Such neighbour-ncarness to our facred blood
Should nothing priv'lege him, nor partialize
Th' unftooping firmness of my upright foul.
He is our fubject, Mowbray, fo art thou,
Free fpeech and fearless I to thee allow.

Morub. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart
Through the falfe paffage of thy throat, thou lieft!
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
Difburst I to his Highness' foldiers;

The other part referv'd I by consent,

For that my fovereign Liege was in my debt,
Upon remainder of a dear account,

Since last I went to France to fetch his Queen.

Now fwallow dewn that lie. For Gloucester's death,
I flew him not; but, to mine own disgrace,
Neglected my fworn duty in that cafe,

For

For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
Once I did lay an ambush for your life,
A trespass that doth vex my grieved foul;
But ere 1 laft receiv'd the facrament,
I did confefs it, and exactly begg'd
Your Grace's pardon; and I hope I had it.
This is my fault; as for the reft appeal'd,
It iffues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degen'rate traitor:
Which in my self I boldly will defend,
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this over-weening traitor's foot,
To prove my self a loyal gentleman,

Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bofom.
In hafte whereof moft heartily I pray

Your Highness to affign our tryal-day.

*

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; Let's this choler without letting blood: purge Good uncle, let this end where it begun, We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your fon. Gaunt, To be a make-peace fhall become my age; Throw down, my fon, the Duke of Norfolk's gage, K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.

Gaunt. When, Harry, when?

Obedience bids, I fhould not bid again.

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. Morub. My felf 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, Defpight of death, that lives upon my grave, To dark difhonour's ufe thou shalt not have. I am difgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffied here, Pierc'd to the foul with flander's venom'd fpear:

The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
Which breath'd this poison.

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood :

Give me his gage: Lions make Leopards tame.

Mowb. Yea, but not change their spots: take but my fhame,

And I refign my gage. My dear, dear Lord,
The pureft treasure mortal times afford,
Is fpotlefs 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.

K. Rich. Coufin, throw down your gage; do you begin. Boling. Oh, heav'n defend my foul from fuch foul fin! Shall I feem creft-fall'n in my father's fight,

Or with pale haggard fear impeach my height,
Before this out-dar'd daftard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound mine honour with fuch feeble wrong,
Or found fo bafe a parle, my teeth fhall tear
The flavish motive of recanting fear,
And spit it bleeding in his high difgrace,

Where fhame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.

[Exit Gaunt, K. Rich. We were not born to fue, but to command, Which fince we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives fhall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day. There fhall your fwords and lances arbitrate The fwelling diff'rence of your fettled hate : Since we cannot attone you, you shall fee Justice decide the victor's chivalry. Lord Marshal, bid our officers at arms Be ready to direct thefe home-alarms.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE III. The Duke of Lancaster's palace,
Enter Gaunt and Dutchess of Gloucester.
Gaunt. Alas, 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 fharper 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 springing from one root:
Some of thofe fev'n are dry'd by nature's course ;
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'st and breath'ft,
Yet art thou flain in him; thou doft confent
In fome large measure to thy father's death;
In that thou seeft thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is defpair.
In fuffering thus thy brother to be flaughter'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 cowardife in noble breasts.
What fhall I fay? to fafeguard thine own life,
The best way is to 'venge my Glo'fter's death.

• Meaning the relation he had to it,