Is hack'd 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'ft, and breath'st,
Yet art thou flain in him: thou doft confent

In some large measure to thy father's death,
In that thou feeft thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair :
In fuffering thus thy brother to be flaughter'd,
Thou shew'ft the naked path-way 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 fhall I fay? to fafeguard thine own life,
The best way is to 'venge my Glofter's death.
is-to

Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's fubftitute, His deputy anointed in his fight,

Hath caus'd his death: the which if wrongfully,

Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift

An angry arm against his minifter.

Dutch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself? Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and defence, Dutch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold

Our coufin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:
O, fit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's fpear,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
Or if misfortune mifs the first career,
Be Mowbray's fins fo heavy in his bofom,
That they may break his foaming courfer's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lifts,

z complain]-bewail.

Bb 3

A caitiff

a

* A caitiff recreant to my coufin Hereford!
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy fometime brother's wife,
With her companion grief muft end her life.
Gaunt. Sifter, farewell: I muft to Coventry :
As much good stay with thee, as go with me!
Dutch. Yet one word more ;-Grief boundeth where
it falls,

Not with the empty hollownefs, but weight:
I take my leave before I have begun;
For forrow ends not, when it feemeth done.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York.
Lo, this is all :-Nay, yet depart not so;
Though this be all, do not fo quickly go;
I fhall remember more. Bid him-Oh, what?—
With all good speed at Plafhy vifit me.

Alack, and what fhall good old York there fee,
But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,

h

Unpeopled offices, untrodden ftones?

And what hear there for welcome, but my groans?
Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
To feek out forrow-That dwells every where:
Defolate, defolate, will I hence and die;

The laft leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

[Exeunt.

The Lifts, at Coventry.

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.

A caitiff recreant]-A wretch reduced fo low as to cry out for

mercy.

b

unfurnish'd]-naked--In our old caftles the ftone walls were covered with tapestry, hung upon hooks, whence it was readily removed, together with the family.

Mar.

Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the fummons of the appellant's trumpet.

Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay For nothing, but his majefty's approach.

[Flourish.

The trumpets found, and the King enters with Gaunt, Bushy,
Bagot, and others: when they are fet, enter the duke of
Norfolk in armour.

K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion
The cause of his arrival here in arms:
Ask him his name; and orderly proceed
To fwear him in the juftice of his caufe.

Mar. In God's name, and the king's, fay who thou art, [To Mowbray. And why thou com'ft, thus knightly clad in arms; Against what man thou com'ft, and what thy quarrel : Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath,

'As fo defend thee heaven, and thy valour!

Mowb. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk;

Who hither come engaged by my oath,

d

(Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate!)
Both to defend my loyalty and truth,

To God, my king, and his fucceeding iffue,
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!

Trumpets found. Enter Bolingbroke, appellant, in armour.

K. Rich. Marshal, afk yonder knight in arms, Both who he is, and why he cometh hither

Thus plated in habiliments of war;

And formally according to our law

Depofe him in the juftice of his caufe.

Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st 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 heaven!

Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Am I; who ready here do ftand in arms,

To prove, by heaven'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 heaven, king Richard, and to me;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

Mar. On pain of death, no períon be so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lifts;
Except the marshal, and fuch officers

Appointed to direct these fair defigns.

Boling. Lord marshal, let me kifs my fovereign'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 feveral friends.

Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your highness,

[To K. Rich.

And craves to kifs your hand, and take his leave.

K. Rich. We will defcend and fold him in our arms. Coufin 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. Oh, let no noble eye profane a tear

Depofe him]-Examine him upon his oath.

For

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 daintiest laft, to make the end moft fweet:
Oh thou, the earthly author of my blood,—

[To Gaunt.

Whose youthful spirit, 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 of Gaunt,
Even in the lufty 'haviour of his fon.

Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause 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 valiant and live.
Boling. Mine innocency, and faint George' to thrive!
Mowb. However heaven, or fortune, caft my lot,
There lives, or dies, true to king Richard's throne,
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman :

Never did captive with a freer heart

Caft off his chains of bondage, and embrace

h regreet]-falute.

My loving lord, &c.]-To the Lord Marthal, T. Holland, Duke of Surrey. 1 waxen coat,]-as eafily to be penetrated by me, as if compofed of wax ;-flexible. the cafque]-helmet.

to thrive !]-1 invoke their aid.