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 champion's are prepar'd, and stay
For nothing but his majesty's command. A Trumpet is sounded, 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 Heaven's name, and the King's, say who thou art,
And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms?
Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath;
And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour!

Nor.
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;
Who hither come engaged by my oath,
Both to defend my loyalty and truth,
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals 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, demand of 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?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

Bol.
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,
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! [He takes his seat.

King-at-arms.
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.

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

K. Rich.
We will descend, and fold him in our arms. [Flourish of Trumpets. Bolingbroke rises, and kneels to the King.
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight!

Bol.
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:—
O thou, the earthly author of my blood,— [To Gaunt.
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers;
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point.

Gau.
Heaven in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.

Bol.
Mine innocency, and St. George to thrive! [He takes his seat.

Nor. (kneeling to the King.)
However heaven or fortune cast my lot,
There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne,
A loyal, just and upright gentleman:
Most mighty liege,—and my companion peers,—
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years;
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,^{21 note}
Go I to fight; Truth hath a quiet breast.

K. Rich.
Farewell, my lord: securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.—
Order the trial, Marshal, and begin. [Flourish of Trumpets—The King and the Lords return to their seats, and the Combatants mount their horses.

Mar.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Receive thy lance; heaven defend the right!

Bol.
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,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to heaven, his king, and him,
And dares him to set forward to the fight.

2 Her.
Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To heaven, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal.

Mar.
Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. [A Charge sounded.
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder^{22 note} down.

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—Combatants dismount, and resume their chairs.
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;^{23 note}
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspéct
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords;
Therefore, we banish you our territories:—
You, couzin Hereford, upon pain of death,
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields,
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

Bol.
Your will be done: This must my comfort be,—
That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me;
And those his golden beams, to you here lent,
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.

K. Rich.
Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
The hopeless word of—never to return
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.(L)8Q0128

Nor.
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:
The language I have learn'd these forty years,
My native English, now I must forego:
And now my tongue's use is to me no more,
Than an unstringed viol or a harp.
What is thy sentence then, but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?
Then thus I turn me from my country's light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [Retiring.

K. Rich.
Return again, and take an oath with thee.
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven,
To keep the oath that we administer:—

You never shall (so help you truth and heaven!)
Embrace each other's love in banishment;
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor never by advised^{24 note} purpose meet,
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

Bol.
I swear.

Nor.
And I, to keep all this.
If ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence!
But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know;
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.
Farewell, my liege.—Now no way can I stray;
Save back to England, all the world's my way.(M)8Q0129 [Exit.

K. Rich.
Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspéct
Hath from the number of his banish'd years
Pluck'd four away;—Six frozen winters spent,
Return [to Bolingbroke] with welcome home from banishment.

Bol.
How long a time lies in one little word!
Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs,
End in a word; such is the breath of kings.

Gau.
I thank my liege, that, in regard of me,
He shortens four years of my son's exile:
But little vantage shall I reap thereby;
For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend,
Can change their moons, and bring their times about,
My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light,
Shall be extinct with age, and endless night.

K. Rich.
Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,^{25 note}
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower?
Cousin, farewell:—and, uncle, bid him so;
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. [Flourish. Exeunt King Richard and Train.

Aum.
Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know,
From where you do remain, let paper show.

Mar.
My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,
As far as land will let me, by your side.

Gau.
O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?

Bol.
I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue's office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolour^{26 note} of the heart.

Gau.
What is six winters?—They are quickly gone.
Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure.

Bol.
My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.

Gau.
All places that the eye of heaven visits,
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens:
Teach thy necessity to reason thus;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not, the king did banish thee;
But thou the king: Woe doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
For gnarling^{27 note} sorrow has less power to bite
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.

Bol.
O, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good,
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.

Gau.
Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way.

Bol.
Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet:
Wheree'er I wander, boast of this I can,—
Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman.(N)8Q0130 [Exeunt. END OF ACT FIRST.

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