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

Nor. 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
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers;
The other part reserv'd I by consent,
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
Upon remainder of a dear3 account,
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloster'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 receiv'd 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,

4

130

+ Exactly, i.e. precisely; without omitting any detail.

140

[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. Nor. Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame,

And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,],

5 When, here used as an expression of impatience.
There is no boot, there is no use (in refusing).
Bafl'd (pronounced baffel'd), i.e. abused, reviled.

180

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.

K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you begin.

Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin!

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

191

Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive1 of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. [Exit Gaunt.

K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command;

29

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 suff'ring 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 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 Gloster's death. Gaunt, God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,

His deputy anointed in His sight,

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

7 Model, image.