Imatges de pÓgina

That they may break his foaming courser's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff 6 recreant to my cousin Hereford !
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife,
With her companion grief must end her life.

Gaunt, Sister, farewell : I must to Coventry :
As much good stay with thee, as go with me!
Duch. Yet one word more ;–Grief boundeth where

it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: I take my leave before I have begun ; For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all :-Nay, yet depart not so; Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him-0, what ? With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see, But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ? And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans ? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where : Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die; The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.




Gosford Green, near Corentry.

Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, &c. attending.

Enter the Lord Marshal, and 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 the appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why then, the champions are prepard, 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 unother 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 quarrel:

Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath;
And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour!

Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray ?, duke of Nora


Who hither come engaged by my oath,
(Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate !)
Both to defend my loyalty and truth,
To God, my king, and my succeeding 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 myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me :
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

[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,

In lists, on Thomas Mowbray duke of Norfolk,
That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous,
To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists;
Except the marshal, and such officers
Appointed to direct these fair designs.
Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's

hand, And bow my knee before his majesty : For Mowbray; and myself, are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ; Then let us take a ceremonious leave, And loving farewell, of our several friends. Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your high

ness, And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave.

K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our


Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

Boling. O, let no noble eye prophane a tear
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear;
As confident, as is the falcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.-
My loving lord, [To Lord Marshal.] I take my leave

of you;

Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle :
Not sick, although I have to do with death;
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet :
O thou, the earthly author of my blood, - [To Gaunt.
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up
To reach at victory above my head, -
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ;
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,
And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt,
Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.

Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee pro

sperous !

Be swift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy advérse pernicious enemy:
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.
Boling. Mine innocency, and saint George to thrive!

[He takes his seat. Nor. [Rising.] However heaven, or fortune, cast

my lot,
There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne,
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman :
Never did captive with a freer heart
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,

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