Against what man thou com'ft, and what thy quarrel :
Speak truly on thy knighthood, and thy oath;

And fo 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 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!

[He takes his feat.

Trumpet founds. Enter BOLINGBROKE, in armour; preceded by a Herald.

K. Rich. Marthal, 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

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 lists?

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

To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me;
And, as I trufty fight, defend me heaven!

Mar. On pain of death, no perfon 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 kiss 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, 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 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. O, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear:
As confident, as is the falcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.

My loving lord, [To LORD MARSHAL.] 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 cheerly drawing breath.
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintieft last, to make the end moft fweet:
O thou, the earthly author of my blood,-

Whofe youthful spirit, in me regenerate,

[To GAUNT.

Doth

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 profper

ous !

Be fwift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the cafque

Of thy advérfe pernicious enemy :

Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.

Boling. Mine innocency, and faint George to thrive ! [He takes his feat. Nor. [Rifing.] However, heaven, 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 uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
This feast of battle with mine adversary.—
Most mighty liege,—and my companion peers,-
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years:
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,
Go I to fight; Truth hath a quiet breast.

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: fecurely I efpy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.-
Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

[The King and the Lords return to their feats. Mar.

Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!

Boling. [Rifing.] Strong as a tower in hope, I cry—

amen.

Mar. Go bear this lance [To an Officer.] to Thomas duke of Norfolk.

1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Stands here for God, his fovereign, and himself,
On pain to be found false 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 standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk,

On pain to be found false and recreant,

Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,

To God, his fovereign, and to him, disloyal;
Courageoufly, and with a free defire,

Attending but the fignal to begin.

Mar. Sound, trumpets; and fet forward, combatants.

[A charge founded.

Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.

K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, 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. [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 fostered;

And for our eyes do hate the dire aspéct

Of

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

Of sky-aspiring 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 fo rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums,
With harsh-refounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace,
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood ;-
Therefore, we banish you our territories :
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death,
Till twice five fummers have enrich'd our fields,

Shall not regreet our fair dominions,

But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

Boling. Your will be done: This must my comfort be,

That fun, that warms you here, shall shine on me;
And those 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 shall not determinate
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 fentence, my moft fovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim

As to be caft 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