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 th' Appellant's trumpet.

Aum.
Why then the champions are prepar'd, and stay
For nothing but his Majesty's approach. [Flourish. The trumpets sound, and the King enters with his nobles: when they are set, 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'st, thus knightly clad in arms?
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel?
Speak truly on thy knighthood, and thine oath,
And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour!

Mowb.
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
Who hither come engaged by my oath,
(Which heav'n forbid 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 my self,
A traitor to my God, my King, and me;
And as I truly fight, defend me heav'n! The trumpets sound. Enter Bolingbroke appellant, in armour.

K. Rich.
Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither,
Thus ^{i note}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? [To Boling.
Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heav'n!

Boling.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby
Am I, who ready here do stand in arms,
To prove, by heav'n'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 heav'n, King Richard, and to me;
And as I truly fight, defend me heav'n!

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 soveraign's hand,
And bow my knee before his Majesty:
For Mowbray and my self are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave
And loving farewel of our several friends.

Mar.
Th' Appellant in all duty greets your highness, [To K. Rich.
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,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight;
Farewel, my blood, which if to day thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

Boling.
Oh let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear:
As confident, as is the Faulcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My loving lord, I take my leave of you,

Of you, my noble Cousin, lord Aumerle.* ^note






Oh 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 ^{k note}furbish new the name of John a Gaunt
Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.

Gaunt.
Heav'n in thy good cause make thee prosperous,
Be swift like lightning in the execution,
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled on,
Fall like amazing thunder on the cask
Of thy ^{l note}adverse pernicious enemy.
Rouze up thy youthful blood, be ^{m note}brave and live.

Boling.
^{n note}Mine innocence, God and St. George to thrive!

Mowb.
However heav'n or fortune cast my lot,
There lives, or dies, true to King Richard's throne,
A loyal, just and upright gentleman:
Never did ^{o note}captive with a freer heart
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace
His golden uncontroul'd enfranchisement,
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
This feast of battel, with mine adversary.
Most mighty Liege, and my companion peers,
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years;

As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,
Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.

K. Rich.
Farewel, my lord, securely I espy
Virtue with valour, couched in thine eye.
Order the tryal, Marshal, and begin.

Mar.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Receive thy launce, and heav'n defend thy right.

Boling.
Strong as a tower in hope, I cry Amen.

Mar.
Go bear this launce to Thomas Duke of Norfolk.

1 Her.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Stands here for God, his soveraign, and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant;
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, his King, and him,
And dares him to set forward to the fight.

2 Her.
Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
To God, his soveraign, and to him, disloyal:
Courageously, and with a free desire,
Attending but the signal to begin. [A charge sounded.

Mar.
Sound trumpets, and set forward combatants.
—But stay, the King hath thrown his warder 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.
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 aspect
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours swords;

^{p note}And for we think, the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
With rival-hating envy, set you on,
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
(Which thus rouz'd up with boist'rous untun'd drums,
And harsh resounding trumpets dreadful bray,
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace,
And make us wade even in our kindreds blood:)
Therefore, we banish you our territories.
You cousin Hereford, on pain of death,
'Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields,
Shall not re-greet our fair dominions,
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:
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 fly-slow hours shall not determinate
The dateless limit of thy dear exile:
The hopeless word, of never to return,
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

Mowb.
A heavy sentence, my most soveraign Liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your highness' hands.
The language I have learn'd these forty years,
My native English, now I must forgo;
And now my tongue's use is to me no more,

Than an unstringed viol, or a harp,
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up,
Or being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.* ^note






I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now:
What is thy sentence then, but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

K. Rich.
It boots thee not to be compassionate;
After our sentence, plaining comes too late.

Mowb.
Then thus I turn me from my country's light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.

K. Rich.
Return again, and take an oath with ye.
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to heav'n
(Our part therein we banish with your selves,)
To keep the oath that we administer:
You never shall, so help you truth, and heav'n,
Embrace each others love in banishment,
Nor ever look upon each others face,
Nor ever write, re-greet, or reconcile
This low'ring tempest of your home-bred hate,
Nor ever by advised purpose meet,
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

Boling.
I swear.

Mowb.
And I, to keep all this.

Boling.
Norfolk, so far, as to mine enemy:
By this time, had the King permitted us,

One of our souls had wandred in the air,
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land.
Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly this realm,
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burthen of a guilty soul.

Mowb.
No, Bolingbroke; 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, heav'n, thou, and I do know,
And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.
Farewel, my Liege; now no way can I stray,
Save back to England; all the world's my way. [Exit.

Previous section

Next section