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 outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong,
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive 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 com

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, you shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.
Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms
Be ready to direct these home-alarms.

J2

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Same. A Room in the Duke of LANCASTER'S Palace.

Enter GAUNT and Duchess of GLOSTER.

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 they see the hours ripe on Earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

Duchess. 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 dri'd 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 flourishing branch of his most royal root,
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spill'd;

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 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 suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murther 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. God's is the quarrel; for God'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 God, 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,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford !
Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes 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.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York.
Lo, this is all: - nay, yet depart not so;
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,
Unpeopl'd offices, untrodden stones?

And what hear 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., attending. Enter the Duke of SURREY as Lord Marshal, and AUMERLE as High Constable.

Marshal. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?

Aumerle. 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, and

stay

For nothing but his Majesty's approach.

Flourish. Enter King RICHARD, who takes his seat on his throne; GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and answered by another trumpet within. 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 thine oath,

As so defend thee Heaven and thy valour!

Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Nor

folk;

Who hither come, engaged by my oath,

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

To God, my King, and his 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!

Trumpets sound.

Enter BOLINGBROKE, in armour, preceded by a Herald.

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

Thus plated in habiliments of war;