SCENE III. Gosford Green, near Coventry. Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, &c. attending. Enter the Lord Marshal, and 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, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. Flourish of Trumpets. Enter King RICHARD, who takes his seat on his throne; GAUNT, and several Noblemen, who take their places. A Trumpet is sounded, and answered by another Trumpet within. Then enter NORFOLK in armour, preceded by a Herald. 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, And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms : Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quar rel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath ; Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Who hither come engaged by my oath, (Which heaven defend a knight should violate!) To God, my king, and my succeeding issue, A traitor to my God, my king, and me: [He takes his seat. Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBROKE, in armour; preceded by a Herald. K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is, and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war; And formally according to our law Depose him in the justice of his cause. Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou hither, Before King Richard, in his royal lists ? Against whom comest thou; and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour, To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me; Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold, Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's And bow my knee before his majesty : For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; And loving farewell, of our several friends. ness, And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle : The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution; Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live. Boling. Mine innocency, and saint George to [He takes his seat. thrive! Nor. [Rising.] However heaven, or fortune, cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne, Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace Go I to fight; Truth hath a quiet breast. [The King and the Lords return to their seats. Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance, and God defend the right! Boling. [Rising.] Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. Mar. Go, bear this lance [To an Officer.] to Thomas duke of Norfolk. 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal; Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, com[A Charge sounded. Stay, the king hath thrown his warder' down. batants. K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again : Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound, While we return these dukes what we decree. [A long flourish. Draw near, [To the Combatants. And list, what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspéct Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords; [And for we think the eagle-winged pride To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle But tread the stranger paths of banishment. Boling. Your will be done: This must my comfort be, That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me; 7 Truncheon. |