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 fight, defend me heaven! Mar. On pain of death, no person he 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 And loving farewell, of our several friends. And craves to kiss K. Rich. We will Highness, your hand, and take his leave. descend, and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gor'd 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 iny leave of you; →→ Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerie; Not sick, although I have to do with death; Lo, as at English feasts, so I regrect The daintiest 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 twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayer's; Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee Be swift like lightning in the execution; 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 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. K. Rich. Farewell, my Lord: securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. 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. 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Stands here for God, his Sovereign, and him self, 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 Attending but the signal to begin. 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 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; And for our eyes do hate the tire aspéct Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords; And for we think the cagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitions thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set you on To wake our peace, which in our country's Draws the sweet infant cradle Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums, With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, 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 And those his golden beams, to you here lent, doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign And all unlook'd for from your Highness' mouth: Is made my gaoler to attend on me. K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate; After our sentence, plaining comes too late. Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [Retiring. K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; |