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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.
Dow. Each day itill better other's happiness;
K. Rich. We thank you both, yet one but flatters us,
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. +
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
Mowb. I take it up, and by that sword I swear,
I not light,
Mowb. Let not, Gr.
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 !
Mowb. O, let my Sovereign turn away his face,
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears,
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,
K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruld by me;
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
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.
Motive for instrumento