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Pierc'd to the foul with flander's venom'd spear:
The which no balm 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 fpots. 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 guilded 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 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. Coufin, throw down your gage; do you begin,

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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 fhall tear
7 The flavish motive of recanting fear,
And spit 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.

Or with pale beggar face-] i. e. with a face of fupplication. But this will not fatisfy the Oxfard Editor, he turns it to baggard fear. WARBURTON.

7 The flavish motive- Motive, for inftrument. WARB.

Rather that which fear puts in

motion.

There

There fhall your Swords and Lances arbitrate
The fwelling diff'rence of your fettled hate.
Since we cannot atone you, you shall fee
Justice decide the Victor's Chivalry.
Lord Marshal, bid our officers at Arms
Be ready to direct thefe home-alarms.

SCENE III.

[Exeunt.

Changes to the Duke of Lancaster's Palace.
Enter Gaunt and Dutchess of Gloucester.

Gaunt.

Las! the part I had in Glofter's blood *

A Doth more follicit me, than your Ex

claims,

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 fharper 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 fev'n fair branches, fpringing from one root:
Some of thofe fev'n are dry'd by Nature's Courfe;
Some of those branches by the Dest'nies cut :
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glofter,
One vial, full of Edward's facred blood,
One flourishing branch of his moft royal root,
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor fpilt;
Is hackt down, and his fummer leaves all faded,
By Envy's hand and Murder's bloody axe.

Ali, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that womb,
That metal, that felf-mould that fashion'd thee;

*The part I had.] That is, my relation of confanguinity to Gloucefter.

HANMER.

Made

Made him a man; and though thou liv'ft and breath'st,
Yet art thou flain in him; thou doft confent
In fome large measure to thy father's death;
In that thou feeft 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 fhew'ft the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching ftern murther how to butcher thee.
That which in mean men we entitle Patience,
Is pale cold Cowardife in noble breasts,
What fhall I fay? to fafeguard thine own life,
The best way is to 'venge my Glo'fter'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 Minifter.

Dutch. Where then, alas, may I complain myself? Gaunt. To heav'n, the widow's Champion and Defence.

Dutch. Why then, I will: farewel, old Gaunt, farewel. Thou go'ft to Coventry, there to behold

Our Coufin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
O, fit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's fpear,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune mifs the first career,
Be Mowbray's fins fo heavy in his bofom,
That they may break his foaming Courfer's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lifts,
$ A caitiff recreant to my coufin Hereford!
Farewel, old Gaunt; thy fometime brother's wife
With her companion Grief must end her life.

8 A caitiff recreant-] Caitiff originally fignified a prisoner; next a flave, from the condition of prisoners; then a Scoundrel, from the qualities of a flave.

Ημισυ τῆς ἀρετῆς ἀπεαίνυλαι δύλιον

μας.

In this paffage it partakes of all thefe fignifications.

Gaunt.

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 hollownefs, but weight:
I take my leave, before I have begun;

For Sorrow ends not, when it feemeth done.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York :
Lo, this is all-nay, yet depart not fo;
Though this be all, do not fo quickly go:
I fhall remember more. Bid him
oh, what?
With all good fpeed at Plafbie visit me.
Alack, and what fhall good old York fee there
But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden ftones?

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And what hear there for welcome, but my groans? Therefore commend me,-let him not come there To feek out forrow that dwells every where;

All defolate, will I from hence, and die;

The laft Leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exeunt.

Mar.

SCENE IV.

The Lifts, at Coventry.

Enter the Lord-Marshal, and Aumerle.

MY

Y lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? Aum. Yea, at all points, and longs to enter 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 Majefty's approach.

[Flourish.

The

The trumpets found, and the King enters with Gaunt, Bufhy, Bagot, and others: when they are fet, Enter the Duke of Norfolk in armour.

K. Rich. Marfhal, demand of yonder Champion
The caufe of his arrival here in arms;
Afk him his name, and orderly proceed

To fwear him in the justice of his Caufe.

Mar. In God's name and the King's, fay who thou art? [To Mowbray. And why thou com'ft, thus knightly clad in arms? Against what man thou com'ft, and what thy quarrel? Speak truly on thy Knighthood, and thine Oath, And fo defend thee heaven, and thy valour!

Mowb. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of
Norfolk,

Who hither come engag'd by my oath,
(Which, heav'n defend, a Knight should violate!)
Both to defend my Loyalty and Truth,

To God, my King, and his fucceeding Iffue,
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 heav'n!

The trumpets found. Enter Bolingbroke, Appellant,

in armour.

K. Rich. Marshal, afk 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,

bis fucceeding fue,] Such is the reading of the first folio; the later editions read my Iffue. Mowbray's Iffue was, by this accufation, in danger of an attaind

er, and therefore he might come among other reafons for their fake, but the old reading is more juft and grammatical.

Depofe

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