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From giving reins and fpurs to my free fpeech;
Which elfe would poft, until it had return'd
Thefe terins of Treafon doubled down his throat.
Setting afide his high blood's Royalty,
And let him be no kinfman to any Liege,
I do defie him, and 1.fpit at him;
Call him a fland'rous coward, and a villain;
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds,
And meet him, were I ty'd to run a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable,
Where never Englishman durft fet his foot.
Meantime, let this defend my Loyalty;
By all my hopes, moft falfly doth he lie.
Boling. Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my
Difclaiming here the kindred of a King,
And lay afide my high blood's Royalty,
Which fear, not rev'rence, makes thee to except.
If guilty Dread hath left thee fo much strength,
As to take up mine Honour's pawn, then stoop;
By that, and all the rights of Knighthood elfe,
Will I make good against thee arm to arm,
What I have spoken, or thou canst devife.
Morb. I take it up, and by that Sword I fwear,
Which gently laid my Knighthood on my fhoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
Or chivalrous defign of knightly tryal;
And when I mount, alive may I not light,
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight!
K. Rich. What doth our Coufin fay to Mowbray's charge?
It must be great, that can inherit us
So much as of a thought of Ill in him.
Boling. Look, what I faid, my life fhall prove it true That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thoufand nobles, In name of lendings for your Highnefs' foldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd imployments; Like a falfe traitor and injurious villain. Befides, I fay, and will in battle prove,
*Inhabitable] That is, not babitable, uninhabitable.
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furtheft verge,
That ever was furvey'd by English eye,
That all the treafons for thefe eighteen years,
Complotted and contrived in this Land,
Fetch from falfe Mowbray their first head and spring.
Further, I fay, and further will maintain
Upon his bad Life to make all This good,
That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death;
Suggeft his foon-believing adverfaries;
And confequently, like a traitor coward,
Sluic'd out his inn'cent foul through streams of blood
Which blood, like facrificing Abel's, cries
Even from the tonguelefs caverns of the earth,
To me, for juftice, and rough chastisement.
And by the glorious Worth of my Defcent,
This arm fhall do it, or this life be spent.
K. Rich. How high a pitch his refolution foars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what lay'st thou to this?
Mowb. O, let my Sovereign turn away his face,
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
Till I have told this Slander of his blood,
How God and good men hate fo foul a liar.
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears.
Were he our brother, nay, our Kingdom's heir,
As he is but our father's brother's fon;
Now by (3) my Scepter's awe, I make a vow,
Such neighbour-nearnefs to our facred blood
Should nothing priv'lege him, nor partialize
Th' unftooping firmness of my upright foul.
He is our fubject, Mowbray, fo art thou;
Free fpeech, and fearless, I to thee allow.
Mowb. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the falfe paffage of thy throat, thou lieft! Three parts of that Receipt I had for Calais, Disburst I to his Highnefs' foldiers;
The other part referv'd I by confent,
For that my fovereign Liege was in my debt;
Upon remainder of a dear account,
Since laft I went to France to fetch his Queen.
Now, fwallow down that Lie.-For Gloucester's death,
(3) My Scepter's awe.] The reverence due to my Scepter.
I flew him not; but, to mine own disgrace,
Neglected my fworn duty in that cafe.
For you, my.noble lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
A trespass that doth vex my grieved foul;
But ere I laft receiv'd the Sacrament, i
I did confefs it, and exactly begg'd
Your Grace's pardon; and, I hope, I had it.
This is my fault; as for the reft appeal'd,
It iffues from the rancor of a villain,
A recreant and moft degen'rate traitor.;
Which in myself I boldly will defend,
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot;
To prove myself a loyal gentleman,
Even in the beft blood chamber'd in his bofom.
In hafte whereof, moft heartily I pray.
Your Highness to affign our tryal day.
K. Rich. Wrath-kindled Gentlemen, be rul'd by me; Let's purge this Choler without letting blood
(4) This we prefcribe, though no physician;
Deep malice makes too deep incifion:
Forget, forgive, conclude and be agreed;
Our Doctors fay, this is no time to bleed.
