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K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to com- And throw the rider headlong in the lists,

mand:
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' you, we shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.-
Marshal, command our officers at arms
Be ready to direct these home alarms.
SCENE II.-The same. A room in the Duke of
Lancaster's palace. Enter Gaunt, and Duchess
of Gloster.

[Exeunt.

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 he sees 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; that bed, that
womb,

That metal, 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 consent4
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 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. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven'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 heaven, 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!
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,

(1) Reconcile. (2) Show. (3) Relationship.
(4) Assent
(5) A base villain.

A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometime 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.
Lo, this is all:-Nay, yet depart not so ;
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York.
Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
I shall remember more. Bid him-0, 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 cheer 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.
Lists set out, and a throne. Heralds, &c. at-
tending. Enter the Lord Marshal, and 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,

For nothing but his majesty's approach.
and stay

Flourish of trumpets. Enter King Richard, who
takes his seat on his throne; Gaunt, and several
noblemen, who take their places. A trumpet is
sounded, and answered by another trumpet with-
in. Then enter Norfolk in armour, preceded by
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!

Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of
Norfolk;

Who hither come engaged by my oath
(Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate!)
Both to defend my loyalty and truth,
To God, my king, and my 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!

[He takes his seat.

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Mar. The indeliant in ui taty greets your migh- 3 tn 'o defend umself, and to sporove

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fear of Hereford, Lancaster, und Derby, By God, is sovereign, and aim. laiyai;

And trivs to dw your hand, and take ʼn a leave.
K. Rich. Na will descend, and fnd um în jurulour, comis, uid with a fre tesire,

Conan af Herefort, as the cruise is night,
So why fortune in this ravaliches
Farewell, my stond; which ďď to-tay thon shed,
Lament we nay, but not revenge tree tead.

Boling. 9. let do noble ese or fine a lear
Por ne fe roe' 1 with Mowbri, 's spear;
As conident is he file on a 1 cht
A 31st a and, to I with Mowbray Tght..
M, lov.nord, To Lord Marshal. I take my
leue of jou :—

Of yan, me një cousin, lord Aumerie.
Not sek, albuon ch I have to do with death;
But juste, zonn“, and cheerly drawing breath.-
Lo, as it Parti in feasts, so I re reet
Te dantiest ast, to make the end most sweet:
( hon, the earthly author of my blood,—

(T Gaunt.

Whose Youthful wirit, in me regenerate,
Dota with a would vigour lift me up
To reach it victory above my head,-
Add oroof into my arno ip with the Orver;
And with thy blessings steel my janee's point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen' chat,
And furbish new the name of John of Graunt,
Even in the lusty haviour of his son.
Grunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee
prosperous!

Be swift like ghtning, in the execution;
And let Thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Puil, like amazing thunder, on the casque
Of the adverse permicions enemy:
Rome up the youthful blood, be viliant, and live.
Boling. Mine innocency, and Saint George to
[He takes his seat.
Nor. [Riving. However heaven, or fortune, cast.
my lot,

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There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne,
A lovai, just, and upright gentleman:
Never did captive with a freer heart

(1) Vielding. (2) Brighten up. (3) Helmet. (4) Play a part in a mask.

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And for we think the earle-winged pride
of Kvasnicing and ambitious 'houghts,
With Tal-hating envy, set you on

To wak: our peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
Which so rous' up with boisterous untun'd drius,
With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
And grating shock of wra hful trom arms,
Might from our quiet contines fright fair peace,
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood;
Therefore, we banish you our territories.
You, cousin Hereford, upon pan of death,
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields,
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Boung. Your will be done: This must my com-
fort he,-

That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me;
And those his golden beams, to you here lent,
Shill point on me, and gild my banishment.

K. Rich, Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom.

Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
The dy-slow hours shall not determinate

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The dateless limit of thy dear exile ;-
The hopeless word of-never to return,
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your highness' hand.
The language I have learn'd these forty years,
My native English, now I must forego:
And now my tongue's use is to me no more,
Than an unstringed viol, or a harp;
Or, like a cunning instrument cas'd up,
Or, being open, put into his hands

That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,
Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lips;
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now;
What is thy sentence then, but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native
breath?

