That metal, that self-mould that fashion'd thee;
Made him a man; and though thou liv'ft and breath'st,
Yet art thou flain in him; thou dost consent
In fome large measure to thy father's death
In that thou feeft thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life;
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is defpair.
In fuff'ring thus thy brother to be flaughter'd,
Thou fhew'ft the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching ftern murther how to butcher thee.
That which in mean men we entitle Patience,
Is pale cold Cowardife in noble breafts,
What shall I fay? to fafeguard thine own life,
The best way is to 'venge my Glofter's death.
Gaunt. God's is the Quarrel; for God's Subftitute, His Deputy anointed in his fight,
Hath caus'd his death; the which if wrongfully,
Let God revenge, for I may never lift
An angry arm against his Minister.
Dutch. Where then, alas, may I complain myself? Gaunt. To heav'n, the widow's Champion and Defence.
Dutch. Why then, I will: farewel, old Gaunt, farewel. Thou go'ft to Coventry, there to behold
Our Coufin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight..
O, fit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's fpear,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune mifs the first career,
Be Mowbray's fins fo heavy in his bofom,
That they may break his foaming Courfer's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lifts,
(8) A caitiff recreant to my coufin Hereford!
Farewel, old Gaunt; thy fometime brother's wife
With her companion Grief muft end her life.
Gaunt. Sifter, farewel; I muft to Coventry.
As much Good stay with thee, as go with me;
(8) A caitiff recreant-] Caitiff originally fignified a prifoner next a fave, from the condition of prisoners; then a Scoundrel, from the qualities of a flave.
Ημισυ τῆς ἀρετῆς ἀποαίνυται δέλιον ἦμαρ.
Ja this paffage it partakes of all these fignifications.
Dutch. Yet one word more-grief boundeth where it falls,
Not with the empty hollownefs, but weight:
I take my leave, before I have begun;
For Sorrow ends not, when it feemeth done.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York:
Lo, this is all-
-nay, yet depart not so;
Though this be all, do not fo quickly go:
I fhall remember more. Bid him-
With all good speed at Plafhie vifit me.
Alack, and what fhall good old York fee there
But empty lodgings, and unfurnifh'd walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden ftones ?
And what hear there for welcome, but my groans
Therefore commend me,-let him not come there
To feek out forrow that dwells
ells every where; All defolate, will I from hence, and die;
The laft Leave of thee takes iny weeping eye. [Exeunt.
The Lifts, at Coventry.
Enter the Lord-Marfbal, and Aumerle.
Y lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? Aum. Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.
Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, fprightfully and bold, Stays but the Summons of th Appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why, then the Champions are prepar'd, and ftay
For nothing but his Majesty's approach.
The trumpets found, and the King enters with Gaunt, Bufhy, Bagot, and others: when they are fet, Enter the Duke of Norfolk in armour.
K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder Champion
The caufe of his arrival here in arms;
Afk him his name, and orderly proceed
To fwear him in the justice of his Cause.
Mar. In God's name and the King's,
fay who thou [To Mowbray.
And why thou com'ft, thus knightly clad in arms ?
Against what man thou com'ft, and what thy quarrel ?
Speak truly on thy Knighthood, and thine Oath,
And fo defend thee heaven, and thy valour!
Mob. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of
Norfolk,
Who hither come engaged by my oath,
(Which, heav'n defend, a Knight should violate!)
Both to defend my Loyalty and Truth,
To God, my King, and his fucceeding Iffue, (9)
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 heav'n!
The trumpets found. Enter Bolingbroke, Appellant, in
K. Rich. Marshal, afk 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 juftice of his Caufe..
Mar. What is thy name, and wherefore com'ft thou
Before King Richard, in his royal Lifts?
[To Boling.
Against whom comeft thou? and what's thy Quarrel?
Speak like a true Knight, fo defend thee heav'n!
Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Am I, who ready here do ftand in arms,
To prove, by heav'n's grace and my body's valour,
In Lifts, 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 perfon be fo bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the Lifts,
(9)bis fucceeding Iffue.] Such is the reading of the first folio; the later editions read my Iffue. Mowbray's Iflue was, by this accufation, in danger of an attainder, and therefore he might come among other reafons for their fake, but the old reading is more juft and grammatical.
Except the Marshal, and fuch officers
Appointed to direct thefe fair defigns.
Boling. Lord Marshal, let me kifs my Sovereign's hand,
And bow my knee before his Majefty:
For Mowbray and myself are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious Leave,
And loving Farewel, of our teveral friends.
Mar. Th' Appellant in all duty greets your Highnefs,
[To K. Rich.
And craves to kifs your hand, and take his leave.
K. Rich. We will defcend and fold him in our arms.
Coufin of Hereford, as thy Caufe is right,
So be thy Fortune in this royal fight!
Farewel, my Blood, which if to-day thou fhed,
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 fpear.
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 Coufin, lord Aumerle.
Not fick, although I have to do with Death;
But lufty, young, and chearly drawing Breath.
Lo, as at Englijb Feafts, so I regreet
The daintieft laft, to make the end most sweet:
Oh thou! the earthly author of my blood, [To Gaunt.
Whofe youthful fpirit, 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 Bleffing fteel my Lance's point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen Coat,
And furbish new the Name of John o' Gaunt
Ev'n in the lufty 'haviour of his fon.
Gaunt. Heav'n in thy good Caufe make thee prof-
perous!
Be fwift like Lightning in the execution,
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the Cafque
Of thy adverfe pernicious enemy,
Rouze up thy youthful blood, be brave, and live. Boling. Mine innocence, God and St. George to thrive!
Mowb. However heav'n or fortune caft my lot,
There lives, or dies, true to King Richard's Throne,
A loyal, juft and upright Gentleman.
Never did Captive with a freer heart
Caft off his chains of bandage, and embrace
His golden uncontroul'd enfranchisement,
More than my dancing foul doth celebrate
This Feaft of battle, with mine adversary.
Moft mighty Liege, and my companion Peers,
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years;
As gentle and as jocund, as to jeft (1),
Go I to fight: Truth hath a quiet breast.
K. Rich. Farewel, my lord; fecurely I efpy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the tryal, Marshal, and begin.
Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Receive thy Lance; and heav'n defend thy Right!
Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry Amen.
Mar. Go bear this Lance to Thomas Duke of Norfolk.
1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby.
Stands here for God, his Sovereign, and Himself,
On pain to be found falfe and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, his King, and him;
And dares him to fet forward to the fight.
2 Her. Here ftandeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk t
On pain to be found falfe and recreant,
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancafter and Derby,
To God, his Sovereign, and to him, difloyal:
Courageously, and with a free defire,
(1) As gentle and as jocund, as to JEST.] Not fo neither. We fhould read, to JUST, i. e. to tilt or tourny, which was a kind of sport too. WARBURTON. The fense would perhaps have been better if the authour had written what his commentator fubftitutes, but the rhyme to which fenfe is too often enflaved, obliged Shakespear to write jeft, and obliges us to read it.
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