Good Uncle, let this end where it begun ;
We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your Son.
Gaunt. To be a make-peace fhall become my age;
Throw down, my Son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.
K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.
Gaunt. When, Harry, when.
Obedience bids, I fhould not bid again.
K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot *.
(4) This we preferibe, though no Phyfician, &c.] I must make ane Remark, in general, on the Rhymes throughout this whole play, they are fo much inferior to the reft of the writing, that they appear to me of a different hand. What confirms this, is, that the context does every where exactly (and frequently much better) connect without the inferted rhymes, except in a very few places; and juft there too, the rhyming verfes are of a much better tafte than all the others, which rather ftrengthens my conjecture. PoPL. *No boot.] That is, no advantage, mufe, in delay or refufal
Mowb. Myfelf I throw, dread Sovereign, at thy foot. T
My life thou fhalt.command, but not my
The one my duty owes; but (5) my fair Name, ovyo
Defpight of death, That lives upon my Grave,
To dark difhonour's ufe thou shalt not have.
I am difgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here,
Pierc'd to the foul with flander's venom'd fpear:
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
Which breath'd this poison.
K. Rich. Rage must be withstood.
Give me his gage. Lions make Leopards tame. Mowb. Yea, but not change their spots. Take but my fhame,
My dear, dear Lord,
The pureft treafure mortal times afford,
Is fpotlefs Reputation; That away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up cheft,
Is a bold fpirit in a loyal breast.
Mine Honour is my life, both grow in one;
Take houve from me, and my life is done.
Then, dear my biege, mine honour let me try;
In That I live, and for That will I die.
K. Rich. Coufin, throw down your gage; do you begin.
Boling. Oh, heav'n defend my foul from fuch foul fin! Shall I feem creft-fall'n in my father's fight,
(6) Or with pale beggar face impeach my height, Before this out-dar'd Daftard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my Honour with fuch feeble wrong, Or found fo bafe a parle, my teeth fhall tear (7) The flavish motive of recanting fear, And fpit it bleeding, in his high difgrace, Where fhame doth harbour, ev'n in Mowbray's face. [Exit Gaunt.
(5) My fair Name, &c.] That is, My name that lives on my grave in defpight of death. This easy paffage most of the Editors
(6) Or with pale beggar face- i. e. with a face of fupplication, But this will not fatisfy the Oxford Editor, he turns it to a haggard fear. WARBURTON. WARB.
(7) The flavih motive] Motive, for inftrument, Rather that which fear puts in motion.
K. Rich. We were not born to fue, but to command, Which fince we cannot do to make you friends,
Be ready, as your lives fhall anfwer it,
At Coventry upon Saint Lambert's day.
There fhall your Swords and Lances arbitrate
The fwelling diff'rence of your fettled hate.
Since we cannot atone you, you shall fee
Juftice decide the Victor's Chivalry.
Lord Marshal, bid our officers at Arms
Be ready to direct thefe home-alarms.
Changes to the Duke of Lancaster's Palace.
Enter Gaunt and Dutchess of Gloucester.
Las! the part I had in Glofter's blood
Doth more follicit me, than your Ex-
To ftir against the butchers of his life.
But fince correction lyeth in those hands,
Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our Quarrel to the Will of heav'n;
Who when it fees the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Dutch. Finds brotherhood in thee no fharper fpur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward's fev'n fons, whereof thy felf art one,
Were as sev'n vials of his facred blood,
Or fev'n fair branches, fpringing from one root:
Some of thofe fev'n are dry'd by Nature's Courfe;
Some of those branches by the Deft'nies cut:
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glifter,
One vial, full of Edward's facred blood.
One flourishing branch of his moft royal root,
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor fpilt;
Is hackt down, and his fummer leaves all faded,
By Envy's hand and Murder's bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt his blood was thine; that bed, that womb,
*The part I had.] That is, my relation of confanguinity t Gloucefter.