K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate; After our sentence, plaining comes too late.

Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's light,

Gaunt. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me,
He shortens four years of my son's exile:
But little vantage shall I reap thereby ;
For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend,
Can change their moons, and bring their times
about,

My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light,
Shall be extinct with age, and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me see my son.

K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give:

Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow:
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him for my death;
But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave;
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower?
Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in digestion

sour.

You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather, You would have bid me argue like a father :O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: A partial slander sought I to avoid, [Retiring. And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say,

To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.

thee.

Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven,
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves,)
To keep the oath that we administer:-

You never shall (so help you truth and heaven!)
Embrace each other's love in banishment;
Nor never look upon each other's face;
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor never by advised' purpose meet,
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
Boling. I swear.

Nor. And I, to keep all this.

Boing. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy ;-
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our souls had wander'd in the air,
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:
Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burden of a guilty soul.

Nor. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence!
But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know;
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.-
Farewell, my liege:-Now no way can I stray;
Save back to England, all the world's my way.

[Exit. K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspéct Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away;-Six frozen winters spent, Return [To Boling.] with welcome home from banishment.

Boling. How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs, End in a word; Such is the breath of kings.

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I was too strict, to make mine own away:
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue,
Against my will, to do myself this wrong.

K. Rich. Cousin, farewell:-and, uncle, bid him so;

Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
[Flourish. Exeunt K. Rich, and train,
Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must
not know,

From where you do remain, let paper show.
Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,
As far as land will let me, by your side.

Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,

That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?
Boling I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue's office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolour" of the heart.
Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly

gone.

Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.

Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure.

Boling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so, Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home-return. Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me, what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages; and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else, But that I was a journeyman to grief?

Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visita Are to a wise man ports and happy havens :

(5) Had a part or share.
(6) Reproach of partiality.

(7) Grief,

Teach thy necessity to reason thus ;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not, the king did banish thee;
But thou the king: Wo doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say-I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not-the king exil'd thee: or suppose,
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st:
Suppose the singing birds, musicians;

The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence' strew'd;

The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps, no more
Than a delightful measure, or a dance:
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.
Boling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast!
Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good,
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never raukle more,
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.
Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on

thy way:

Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay. Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu

My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!
Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,-
Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman.

[Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. A room in the king's castle. Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green; Aumerle following.

K. Rich. We did observe.-Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him.

K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were shed?

Aum. 'Faith, none by me: except the north

east wind,

Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
Awak'd the sleeping rheum; and so by chance,
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

K. Rich, What said our cousin, when you parted with him?

Aum. Farewell:

And, for my heart disdained that my tongue
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
To counterfeit oppression of such grief,
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd

hours,

And added years to his short banishment,
He should have had a volume of farewells;
But, since it would not, he had none of me.

K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,
Observ'd his courtship to the common people :-
How he did seem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtesy ;
What reverence he did throw away on slaves;
(1) Presence-chamber at court. (2) Growling.

Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles,
And patient underbearing of his fortune,
As 'twere, to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
A brace of draymen bid-God speed him well,
And had the tribute of his supple knee,
With--Thanks, my countrymen, my loving
friends ;-

As were our England in reversion his,
And he our subjects' next degree in hope.

Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts.

Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland ;-
Expedient manage must be made, my liege;
Ere further leisure yield them further means,
For their advantage, and your highness' loss.

K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war.
And, for our coffers-with too great a court,
And liberal largess,-are grown somewhat light,
We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm;
The revenue whereof shall furnish us

For our affairs in hand: If that come short,
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,
And send them after to supply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland presently.
Enter Bushy.

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SCENE I.-London. A room in Ely-house. Gaunt on a couch; the Duke of York, and others, standing by him.

Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe my last,

In wholesome counsel to his unstaied youth. York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;

For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain;

For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.

He, that no more must say, is listen'd more
Than they whom youth and ease have taught to

glose; s

More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before:
The setting sun, and music at the close,

As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last;
Writ in remembrance, more than things long past:
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
(4) Because. (5) Flatter.

(3) Expeditious

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