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Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
Disburs’d I to his Highness' soldiers ;
The other part reservd 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 lie. For Gloucester's death,
I flew him not; but, to mine own disgrace,
Neglected my sworn duty in that cafe.
For you, my Noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
Once did l·lay an ambulh for your life,
Atrespass that doth vex my grieved soul;
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 reft 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 bosom.
In hafte whereof, moft heartily I pray,
Your Highness to assign our trial-davi.

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, 5ę rul'd ky me;
Let's purge this choler without letting blocat..
Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you ypur fon.

Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age;.
Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

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

Gaụnt. When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again. K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.A 3 3.

Mowb.

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

me

Mowb. Myself I throw, dread Sovereign, at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame; The one my duty owes; but my fair name, (Despight 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 fpear: The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison.

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood: Give

his

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

Thame,
And I relign 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-times-barr’d-up cheft,
Is a bold spirit 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. Confin, throw down your gage; do you begin.

Boling. Chehtaven defend my foul from fuch foul lin!
Shall I feein creft falin in my father's fight,
*Or with, pale beggar face impeach my height,
Delare this out-far'd daftard? Ere my tongue
SYtallewound my honour with fuch feeble wrong,

Oi found:fo.bafe a parle, my teeth shall tear
The flavith motive t of recanting fear,
And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace,
Where shame doth harbour, evin in Mowbray's face.

[Exit Gaunt.
K. Rich. We were not born to fue, 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.
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
The swelling diff'rence of your settled hate:

Since

.

Motive for instrument.

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Since we cannot atone you, you shall see
Justice decide the victor's chivalry.
Lord Marshal, bid our officers at arms
Be ready to direct thefe home alarms.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Changes to the Duke of Lancaster's palace.

Enter Gaunt, and Dutchess of Gloucester.

Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Glo'ster's blood +
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims,
To ftir against the butchers of his life.
But fince correction lieth in those 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.

Dutch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward's sev'n fons, whereof thyself art one,
Were as sev'n vials of his facred blood,
Or fev'n fair branches springing from one root:
Some of those fev'n are dry'd by Nature's course;
Some of those branches by the dest’nies cut:
But Thomas, my

dear Lord, my

life,

my Glo'ster, (One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his moft Royal root,) Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ; Is hack'd down, and his summer-leaves all faded, By Envy's hand, and Murder's bloody ase! 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'it and breath't, Yet art thou sain in him; thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death; In that thou-feest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair,

In + Meaning the relation he had to it.

:- for I

never

In fi-F'ring thus thy brother to be Naughter'd,
Thou shew'ft the naked path-way to thy life,
Teaching ftern Murther how to butcher thee.
That which in mean men we intitle patience,
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
What shall I say? 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 substituté,
His deputy anointed in his fight,
Hath caus'd his death: the which if wrongfully,
Let God revenge:

may

lift An

angry arm against his minifter. Duch. Where then, ałas, may I complain myself? Gaunt. To Heav'n, the widow's champion and de

fence. Dutch. Why then, I will: farewell, old Gaunt, farewell. Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold Our coutin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. O, fit

my

husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breaft!
Or, if misfortune miss the first career,
Be Mowbray's fins so heavy in his bosom,
That they may break his foaming courser's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lifts,
A caitiff recreant to my coufin Hereford!
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometime + brother's wife
With her companion grief must end her life.

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

Dutch. Yet one word more; grief boundeth where it Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: [falls, I take

my

leave before I have begun;
For forrow ends not when it seemeth done.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York:
Lo, this is all

--nay, yet depart notifo;
Though this be all, do not so quickly go:
I shall remember more. Bid him oh, what?
With all good speed at Plashie visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York see there,
But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,

Unpeopled

ti. e. Formerly.

Unpeopled offices, untrodden ftones?
And what hear there for welcome, but my groans?
Therefore commend me,- let him not come there
To seek 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 armid? Aum. Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.

Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of th' 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.

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?

[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 so defend thee Heav'n, and thy valour!

Mowb. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, Who hither come, engaged by my oath, (Which Heav'n defend a knight should violate!) Both to defend my loyalty and truth, To God, my King, and my fucceeding 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 myfelf, A traitor to my God, my King, and me? And, as I truly fight, defend me Heav'n!

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