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 hither,

Before King Richard, in his royal Lifts? [To Boling. Against whom comeft thou? and what's thy Quarrel? Speak like a true Knight, fo defend thee heav'n!

Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster 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 so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the Lifts,
Except the Marthal, and fuch Officers
Appointed to direct these fair defigns.

Baling. Lord Marfhal, let me kifs my Soveraign's hand,
And bow my knee before his Majefty:
For Mowbray and my self are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious Leave
And loving Farewel of our several friends.
Mar. Th' Appellant in all duty greets your Highness.
[To K. Rich.
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 Caufe is right,

So be thy Fortune in this royal fight;

Farewel, my Blood; which if to day thou fhed, (4) 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 spear :
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 daintieft laft, to make the end moft fweet:
Oh thou! the earthly author of my blood, [To Gaunt,
Whose 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 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 lufty 'haviour of his fon.

Gaunt. Heav'n in thy good Caufe make thee profperous! Be 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! Mowb. 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 Feaft of battel, with mine adverfary. Moft mighty Liege, and my companion Peers,

tenet, longumq; tenebit

Tarpeias arces Sanguis tuus.

vos, O Superi, meus, ordine Sanguis,

Ne pugnate cdiis.

&c. &c. &c.

Sil. Italicus. Lib. 3.

Statius. Theb. lib. 3.

Take

Take from my mouth the wish of happy years;
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,
Go to fight: Truth hath a quiet breaft.

K. Rich. Farewel, my lord; fecurely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the tryal, Marshal, and begin.

Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Receive thy Lance; and heav'n defend thy Right!
Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry Amen.
Mar. Go bear this Lance to Thomas Duke of Norfolk.
1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Stands here for God, his Soveraign and Himself,
On pain to be found falfe and recreant,

To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, his King, and him;
And dares him to fet forward to the fight.

2 Her. Here ftandeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
On pain to be found falfe and recreant,
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
To God, his Soveraign, and to him, difloyal:
Courageously, and with a free defire,
Attending but the Signal to begin. [A Charge founded.
Mar. Sound,Trumpets; and fet forward, Combatants.
-But ftay, the King hath thrown his warder down.
K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets, and their
fpears,

And Both return back to their chairs again :
Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets found,
While we return thefe Dukes what we decree.

Draw near;

[A long Flourish after which, the King Speaks to the Combatants.

And lift, what with our Council we have done.

For that our Kingdom's earth fhould not be foil'd
With that dear blood, which it hath foftered;

And, for our eyes do hate the dire aspect

Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbour fwords; And for we think, the eagle-winged pride

Of sky-afpiring and ambitious thoughts

With rival-hating Envy fet you on,

To wake our Peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle fleep;
(Which thus rouz'd up with boift'rous untun'd drums,
And harfh-refounding trumpets dreadful Bray,
And grating fhock of wrathful iron arms,
Might from our quiet Confines fright fair Peace,
And make us wade even in our kindreds blood :)
Therefore, we banish you our Territories.
You coufin Hereford, on pain of death,
Till twice five Summers have enrich'd our fields,
Shall not re-greet our fair Dominions,

But tread the ftranger paths of Banishment.

Boling. Your will be done: this must my comfort be, That Sun, that warms you here, fhall fhine on me : And thofe his golden beams, to you here lent, Shall point on me, and gild my Banishment.

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier Doom, Which I with fome unwillingness pronounce. The fly-flow hours fhall not determinate The datelefs limit of thy dear exile: The hopeless word, of never to return, Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

Mowb. A heavy Sentence, my moft foveraign Liege,
And all unlook'd for from your Highness' mouth;
A dearer merit, not fo deep a maim,

As to be caft forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your Highness' hands.

The language I have learn'd these forty years,
My native English, now I muft forgo;

And now my tongue's ufe is to me no more,
Than an unftringed viol, or a harp,
Or, like a cunning Inftrument cas'd up,

Or being open, put into his hands

That knows no touch to tune the harmony.

Within my mouth you have engoal'd my tongue, (s),

(5] Within my Mouth you have engoal'd my Tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my Teeth and Lips:] Mr. Pope has degraded and thrown out of the Text, on Image convey'd in the fecond Line, as I prefume.

Doubly

These Verfes Account of the I am far from praifing

Doubly port-cullis'd with my Teeth and Lips:
And dull, unfeeling, barren Ignorance
Is made my Goaler 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 speechlefs death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compaffionate; . After our Sentence, Plaining comes too late.

Mowb. Then thus I turn me from my Country's light. To dwell in folemn fhades of endless night.

K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with ye.
Lay on our royal Sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to heav'n,
(Our part therein we banish with your felves,)
To keep the oath that we adminifter:

You never fhall, (fo help you truth, and hean!)
Embrace each other's love in Banishment;

Nor ever look upon each other's face,
Nor ever write, re-greet, or reconcile

This low'ring tempeft of your home-bred hate;
Nor ever by advised purpose meet,

To plot, contrive, or complot any Ill,

'Gainft us, our State, our Subjects, or our Land. Boling. I fwear.

Mowb. And I, to keep all this.

Boling. Norfolk, fo far, as to mine enemy:-
By this time, had the King permitted us,
One of our fouls had wandred in the air,
Banish'd this frail fepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish'd from this Land.
Confefs thy treasons, ere thou fly this Realm;
Since thou haft far to go, bear not along
The clogging burthen of a guilty foul.

Mowb. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,

.

praifing the Metaphor; but, perhaps, the Ufage might be defended for once from the Example of our Mafter Homer.

̓Ατρείδη, ποιόν σε έπθ φύγεν έρκΘ οδόντων. Iliad. Δ. ν. 350. The pnow here, methinks, approaches very nigh to the Idea of a Port-cullife.

My