Have I not here the best cards for the game, To win this easy match, play'd for a crown? Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. Lew. Outside or inside. 1 will not return [ Trumpet sounds. What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? Enter the Bastard, attended. Bast. According to the fair play of the world, Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite. Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd. The youth says well.—Now, hear our English king; For thus his royalty doth speak in me. He is prepar'd; and reason too, he should: This apish and unmannerly approach. This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel, This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops. The king doth smile at; and is well prepar'd To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, From out the circle of his territories. That hand, which had the strength, even at your door, To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch; To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells; To crouch in litter of your stable planks; To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks; To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out In vaults and prisons; and to thrill, and shake. Even at the crying of your nation's crow. Thinking his voice an arm6d Englishman ;— Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, That in your chambers gave you chastisement J No I Know, the gallant monarch is in anus; And, like an eagle o'er his aiery, towers. To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.— And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts. You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb Of your dear mother England, blush for shame; For your own ladies, ana pale-visag'd maids, Like amazons, come tripping after drums, Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change. Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts To fierce and bloody inclination. Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace; We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well:, ■ Pand. Give me leave to speak. Bast. No, I will speak. Lew. We will attend to neither.— Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry Lew. Strike up your drums, to find this danger out. Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. [Exeunt. SCENE III.—Near St. Edmund's-Bury. A Field of Battle. Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert. K. John. Howgoes the dav with us? Q» teU me, Hubert. Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty t A" John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long, Lies heavy on me ;—O, my heart is sick I Pinter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge, Desires your majesty to leave the field, And send him word by ine which way you go. A', yokn. TeU him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there. Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply. That was expected by the Dauphin here. Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands. This news was brought to Richard but even now The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. A'. Joh>i. Ah me 1 this tyrant fever burns me up, And will not let me welcome this good news. Set on toward Swinstead: to my Titter straight Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Exeunt, SCENE IV.—NearS: Edmund's-Bury. Another Part of the Field. EtUer Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, and others. Sat. I did not think the king so stor'd with fnends. Pern. Up once again; put spirit in the French: If they miscarry, we miscarry too. Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. Pern. They say, king John sore sick hath left the field. Enter Meluu, -wounded, and led by Soldiers. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. Sal. When we were happy we had other names. Pern: It is the count Melun. Sat. Wounded to death. Mel. Fry, noble English, you are bought and sold: Unthread the rude eye of rebellion. And welcome home again discarded faith. Seek out king John, and fall before his feet; For if the French be lords of this loud day. He means to recompense the pains you tak«By cutting off your heads: thus hath he s And 1 with him, and many more with me, Upon the altar at St. Edmund's-Bury; Even on that altar, where we swore to you Dear amity and e /erlasting love. .Sir/. May this be possible* mry this be true? Met. Have I not hideous dead within my view Retaining but a quantity of iii>. Which bleeds away, even as a fo; tu of wax Resulvclh from his figure 'gaiustine firef What in the world should make'ine now deceive. Since I must lose the use of ail deceit? Why should 1, then, be false, since it is true That 1 must die here, and live hence by truth? I say again, if Lewis do win the day, He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours Behold another day break in the cast: But even this night,—whose black contagious breath Already smokes about the burning crest Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,— Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire. Paying the fine of rated treachery, Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives. If Lewis by your assistance win the day. Commend me to one Hubert, with your king: The love of him,—and this respect besides. For that my grandsirc was an Englishman,— Awakes my conscience to confess all this. In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence From forth the noise and rumour of the field; Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts In peace, and part this body and my soul With contemplation and devout desires. Sal. We do believe thee:—and beshrew my soul. But I do love the favour and the form Of this most fair occasion, by the which We will untread the steps of damned flight; And, like a bated and retired flood. Leaving our rankness and irregular course. Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd. And calmly run on in obedience. Even to our ocean, to our great king John.— My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence; For 1 do see the cruel pangs of death Right in thine eye.—Away, my friends! New flight. And liappy newness, that intend* old right. 'leading off Melun. V.—Near St. Edmund's-Bury. The French Enter Lewis and his train. Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set. But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush. When the English measur'd backward their own In faint retire. 0, bravely came we off, [ground, When with a volley of our needless shot. After such bloody toil, we bid good night; And wound our tottering colours clearly up, Last in the field, and almost lords of it 1 Enter a Messenger. Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin! Lew. Here :—what news? Mess. The count Mclun is slain: the English lords. By his persuasion, are again fallen off; And your supply, which you have wished so long. Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. Lew, Ah, foul shrewd news 1—Beshrew thy very I did not think to be so sad to-night, [heart I— As this hath made me.—Who was he, that said, Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. Lew. Well; keep good quarter, and good care toThe day shall not be up so soon as I, [night: To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.—An open Place in the Neighbourhood o/\ Swinstead-Abbey. Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting; Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I Bast. A friend.—What art thou? [shoot. Hub. Or the part of England Bast. Whither dost thou go? Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not I demand Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? Bast. Hubert, 1 think? Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought: I will, upon all hazards, well believe Bast. Who thou wilt: an if thou please. Thou mayest befriend me so much as to think Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad? Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night. To find you out. Bast. Brief, then ; and what's the news? Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,— Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. Bust. Show me the very wound of this ill news: Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk: Bast. How did he take it! who did taste to him? Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain. Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover. Bast. Whom didst thou leave to tend his majesty? Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all come back. And brought prince Henry in their company; Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven. SCENE VII.—The Orchard of Swinstead Abbey. Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. P. Hen. It is to* late: the life of all his blood Is touch"d corruptibly; and his pure brain Enter Pembroke. Pern. His highness yet doth speak; and holds belief, That, being brought into the open air. It would allay the burning quality Of that fell poison which assaiieth him. P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.-* [Exit Bigot. Doth he still rage? Pern. He is more patient Than when you left him ; even now he sung. P. Hen. O, vanity of sickness 1 fierce extremes I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan. Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born John in a chair, K. jfohn. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow* room ( It would not out at windows, nor at doors. P. Hen. How fares your majesty? A'. John. Poison'd,—ill-fare ;—dead, forsook, cast And none of you will bid the winter come, [off; To thrust his icy fingers in my maw; Nor let my kingdom s rivers take their course Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold :—I do not ask you much, I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait, And so ingratefut, you deny me that. P. Hen, O, that there were some virtue in my tears. That might relieve you 1 K. John. The salt in them is hoL— Within ine is a hell; and there the poison Enter the Bastard. Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to see your majesty. K. yohn. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd: And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail. Are turned to one thread, one little hair: My heart hath Oiie poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news oe uttered; And then all this thou seest is but a clod, And model of confounded royalty. Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him; For, in a night, the best part of iny power. As I upon advantage did remove, Were in the washes, all unwarily. Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The King dies. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.— My liege I my lord 1—But now a king,—now thus. P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. What surety of the world, what hope, what stay. When this was now a king, and now is clay?> Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind To do the office for thee of revenge, •\nd then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, As it on earth hath been thy servant still.— Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres. Where be your powers? Show now your mended And instantly return with me again, [faiths; To. push destruction, and perpetual shame, Out of the weak door of our fainting" land. Sal. It seems you know not, then, so much as we: Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; Bast. Let it be so: and you, my noble prince. P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd; For so he will'd it. Bast. Thither sh:t!! it, th n; And happily may your sweet self put on Sal. And the like tender of our love we make. P. Hen. I have a kind soul that would give you And knows not how to do it, but with tears. Bast. O. let us pay the time but needful woe. Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.— This England never did, nor never shall. Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror. But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these, her princes, are come home again, 1 Come the three corners of the world in arms. And we shall shock them : nought shall make us rue. If England to itself do rest but true, \Exeunt, ACT I. SCENE I.—London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Richard, attended ; John of Gaunt, and other Nobles. K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band. K. Rich. Tell ine, moreover, hast thou sounded Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that nrguOn some apparent danger seen in him, [ment,— Aim'd at your highness,—no inveterate malice. K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face to face. And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear {Exeunt some Attendants. Rc-ettter Attendants, with Botingbroke and Norfolk. Boliug. Many years of happy days befall My gracious sovereign, my most lovmg liege I Aorf. Each day still better other's happiness; As well appeareth by the cause you come; Bolinjr. First, (heaven be the record to my In the devotion of a subject's love. [speech 0 Tendering the precious safety of my prince,* What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove. Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: *Tis not the trial -of a woman's war. The bitter clamour of two eager tongnes, Can arbitrate this cause bctwuct us twain; The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this; Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech: "Which else would post, until it had retucn'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat Setting aside his high Wood's royalty. And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 1 do defy htm, and I spit at him; Call him a sland'rous coward, and a villain; Which to maintain, 1 would allow him odds; And meet him, were 1 tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable, "Wherevex Englishman durst set his foot. Meantime, let this defend my loyalty,— !By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. Baling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage. Disclaiming here the kindred of the king; Nor. I take it up ; and by that sword I swear, K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's ■It must be great, that can inherit us [charge? So much as of a thought of ill in him. Baling. Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles Suggest his soon-believing adversaries. K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars I Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face. And bid his ears I little while be deaf. Till I have told this slander of his blood How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. [cars A'. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, (As he is but my father's brother's son,) Now. by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow. Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul: He is our subject, Mowbray, so an thou; Free speech and fearless, 1 to thee allow. Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart. Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest! Three parts of that receipt I hail for Calais, DisbmVd I duly lo his highness' soldiers; The other part reserv'd I by consent. For that my sovereign liege was in my debt, Upun remainder of a dear account. Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: "low swallow down that lie.—For Gloster's A", Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'dby DW| Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk s gage. Obedience bids, I should not bid again. Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes ; but my fair name (Despite of death that lives upon my grave) To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgrae'd, impeachVI, and baffled here; Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear. The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison. A". Rich. Rage must be withstood :— Give me his gage:—Hons make leopards tame. And I resign my gage My dear dear lord. Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; [Exit Gaunt, K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command; Which since we cannot do to make you friends. Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day: There shall'your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate: Since we cannot atone yoK, we shall see lustice design the victor's chivalry. Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. [Exeunt SCENE II.—London. A Room in the Duke of Enter Gaunt and Duchess of Gloster. Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims. To stir against the butchers of his life: Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Gaunt. God's is the quarrel: for God's substitute. His deputy anointed in his sight, Hath caus'd his death: the which, if wrongfully. Let heaven revenge ; for I may never lift An angry arm against his minister. Ditch. Where then, alas I may I complain myself? Gaunt. To God, the widow s champion and defence. Duch. Why then, I wilL Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast I Or if misfortune miss the first career. Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, That they may break his foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford I 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 I Ditch. Yet one word more.—Grief boundeth where it falls. Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: 1 take my leave before I have begun; For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend nie to my brother, Edmund York. Lo 1 this is all:—nay, yet depart not so; Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him—O, what?— With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack 1 and what shall good old York there see, But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear 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. [Exeunt. SCENE III.—Gosford Green, near Coventry. Cists set out, anda Throne. Heralds, Gv., attending. Enter the Lord Marshal and Aumerle. Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford ann'd? Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Mar, The duke of Norfolk, spright fully 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. iuho takes his seat on his Throne; Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green, and others, who take their places. A Trumpet is sottnded, and ansTvered by another Trumpet within. Then enter Norfolk, in armour, preceded by a Herald. A*. 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. (art. Mar. In God's name and the king's, say ■who thou And why thou corn's! thus knightly clad in arms; Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thine oath; As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of NorWho hither come engaged by my oath, [folic. (Which, God defend, a Knight should violate I) Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God. my king, and his 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 iny God, my king, and me: And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven I [He takes his seat. Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke, in armour, preceded by a Herald. Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com*sl thon Before king Richard in his royal lists? (hither, Against whom comest thou ? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven I Boiing. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derbjt Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by God'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 1 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. [hand, 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; 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, ana take his leave. A'. Rich. [Descends from his throne ] We will descend, and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right. So be thy fortune in this royal light. Karewefl, my blood; which if to-day thou shed. Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. Holing. O, let no noble eye profane 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. I take my leave of you ;— Of you, liiy 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,— 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 iny 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. [perousr Gaunt. God in thy good c.iuse make thee prosBe swift like lightning in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious encmj: Rouse up thy youthful bloo . .,j valiant and live. |