Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Nor

folk;
Who hither come engaged by my oath,
(Which, heaven 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 !

[He takes his seat.

Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBROKE, in armour;

preceded by 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. Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st

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, To prove, by heaven'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 tight, 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.

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, [To Lord Marshal.] 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
The dantiest last, to make the end most sweet:
O thou, the earthly author of my blood,

[To GAUNT. 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 my lance's point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen 8 coat,
And furbish9 new the name of John of Gaunt,
Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.
Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee pros-

perous !
Be swift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque'
Of thy advérse pernicious enemy:
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.
Boling. Mine innocency, and Saint George to
thrive!

[He takes his seat. Nor. [Rising.] However heaven, or fortuné, 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 uncontrollid 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.

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.

8 Yielding

1 Helmet.

|

9 Brighten up.
2 Play a part in a mask.

Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

[The King and the Lords return to their seats. Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!

Boling. (Rising.] Strong as a tower in hope, I cry

-amen.

Mar. Go bear this lance [To an Officer.] to Thomas

duke of Norfolk. i Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 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. 2 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. Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants.

[A Charge sounded. Stay, the king hath thrown his warder3 down. K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their

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

[4 long flourish.

Draw near,

[To the Combatants. 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 ;4 And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords; [And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set you on To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;] Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, And make us wade even in our kindred's blood ;Therefore, we banish you our territories : You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields, Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

Boling. Your will be done : This must my comfort

be,

That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me; And those his golden beams, to you here lent, Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce : The fly-slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile ; The hopeless word of never to return