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Or sev'n fair branches, springing from one root :
Some of those fev'n are dry'd by Nature's Course ;
Some of those branches by the Deft'nies cut:
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster,
(One vial, full of Edward's sacred blood;
One flourishing branch of his moft royal root;)
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ;
Is hackt down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By Envy's hand and Murder's bloody axe!
Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that womb,
That metal; that self-mould that faihion'd thee,
Made him a man; and though thou liv'st and breath'ft,
Yet art thou sain in him ; thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father's death;
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life ;
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair.
In fuff'ring thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou dhew'st the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murther how to butcher thee.
That which in mean men we entitle Patience,
Is pale cold Cowardise in noble breasts.
What fali I say? to safeguard thine own life,
The beít way is to 'venge my Glofier's death.

Gaunt. God's is the Quarrel; for God's Substitute,
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 my self? Gaunt. To heav'n, the widow's Champion and De

fence, Dutch. Why then, I will: farewel, old Gaunt, fare

Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold
Our Cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
O, fit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breait !
Or, if misfortune miss the first career,
Be Mowbray's fins so heavy in his bosom,


That they may break his foaming Courser's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!
Farewel, old Gaunt; thy sometime brother's wife
With her companion Grief must end her life.

Gaunt. Sifter, farewel ; I must to Coventry.
As much Good stay with thee, as go with me!
Dutch. Yet one word more ; grief boundeth where

it falls,
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight :
I take my leave, before I have begun;
For Sorrow ends not, when it seemeth 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 shall remember more. Bid him oh, what?
With all good speed at Plasnie visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York see there
But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,
Un-peopled offices, untrodden ftones ?
And what hear there for welcome, but my groans ?
Therefore commend me, – let him not come there
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where ;
All desolate, will I from hence, and die;
The last Leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exeunt.

SCE N E, the Lifts, at Coventry.

Mar. M

Enter the Lord Marshal, and the Duke of Aumerle.

Y lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm’d?
Aum. Yea, at all points, and longs to en:

ter 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

stay For nothing but his Majesty's approach. [Flourish.


The trumpets found, and the King enters with his No

bles: when they are set, Enter the Duke of Norfolk in arms, Defendant.

K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder Champion The cause of his arrival here in arms; Ask him his name, and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his Cause. Mar. In God's name and the King's, say who thou art?

[To Mowb. And why thou com'ft, thus knightly clad in arms ? Against what man thou com'ít, and what thy quarrel ? Speak truly on thy Knighthood, and thine Oath, And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour!

Mowb. 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 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 my self, 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 armour, 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'ft thou

Before King Richard, in his royal Lists ? [To Boling.
Against whom comest thou? and what's thy Quarrel ?
Speak like a true Knight, so defend thee heav'n!

Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby
Am I, who ready here do stand in arms,
To prove, by heav'n's grace and my body's valour,


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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 person be so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the Lits,
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 my self are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ;
Then let us take a ceremonious Leave,
And loving Farewel, of our several friends.
Mar. Th’Appellant in all duty greets your Highness.

[To K. Rich, 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!
Farewel, my


which if to day thou shed,
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 spear :
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 Cousin, lord Aumerle.
Not sick, although I have to do with Death ;
But lusty, young, and chearly drawing Breath.
Lo, as at English Feafts, so I regreet
The daintieft lait, to make the end most sweet :
Oh 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 Coat,
And furbish new the Name of John o'Gaunt


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Ev'n in the lusty 'haviour of his son.
Gaunt. Heav'n in thy good Cause make thee prospe-

rous !
Be swift like Lightning in the execution,
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the Casque
Of thy adverse 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 cast

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 uncontrould entranchisement,
More than my dancing foul doth celebrate
This Feast of battel, 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 jest,
Go I to fight: Truth hath a quiet breast.

K. Rich. Farewel, my lord ; securely I espy
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 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 ftandeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of

On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancafter and Derby,


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