Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
Difburs'd I to his Highnefs' foldiers;
The other part referv'd I by confent,
For that my Sovereign Liege was in my debt,
Upon remainder of a dear account,

Since laft I went to France to fetch his Queen.
Now, Swallow down that lye.--For Gloucester's death,
I flew him not; but, to mine own difgrace,,
Neglected my fworn duty in that cafe.
For you my noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
A trefpafs that doth vex my grieved foul;
But ere I laft receiv'd the facrament,
I did confefs it, and exactly begg'd
Your Grace's pardon; and I hope I had it.
This is my fault; as for the reft appeal'd,
It iffues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degen'rate traitor :
Which in myfelf I boldly will defend,
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
To prove myself a loyal gentleman,

Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bofom,
In hafte whereof, moft heartily I pray

Your Highness to affign our trial-day.

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; Let's purge this choler without letting blood. * Good uncle, let this end where it begun : We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your fon. Gaunt. To be a make-peace fhall become my age; Throw down, my fon, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.

Gaunt. When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I fhould not bid again.

without letting blood.

This we prefcribe, though no phyfician;
Deep malice makes too deep incision:
Forget, forgive, conclude and be agreed:
Our doctors fay, this is no time to bleed
Good uncle, &c.

K. Rich.

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no 'boot.

Mowb. Myfelf I throw, dread Sovereign, at thy foot. My life thou fhalt command, but not my shame; The one my duty owes; bur my fair name, (Defpight of death, that lives upon my grave), To dark dishonour's ufe thou shalt not have. I am difgrace'd, impeach'd, and baffled here, Pierce'd to the foul with flander's venom'd fpear: The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poifon.

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood:

Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.
Mowb. Yea, but not change their spots: take but
my fhame,

And I refign my gage. My dear, dear Lord,
The pureft treasure mortal times afford,

Is fpotless reputation; that away,

Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd up cheft,
Is a bold fpirit 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. Coufin, throw down your gage; do you begin.

Boling. Oh, heaven defend my foul from fuch foul fin! Shall I feem creft-fall'n in my father's fight, Or with pale beggar face impeach my height, Before this out-dar'd daftar'd? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with fuch feeble wrong, Or found fo bafe a parle, my teeth fhall tear The flavish motive of recanting fear, And fpit it bleeding, in his high difgrace,

Where fhame doth harbour, ev'n in Mowbray's face.

[Exit. Gaunt K. Rich. We were not born to fue, but to command; Which fince we cannot do to make you friends,

Be ready as your lives fhall anfwer it,

At Coventry upon Saint Lambert's day.

* Motive, for inftrument.

2

There

There fhall your fwords and lances arbitrate
The fwelling diff'rence of your fettled hate :
Since we cannot atone you, you shall fee
Juftice decide the victor's chivalry.
Lord Marshal, bid our officers at arms
Be ready to direct these home-alarms

[Exeunt.

Changes to the Duke of Lancaster's palace. Enter Gaunt, and Duchefs of Gloucester. Gaunt, Alas! the part I had in Glo'fter's blood * Doth more folicit me than your exclaims, To tir against the butchers of his life. But fince correction lieth in thofe hands, Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of Heav'n; Who when it fees the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no fharper fpur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward's fev'n fons, whereof thyself art one,
Were as fev'n vials of his facred blood;

Or fev'n fair branches fpringing from one root:
Some of thofe fev'n are dry'd by Nature's courfe;
Some of those branches by the deft'nies cut:
But Thomas, my dear Lord, my life, my Glo'ster,
(One vial full of Edward's facred blood,

One flourishing branch of his moft Royal root),
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor fpilt;
Lhack'd down, and his fummer-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'ft and breath'ft,
Yet art thou flain in him; thou doft confent
In fome large measure to thy father's death;
In that thou feeft thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is defpair.

* Meaning the relation he had to it,
VOL. IV.
B

In

In fuff'ring thus thy brother to be flaughter'd,)
Thou fhew't the naked path-way to thy life,
Teaching flern murder how to butcher thee.
That which in mean men we intitle patience,
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breafts.
What shall I fay? to fafeguard thine own life,
The best way is to 'venge my Glo'ster's death.

Gaunt. God's is the quarrel; for God's fubftitute, His deputy anointed in his fight,

Hath caus'd his death: the which if wongfully,
Let God revenge; for I may never lift

An angry arm against his minifter.

Dach. Where then, alas, may I complain myself? Gaunt. To Heav'n, the widow's champion and de

fence.

[wel.

Duch. Why then, I will: farewel, old Gaunt, fareThou go't to Coventry, there to behold Our coufin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. O, fit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's fpear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune mifs the first career, Be Mowbray's fins fo heavy in his bofom, That they may break his foaming courfer's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lifts, A caitiff recreant to my coufin Hereford!

Farewel, old Gaunt; thy fometime * brother's wife With her companion Grief muft end her life.

Gaunt. Sifter, farewel; I must to Coventry. As much good fay with thee, as go with me!

Duch. Yet one word more; grief boundeth where it Not with the empty hollownefs, but weight: [falls, I take my leave before I have begun ;

For forrow ends not when it feemeth done.'
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York :
Lo, this is all nay, yet depart not fo;
Though this be all, do not fo quickly go:
I fhall remember more: Bid him

oh, what??

With all good fpeed at Plafhie vifit me.
Alack, and what thall good old York see there,
But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,

* i. e. formerly.

Unpeopled

Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?

And what hear there for welcome, but my groans
Therefore commend me,-let him not come there!
To feek out forrow that dwells every where;
All defolate will I from hence, and die;
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The lifts at Coventry.

Enter the Lord Marshal, and the Duke of Aumerle. Mar. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd ? Aum. Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in. Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, fprightfully and bold, Stays but the fummons of the appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay For nothing but his Majesty's approach. [Flourish. The trumpets found, and the King enters with his Nobles: when they are fet, enter the Duke of Norfolk in arms, defendant.

T

K. Rich. Marfhal, demand of yonder champion Y The caufe of his arrival here in arms; Afk him his name, and orderly proceed To fwear him in the juftice of his cause.

art?

Mar. In God's name and the King's, fay who thou [To Mowb. And why thou com'ft thus knightly clad in arms? Against what man thou com'ft, and what thy quarrel? Speak truly on thy knighthood, and thine oath, And fo defend thee Heav'n, and thy valour!

Mowb. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Nor-
Who hither come, engaged by my oath, [ folk,
(Which heav'n 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 Heav'n!