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Thomas of Norfolk, what fay'st thou to this?

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 sacred blood Should nothing priv’lege him, nor partialize Th' unstooping firmness of my upright soul. He is our Subject, Morubray, 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 liest! Three parts of that Receipt I had for Calais, Disburst I to his Highness' soldiers ; The other part referv'd I by confent, For that my sovereign Leige 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 New 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 appealid, It issues from the rancor of a villain, A recreant and most degen’rate traitor ; Which in my self I boldly will defend,

3 My Scepter's awe.]

The reverence due to my Scepter.


And interchangeably hurl 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 haste whereof, most heartily I pray
Your Highness to assign 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 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 self I throw, dread Sovereign, at thy

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 based here,

4 This we proferibe, though no too, the rhyming verses are of a physician, &c. ) I mult make much better taste than all the one Remark, in general, on the others, which rather strengthens Rhymes throughout this whole my conje&ure.

Pope. play ; they are so much inferior * No boot.] That is, no adto the rest of the writing, that vanta e, no use, in delay or rethey appear to me of a different fulal. hand. What confirms this, is, 5 My fair Name, &c.] That is, that the context does every My name that lives on my grave in where exactly (and frequently delight of death. This easy parmuch better) connect without fage most of the Editors seem to the inserted rhymes, except in a have mistaken. very few places; and just there


Pierc'd to the soul with Nander's venom'd spear :
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
Which breath'd this poison.

K. Ricb. Rage must be withstood.
Give me his gage. Lions make Leopards tame.

Mowb. Yea, but not change their spots. Take bur

my shame,

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 chest,
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. Cousin, throw down your gage ; do you

begin. Boling. Oh, heav'n defend my soul from such foul sin! Shall I seem crest-fall’n in my father's sight, • Or with pale beggar face impeach my height, Before this out-dar'd Daftard ? Ere my tongue Shall wound my Honour with such feeble wrong, Or found so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 7 The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace, Where shame 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 shall answer it, At Coventry upon Saint Lambert's day.


6 Or with pale beggar face-] 7 The flavish motive-] Moi.e. with a face of supplication. tive, for instrument. But this will not satisfy the Ox- Rather that which fear puts in ford Editor, he turns it to hag- motion. gard fear. WARBURTON.


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. [Exeunt.

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Changes to the Duke of Lancaster's Palace.

Enter Gaunt and Dutchess of Gloucester. Gaunt. Las ! * the part I had in Glo'ster's blood

Doch more follicit me, than your Ex

To stir against the butchers of his life.
But since correction lyeih in those hands,
Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our Quarrel to the Will of heav'n;
Who when it sees the hours ripe on earth,
Wiil rain hor 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 fiv'n vials of his sacred blood;
Or fev'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 Glofter,
One vial, full of Edward's facred blood,
One flourishing bra! ch of his most royal root,
Is cruck'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ;
Is hackt clown, and his summer leaves all faded,
By Envy's hand and Murder's bloody axe,
Ah, Geunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that womb,
That mttai, that self-mould that fashion'd thee;
* The part I bed] That is, my relation of consanguinity to




Made him a man ; and though thou liv'st and breath'st,
Yet art thou Nain 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 suff'ring thus thy brother to be Naughter'd,
Thou shew'it 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 shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,
The best way is to 'venge my Glo'ster's death.

Gaunt. God's is the Quarrel ; for God's Substitute,
His Deputy anointed in his sight,
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 my self?
Gaunt. To heav'n, the widow's Champion and De-

Dutch. Why then, I will: farewel, old Gaunt,farewel.
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold
Our Cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast !
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.

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$ A cailiff recreant-] Cai- Ημισυ της αρτης αποαινυλαι δέλιον tif originally signified a prisoner;

ημαρ. next a Jave, from the condition In this passage it partakes of of prisoners; then a scoundrel, all these fignifications, from the qualities of a slave.


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