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The uglier feem the Clouds, that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the Note,
With a foul Traytor's Name ftuff I thy throat;
And wish, fo please my Sov'reign, ere I move,
What my Tongue fpeaks, my Řight-drawn Sword may

prove.

Mowb. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal;
'Tis not the tryal of a woman's war,
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this caufe betwixt us twain;

The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this.
Yet can I not of fuch tame patience boast,
As to be hufht, and nought at all to fay.
First, the fair Rev'rence of your Highness curbs me,
From giving reins and fpurs to my free speech;
Which elfe would poft, until it had return'd
These terms of Treafon doubled down his throat.
Setting afide his high blood's Royalty,
And let him be no kinfman to my Liege,
I do defie him, and I 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 unhabitable, (2)
Where never Englishman durft fet his foot.
Mean time, let this defend my Loyalty;
By all my hopes, most falfly doth he lie.

Boling. Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my
Gage,
Difclaiming here the kindred of a King,
And lay afide my high blood's Royalty:

(2) Or any other Ground inhabitable.] I don't know that this Word, (like the French Term, inhabitable,) will admit the two different Acceptations of a Place to be dwelt in, and not to be dwelt in: (or that it may be taken in the latter Sense, as inhabitabilis (among the Latines) fignifies uninhabitable; tho' inhabitare fignifies only to inhabit:) and therefore I have venzur'd to read,

Or any other Ground unhabitable,

A 4

(Which

(Which fear, not rev'fence, makes thee to except :}
If guilty Dread hath left thee fo much strength,
As to take up mine Honour's pawn, then floop.
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 devise.

Mowb. I take it up, and by that Sword I fwear,
Which gently laid my Knighthood on my fhoulder,
I'll antwer 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 lay to Mowbray's charge?

prove

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
it true;
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thoufand nobles,
In name of lendings for your Highness' foldiers,
The which he hath detain'd for lewd imployments;
Like a falfe traitor and injurious villain.
Befides, I fay, and will in battel prove,

Or here, or elsewhere, to the furtheft verge,
That ever was farvey'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 ftreams of blood;
Which blood, like facrificing Abel's, cries
Even from the tonguciels 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 fay'it thou to this?

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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 my Scepter's awe, I make a vow,
Such neighbour-nearness to our facred blood
Should nothing priv'lege him, nor partialize
Th' unftooping firmness of my upright foul.
He is our Subject, 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 Highness' 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 last I went to France to fetch his Queen.
Now, fwallow down that Lie.-For Gloucefter's death,
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
A trespass that doth vex my grieved foul;
But ere I laft receiv'd the Sacrament,
I did confefs it, and exactly begg'd

your life,

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 my felf I boldly will defend,
And interchangeably hurle down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot;
To prove my felf a loyal gentleman,
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bofom.

1

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:
This we prescribe, though no phyfician;
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 shall 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.

Mowb. My felf I throw, dread Sovereign, at thy foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my Shame;
The one my duty owes; but my fair Name,
(Defpight of death, That lives upon my Grave,)
To dark difhonour's ufe thou fhalt not have.
I am difgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here,
Pierc'd to the foul with flander's venom'd spear:
The which no balme can cure, but his heart-blood
Which breath'd this poifon.

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,

And I refign my gage. My dear, dear lord,
The pureft treasure 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 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.

K. Rich.

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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, 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 base a parle, my teeth shall tear 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.

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 answer 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 these home-alarms.

[Exeant.

SCENE changes to the Duke of Lancaster's Palace.

Enter Gaunt and Dutchess of Gloucester.

Gaunt.

A

Las! the part I had in Glo' fter's blood
Doth more follicit me, than your Exclaims,
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 sharper fpur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward's fev'n fons, whereof thy felf art one,
Were as fev'n vials of his facred blood;

Or

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