Bolingbroke.
Call Bagot forth: now freely speak thy mind,
What thou dost know of noble Glo'ster's death?
Who wrought it with the King, and who perform'd
The bloody office of his timeless end?

Bagot.
Then set before my face the lord Aumerle.

Boling.
Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.

Bagot.
My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue
Scorns to unsay, what it hath once deliver'd.
In that dead time when Glo'ster's death was plotted,
I heard you say, is not my arm of length,
That reacheth from the restful English court
As far as Calais to my uncle's head?
Amongst much other talk, that very time,
I heard you say, you rather had refuse
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns,
Than Bolingbroke return to England; adding,
How blest this land would be in this your cousin's death.

Aum.
Princes, and noble lords,
What answer shall I make to this base man?
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,

On equal terms to give him chastisement?
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd
With the attainder of his sland'rous lips.
There is my Gage, the manual seal of death,
That marks thee out for hell. Thou liest,
And I'll maintain what thou hast said, is false,
In thy heart blood, though being all too base
To stain the temper of my knightly sword.

Boling.
Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.

Aum.
Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this presence that hath mov'd me so.

Fitzw.
If that thy valour stand on sympathies,
There is my Gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine:
By that fair sun, that shews me where thou stand'st,
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it,
That thou wert cause of noble Glo'ster's death.
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest,
And I will turn thy falshood to thy heart
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.

Aum.
Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see the day.

Fitzw.
Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.

Aum.
Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this.

Percy.
Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true,
In this appeal, as thou art all unjust:
And that thou art so, there I throw my Gage
To prove it on thee, to th'extreamest point
Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar'st.

Aum.
And if I do not, may my hands rot off,
And never brandish more revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe.
^{a note}Who sets me else? by heav'n, I'll throw at all.
I have a thousand spirits in my breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.

Surrey.
My lord Fitzwater, I remember well
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

Fitzw.
My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence then;
And you can witness with me, this is true.

Surrey.
As false, by heav'n, as heav'n it self is true.

Fitzw.
Surrey, thou liest.

Surrey.
Dishonourable boy,
That lie shall lye so heavy on my sword,
That it shall render vengeance and revenge,
'Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, rest
In earth as quiet, as thy father's scull.
In proof whereof, there is mine honour's pawn;
Engage it to the tryal, if thou dar'st.

Fitzw.
How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse?
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,
And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies,
And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,
To tie thee to my strong correction.
As I intend to thrive in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.
Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say,
That thou Aumerle didst send two of thy men
To execute the noble Duke of Calais.

Aum.
Some honest christian trust me with a Gage,
That Norfolk lies; here do I throw down this,
If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour.

Boling.
These Diff'rences shall all rest under gage,
'Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be;
And though mine enemy, restor'd again
To all his seigniories; when he's return'd,
Against Aumerle we will enforce his tryal.

Carl.
That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.

Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ, in glorious christian field
Streaming the ensign of the christian cross,
Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens:
Then toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself
To Italy, and there at Venice gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth,
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.

Boling.
Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?

Carl.
Sure as I live, my lord.

Boling.
Sweet peace conduct his soul
To th'bosom of good Abraham—Lords appealants,
Your diff'rences shall all rest under gage,
'Till we assign you to your days of tryal.

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