And why thou com'ft, thus knightly clad in arms ?
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel ?
Speak truly on thy knighthood, and thine oath,

And fo defend thee heav'n, and thy valour!

Mow B. 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 his fucceeding 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 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, 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 juftice of his cause.

MAR. What is thy name, and wherefore com'ft thou

hither,

Before king Richard, in his royal lifts?

[To Boling.

Against whom comeft thou? and what's thy quarrel ?

Speak like a true knight, fo defend thee heav'n!

BOL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Am I, who ready here do ftand in arms,

To prove, by heav'n's grace and my body's valour,
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 perføn be so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lifts,
Except the Marshal, and such officers

Appointed to direct these fair designs..

BOL. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my fovereign's hand,

And bow my knee before his majesty :

For Mowbray and myself are like too men

That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;

Then let us take a ceremonious leave,
And loving farewel, of our feveral friends.

MAR. Th' appellant in all duty greets your highness,

[To K. Rich.

And craves to kifs your hand, and take his leave.

K. RICH. We will defcend and fold him in our arms.

Coufin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,

So be thy fortune in this royal fight!

Farewel, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
BOL. 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 coufin, lord Aumerle.
Not fick, although I have to do with death;
But lufty, young, and chearly drawing breath.-
Lo, as at English feafts, fo I regreet
The daintieft laft, to make the end most sweet:
Oh thou! the earthly author of my blood,

[To Gaunt.

Whose youthful fpirit, 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 bleffing fteel my lance's point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,
And furbish new the name of John o' Gaunt
Ev'n in the lufty 'haviour of his fon,

GAUNT. Heav'n in thy good cause make thee prosperBe fwift 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.

[ous !

BOL. Mine innocence, God and St. George to thrive !

Mow B. However heav'n 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 bandage, and embrace
His golden uncontroul'd enfranchisement,
More than my dancing foul 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 jeft,

Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.

K. RICH. Farewel, my lord; fecurely I efpy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the tryal, marthal, and begin.

MAR. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Receive thy lance; and heav'n defend thy right!

1

BOL. Strong as a tower in hope,

cry amen.

MAR. Go bear this lance to Thomas duke of Norfolk,

I HER. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Stands here for God, his fovereign 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 fet forward to the fight.

[Norfolk,

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, Lancefter and Derby,

To God, his sovereign, and to him, difloyal :
Courageously, and with a free defire,

Attending but the fignal to begin.

[A charge founded.

MAR. Sound trumpets; and fet forward, combatants. -But stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.

[fpears,

K. RICH. Let them lay by their helmets and their And both return back to their chairs again. Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets found, While we return these dukes what we decree.

[A long flourish; after which, the king fpeaks to the combatants.

Draw near ;

And lift, what with our council we have done.

For that our kingdom's earth fhould not be foil'd
With that dear blood, which it hath foftered;
And, for our eyes do hate the dire aspect

Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbour fwords;
And for we think, the eagle-winged pride

Of fky-afpiring and ambitious thoughts

With rival-hating envy fet you on,

To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle fleep ;]
Which thus rouz'd up with boift'rous untun'd drums,
And harsh refounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
And grating fhock of wrathful iron arms,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace,
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood:
Therefore, we banish you our territories.
You, coufin Hereford, on pain of death,
Till twice five fummers have enrich'd our fields,
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,

But tread the ftranger paths of Banishment.

BOL. Your will be done. This must my comfort be, That fun, that warms you here, fhall fhine on me : And those his golden beams, to you here lent, Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.

K. RICH. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with fome unwillingness pronounce.

The fly-flow hours fhall not determinate

The dateless limit of thy dear exile:

The hopeless word, of "never to return,
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

Mow B. A heavy fentence, my moft fovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth.
A dearer merit, not fo deep a maim,

As to be caft forth in the common air,

Have I deferved at your highnefs' hands..
The language I have learn'd thefe forty years,
My native English, now I must forega;
And now my tongue's ufe is to me no more,
Than an unftringed viol, or a harp;
Or, like a cunning inftrument cas'd up,