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London. A Room in the Palace. | |
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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, | |
| Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, | 5 |
| Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, | |
| Which then our leisure would not let us hear, | |
| Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? | |
| Gaunt. I have, my liege. | |
| K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, | 10 |
| If he appeal the duke on ancient malice, | |
| Or worthily, as a good subject should, | |
| On some known ground of treachery in him? | |
| Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argument, | |
| On some apparent danger seen in him | 15 |
| 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 | |
| The accuser and the accused freely speak: [Exeunt some Attendants. | |
| High-stomach’d are they both, and full of ire, | 20 |
| In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. | |
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Re-enter Attendants, with BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY. | |
| Boling. Many years of happy days befall | |
| My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! | |
| Mow. Each day still better other’s happiness; | 25 |
| Until the heavens, envying earth’s good hap, | |
| Add an immortal title to your crown! | |
| K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, | |
| As well appeareth by the cause you come; | |
| Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. | 30 |
| Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object | |
| Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? | |
| Boling. First,—heaven be the record to my speech!— | |
| In the devotion of a subject’s love, | |
| Tendering the precious safety of my prince, | 35 |
| And free from other misbegotten hate, | |
| Come I appellant to this princely presence. | |
| Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, | |
| And mark my greeting well; for what I speak | |
| My body shall make good upon this earth, | 40 |
| Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. | |
| Thou art a traitor and a miscreant; | |
| Too good to be so and too bad to live, | |
| Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, | |
| The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. | 45 |
| Once more, the more to aggravate the note, | |
| With a foul traitor’s name stuff I thy throat; | |
| And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, | |
| What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove. | |
| Mow. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: | 50 |
| ’Tis not the trial of a woman’s war, | |
| The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, | |
| Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; | |
| The blood is hot that must be cool’d for this: | |
| Yet can I not of such tame patience boast | 55 |
| 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 return’d | |
| These terms of treason doubled down his throat. | 60 |
| Setting aside his high blood’s royalty, | |
| And let him be no kinsman to my liege, | |
| I do defy him, and I spit at him; | |
| Call him a slanderous coward and a villain: | |
| Which to maintain I would allow him odds, | 65 |
| And meet him, were I tied to run afoot | |
| Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, | |
| Or any other ground inhabitable, | |
| Wherever Englishman durst set his foot. | |
| Meantime let this defend my loyalty: | 70 |
| By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. | |
| Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, | |
| Disclaiming here the kindred of the king; | |
| And lay aside my high blood’s royalty, | |
| Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except: | 75 |
| If guilty dread have left thee so much strength | |
| As to take up mine honour’s pawn, then stoop: | |
| By that, and all the rites of knighthood else, | |
| Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, | |
| What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. | 80 |
| Mow. I take it up; and by that sword I swear, | |
| Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, | |
| I’ll answer thee in any fair degree, | |
| Or chivalrous design of knightly trial | |
| And when I mount, alive may I not light, | 85 |
| If I be traitor or unjustly fight! | |
| K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay 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 speak, my life shall prove it true; | 90 |
| That Mowbray hath receiv’d eight thousand nobles | |
| In name of lendings for your highness’ soldiers, | |
| The which he hath detain’d for lewd employments, | |
| Like a false traitor and injurious villain. | |
| Besides I say and will in battle prove, | 95 |
| Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge | |
| That ever was survey’d by English eye, | |
| That all the treasons for these eighteen years | |
| Complotted and contrived in this land, | |
| Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. | 100 |
| Further I say and further will maintain | |
| Upon his bad life to make all this good, | |
| That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester’s death, | |
| Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, | |
| And consequently, like a traitor coward, | 105 |
| Sluic’d out his innocent soul through streams of blood: | |
| Which blood, like sacrificing Abel’s, cries, | |
| Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, | |
| To me for justice and rough chastisement; | |
| And, by the glorious worth of my descent, | 110 |
| This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. | |
| K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars! | |
| Thomas of Norfolk, what sayst thou to this? | |
| Mow. O! let my sovereign turn away his face | |
| And bid his ears a little while be deaf, | 115 |
| Till I have told this slander of his blood | |
| How God and good men hate so foul a liar. | |
| K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears: | |
| Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom’s heir,— | |
| As he is but my father’s brother’s son,— | 120 |
| 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 art thou: | 125 |
| Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. | |
| Mow. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, | |
| Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. | |
| Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais | |
| Disburs’d I duly to his highness’ soldiers; | 130 |
| The other part reserv’d I by consent, | |
| For that my sovereign liege was in my debt | |
| Upon remainder of a dear account, | |
| Since last I went to France to fetch his queen. | |
| Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester’s death, | 135 |
| I slew him not; but to mine own disgrace | |
| Neglected my sworn duty in that case. | |
| For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, | |
| The honourable father to my foe, | |
| Once did I lay an ambush for your life, | 140 |
| A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul; | |
| But ere I last receiv’d the sacrament | |
| I did confess it, and exactly begg’d | |
| Your Grace’s pardon, and I hope I had it. | |
| This is my fault: as for the rest appeal’d, | 145 |
| It issues from the rancour of a villain, | |
| A recreant and most degenerate traitor; | |
| Which in myself I boldly will defend, | |
| And interchangeably hurl down my gage | |
| Upon this overweening traitor’s foot, | 150 |
| To prove myself a loyal gentleman | |
| Even in the best blood chamber’d in his bosom. | |
| In haste whereof, most heartily I pray | |
| Your highness to assign our trial day. | |
| K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul’d by me; | 155 |
| Let’s purge this choler without letting blood: | |
| This we prescribe, though no physician; | |
| Deep malice makes too deep incision: | |
| Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed, | |
| Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. | 160 |
| Good uncle, let this end where it begun; | |
| We’ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. | |
| Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age: | |
| Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk’s gage. | |
| K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. | 165 |
| Gaunt. When, Harry, when? | |
| Obedience bids I should not bid again. | |
| K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. | |
| Mow. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. | |
| My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: | 170 |
| 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 disgrac’d, impeach’d, and baffled here, | |
| Pierc’d to the soul with slander’s venom’d spear, | 175 |
| 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. | |
| Mow. Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame, | 180 |
| And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, | |
| The purest treasure mortal times afford | |
| Is spotless reputation; that away, | |
| Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. | |
| A jewel in a ten-times-barr’d-up chest | 185 |
| Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. | |
| Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; | |
| Take honour from me, and my life is done: | |
| Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; | |
| In that I live and for that will I die. | 190 |
| K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage: do you begin. | |
| Boling. O! God defend my soul from such deep sin. | |
| Shall I seem crest-fall’n in my father’s sight, | |
| Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height | |
| Before this out-dar’d dastard? Ere my tongue | 195 |
| Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, | |
| Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear | |
| The slavish motive of recanting fear, | |
| And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, | |
| Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray’s face. [Exit GAUNT. | 200 |
| 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 | 205 |
| The swelling difference of your settled hate: | |
| Since we cannot atone you, we shall see | |
| Justice design the victor’s chivalry. | |
| Marshal, command our officers-at-arms | |
| Be ready to direct these home alarms. [Exeunt. | 210 |
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