An angry arm against His minister.

Duch. Where then, alas, may I complain myself?

Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and defence.

Duch. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.

Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold

Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:
O, sit my husband's wrongs on

spear,

Hereford's

That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune miss the first career,

Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,

50

That they may break his foaming courser's back,

And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff 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 thy 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-ah, 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?

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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.

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[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The lists at Coventry.

Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF

AUMERLE.

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 champions are prepared,

and stay

For nothing but his majesty's approach.

The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his nobles, GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, enter MowBRAY in arms, defendant, with 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.

IO

Mar. In God's name and the king's, say who thou art

And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel:

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

Mow. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;

Who hither come engaged by my oath-
Which God 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!

20

*Accuses.

The trumpets sound.

Enter BOLINGBROKE,

appellant, in armour, with 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.

30

Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore comest 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,

Το prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,

To God of heaven, King Richard and to me, 40 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.

50

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.

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 profane a tear

For me, if I be gored 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, 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*

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*Salute.

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 twofold 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 waxent coat,
And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt,
Even in the lusty haviour of his son.

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+Yielding. Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!

Be swift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy:

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Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. Boling. Mine innocency and Saint George to

thrive!

Mow. However God 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,
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
This feast of battle 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.

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*Tilt in tournament.

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster
Derby,

and

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Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry

amen.

Mar. Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of

Norfolk.

First Her. and Derby,

Harry of Hereford, Lancaster

Stands here for God, his sovereign 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.

Sec. 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 sovereign and to him disloyal;
Courageously and with a free desire
Attending but the signal to begin.

*Prove.

Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. [A charge sounded. Stay, the king hath thrown his warder* down. K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and

*Truncheon.

their spears, And both return back to their chairs again: I 20 Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree. [A long flourish.

Draw near,

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;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect

Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours'

sword;

And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
With rival-hating envy, set on you

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To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle