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Caunt. I have, my Liege.

k'. Rich. Tell me morcover, haft thou founded him, If he appeal * the Duke on ancient malice, Or wortily, as a good fubjeet mould, On some hrown ground of treachery in him ?

Caunt. As near as I could lift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aim'd at your Highness; no invet’rate malice.

K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear Th’accufer and th’accused freely speak : . High-itomach'd are they both, and full of ire; In rage, draf as the fea; haity as fire,

S CE N E II.

Enter Bolingbroke, and Mowbray.
Boling. May many years of happy days befa!
My gracious Sovereign, my most loving Liege !

Dow. Each day itill better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown!

K. Rich. We thank you both, yet one but flatters us,
As well appeareth by the cause you come ;
Namely, t appeal each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what doit thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

Bcling. First, (Heaven be the record to my speech!), In the devotion of a subject's love, Tend'ring 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 foul answer it in heav'n. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant t.

* i. c. call, demand, challenge, from appello. Mr Pope. +

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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Mowb. 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 cool'd for this: Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say. First, the fair rev’rence of your Highness curbs me, From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post, until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat, Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my Liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him a sland'rous coward, and a villain; Which to maintain, I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I ty'd to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground unhabitable, Where never Englishman durft fet his foot. Mean time, let this defend my loyalty; By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lye.

Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my
Disclaiming here the kindred of a King, [gage,
And lay alide my high blood's royalty;
(Which fear, not rev'rence, makes thee to except) :
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength,
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop.
By that, and all the rights of knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoken, or thou canst devise.

Mowb. I take it up, and by that sword I swear,
Which gently laid my knighthood on my thoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial;
And when I mount, alive may

I not light,
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight!
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
And wish, so please my Sov’reign, ere I move,
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prover

Mowb. Let not, Gr.

prove

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K. Rich. What doth our coufin lay to Mowbray's It must be great, that can inhabit us

[charge? So much as of a thought of ill in him. Boling. Look what I faid, my life shall it

true, That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thoufand nobles, In name of lendings for your Highness' foldiers, The which he hath detain’d for lewd employments; Like a false traiter and injurious villain. Besides, I say, and will in battle prove, Or here, or elsewhere, to the fui theft verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, That all the treasons for these eighteen years, Complotted and contrived in this land, Fetch from falfe Mowbray their firit head and spring. Further, I say, and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Glouceiter's death; Suggest his foon-believing adverfaries; And consequently, like a traitor-coward, Sluc'd out his inn'cent soul through streams of blood; Which blood, like facrificing Abel's, cries Even from the tongurless cayerns of the earth, To me, for justice, and rough chastisement. And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution foars !
Thomas of Norfolk, what fay'it thou to this?

Mowb. O, let my Sovereign turn away his face,
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
*Till I have told this flander of his blood,
How God and good men hate fo foul a lyar.

K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears,
Were he our brother, nay, our kingdoin’s heir,
As he is but our father's brother's fon;
Now by my fceptre's awe, I make a vow,
Such neighbour-nearness to our facred blood
Should nothing priv'lege hiin, nor partialize
Th’unftooping firmness of my upright.foul,
He is our subject, Mowbray, fo art thou;
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

Mowb. Ther, Bolirgbroke, as low as to thy hear's Through the fulle pasage of thy throat, thou lycit!

Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
Dilburs'd I to his Highness' foldiers;
The other part referv'd I by consent,
For that my Sovereign Liege was in my debt,
Upon remainder of a dear account,
Since last 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 disgrace,
Negleited my sworn duty in that case.
For you, my Noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
A trespass that doth vex my grieved foul;
But ere I last receiv'd the facrament,
I did confess it, and exactly begg’d
Your Grace's pardon; and I hope I had it.
This is my fault; as for the rest appeal’d,
It issues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degen’rate traitor :
Which in myself 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, most heartily I pray
Your Highness to allign our trial-day.

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruld 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 son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.

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

-without letting blood. This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision : Forget, forgive, conclude and be agreed: Our doctors fay, this is no time to blcedo Good uncle, 6

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

boot.
Mowb. Myself I throw, dread Sovereign, at thy
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame; [foot.
The one my duty owes ;

but
my
fair

name,
(Despite of death, that lives upon my grave),
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here,
Pierc'd to the soul with slander’s venom'd spear :
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
Which breath'd this poison.

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood : Give me his gage : lions make leopards tame. Mowb. Yea, but not change their spots: take but

my shame, And I resign my gage. My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford, Is spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-tiines-barr'd up chest, 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. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you be

gin. Boling. Oh, heaven defend my soul from such foul sin! Shall I seem crest-fall’n in my father's fight, Or with pale beggar face impeach my height, Before this out-dar'd daftard ? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with fuch feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The Navish motive * of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, ev’n in Mowbray's face.

[Exit Gaunt. K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command; Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry upon Saint Lambert's day.

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