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 he sees the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

Duch. 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 dried 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 cracked, and all the precious liquor spilt;
Is hacked 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 mettle, that self-mould, that fashioned 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 slaughtered,
Thou show'st the naked pathway 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 shall I say? To safeguard thine own life,
The best way is to 'venge my Gloster's death.

Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for Heaven's substitute,

His deputy anointed in his sight,

Hath caused 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 Heaven, 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 sometime 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 unfurnished walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?

And what cheer 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 Lord Marshal, and AUMERLE.

Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed? Aum. 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 prepared, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach.

Flourish of trumpets. Enter KING RICHARD, who takes his seat on his throne; GAUNT, and several Noblemen, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and answered by another trumpet within. Then enter NORfolk,

in armor, 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 thy oath; As so defend thee Heaven, and thy valor!

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 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!

[He takes his seat.

Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBROKE, in armor; 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;

And formally, according to our law,

Depose him in the justice of his cause.

Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou hither,

Before king Richard, in his royal lists?

Against whom com'st thou? and what's thy quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee Heaven!
Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Am I; who ready here do stand in arms,

To prove, by Heaven's grace, and my body's valor,
In lists, 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 person be so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists;
Except the marshal, and such officers
Appointed to direct these fair designs.

Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty; For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men That vow a lone and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave,

And loving farewell, of our several friends.

Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. Cousin 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 gored 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
leave of you;-
Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle;
Not sick, although I have to do with death;
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.

GAUNT.

O thou, the earthly author of my blood,- [To Gaunt. Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,

Doth with a twofold vigor lift me up

To reach at victory above my head,

Add proof unto mine armor with thy prayers;

And with thy blessings 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 lusty 'havior of his son.

Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee prosperous ! Be swift like lightning in the execution;

And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse, pernicious enemy.

Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.
Boling. Mine innocency, and Saint George to thrive!

[He takes his seat.

Nor. [Rising.] However, Heaven, or fortune, cast 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
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace
His golden, uncontrolled 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; securely I espy
Virtue with valor couched in thine eye.-
Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

[The King and the Lords return to their seats. Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!

Boling. [Rising.] 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 sovereign, 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 set 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 sovereign, and to him disloyal;
Courageously, and with a free desire,

Attending but the signal to begin.

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

[A charge sounded.

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 sound, While we return these dukes what we decree.

[A long flourish. [To the Combatants.

Draw near,
And list, what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soiled
With that dear blood which it hath fostered;