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DUKE OF AUMERLE, son to the Duke of Captain of a band of Welshmen.

York.

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QUEEN to King Richard.
DUCHESS OF YORK.

DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER.

Lady attending on the Queen.

ACT I.

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other attendants.

SCENE: England and Wales.

SCENE I. London. A room in the Palace.

Enter KING RICHARD, attended; JOHN OF GAUNT, and other Nobles,

with him.

K. RICH. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son,
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,

Which then our leisure would not let us hear,

Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ?
GAUNT. I have, my liege.

K. RICH. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,

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If he appeal the duke on ancient malice,

Or worthily, as a good subject should,

On some known ground of treachery in him?

GAUNT. As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him,

Aim'd at your highness,-no inveterate malice.

K. RICH. Then call them to our presence; face to face,

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And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear

The accuser and the accuséd freely speak:
High stomach'd are they both and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORFOLK.

BOLING. Many years of happy days befal
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
NOR. Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown!

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K. RICH. We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,

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Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

BOLING. First, heaven be the record to my speech! In the devotion of a subject's love,

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Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,

Come I appellant to this princely presence.
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak
My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,
Too good to be so, and too bad to live,
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.

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Once more, the more to aggravate the note,

With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;

And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,

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What my tongue speaks my right-drawn sword may prove.

NOR. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:

'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,

The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,

Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain:

The blood is hot that must be cooled for this:

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