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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, so please my Sov'reign, ere I move,
What my Tongue speaks, my Right-drawn Sword may

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 cause betwixt us twain ;
The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this.
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
As to be husht, and nought at all to say.
First, the fair Rev'rence 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.
Setting aside his high blood's Royalty,
And let him be no kinsman to my Liege,
I do defie him, and I spit 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 durst 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

Disclaiming here the kindred of a King,
And lay aside 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 in-
habitabilis (among the Latines) Gignifies uninhabitable; tho' ine
habitare fignifies only to inhabit :) and therefore I have vca-
w'd to read,
Dr any other Ground unhabitable.


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(Which fear, not rev' fence, makes thee to except :)
If guilty Dread hath left thee so much strength,
As to take up mine Honour's pawn, then stoop.
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 swear,
Which gently laid my Knighthood on my shoulder,
I'll antwer thee in



degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly tryal; And when I mount, alive may I not light, 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 thonght of Ill in him.

Boling. Look, what I said, my life fhall prove it true; That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, In name of lendings for your Highness' foldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd imployments ; Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides, I say, and will in battel prove, 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 falle Mowbray their first head and spring. Further, I say, and further will maintain Upon his bad Life to make all This good, That he did plöt the Duke of Gloucester's death ; Suggest his ivon-believing adverfaries ; And confcquently like a traitor-coward, Sluic'd out his inn'cent soul through streams of blood ; Which blood; like facrificing Abel's, cries Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, 'To me, for juitice, and rough chastisement. And by the glorious Worth of my Descent, This arm fhall do it, or this life be spent.

K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution foars ! Ibomas of Norfolk, what fay'it thou to this?

Moub. . .)

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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 so 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 son ;
Now by my Scepter's awe, I make a vow,
Such neighbour-nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing priv'lege him, nor partialize
Th’ unstooping firmness of my upright soul.
He is our Subject, Mowbray, so art thou ;
Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow.

Mowb. Then, Boling broke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou lieft! Three parts of that Receipt I had for Calais, Disburst I to his Highness' soldiers ; 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, I flew 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, 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, It issues from the rancor of a villain, A recreant and most degen’rate traitor: Which in my self I boldly will defend, And interchangeably hurle down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot; To prove my self a loyal gentleman, Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.

In hafte whereof, most heartily I pray
Your Highness to aflign our tryal-day.

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled Gentlemen, be ruld by me;
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 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 should 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, (Despight 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 : The which no balme 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.
Mowb. Yea, but not change their spots : take but my

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 cheft,
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine Honour is my life, both grow
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. Ricb.

in one ;

R. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage;


you begin. Boling. Oh, heav'n defend my soul from such foul fin! Snall I feem crest-fallin 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 such feeble

Or found so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
The flavish motive of recanting fear,
And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace,
Where shame doth harbour, evin in Mowbray's face.

[Exit Gaunt.
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
The swelling diff'rence of your settled hate :
Since we cannot atone you, you shall see
Justice decide the Victor's Chivalry.
Lord Marshal, bid our officers at Arms
Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Exeant.

SCEN E changes to the Duke of Lancaster's


Gaunt. A Doth more follicit

Enter Gaunt and Dutchefs of Gloucester.
Las! the part I had in Glofter's blood


your Exclaims,
To ftir against the butchers of his life.
But since cori ection lyeth in those hands,
Which made ihe fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our Quarrel to the Will of heav'n ;
Who when it sees the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

Dutch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur ?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ?
Edward's fev'n sons, whereof thy self art one,
Were as sev’n vials of his facred blood ;


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