Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? Till I have told this Slander of his blood, K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears. Now by my Scepter's awe, I make a vow, Mowb. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, The other part referv'd I by confent, For that my fovereign Leige was in my debt; Since laft I went to France to fetch his Queen. Now, fwallow down that Lie.-For Gloucester's death, For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, 3 My Scepter's awe.] The reverence due to my Scepter. And interchangeably hurl down my gage Even in the beft blood chamber'd in his bofom. 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 physician Deep malice makes too deep incision: 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 fhall 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 fhalt command, but not my Shame; 4 This we prefexibe, though no thyfician, &c.] I must make one Remark, in general, on the Rhymes throughout this whole play; they are fo much inferior to the rest of the writing, that they appear to me of a different hand. What confirms this, is, that the context does every where exactly (and frequently much better) connect without the inferted rhymes, except in a very few places; and juft there too, the rhyming verfes are of a much better taste than all the others, which rather strengthens my conjecture. POPE. No boot.] That is, no advanta e, no ufe, in delay or refulal. 5 My fair Name, &c.] That is, My name that lives on my grave in delight of death. This eafy paffage moft of the Editors feem to have mistaken. Pierc'd Pierc'd to the foul with flander's venom'd fpear: K. Rich. Rage must be withstood. Give me his gage. Lions make Leopards tame. And I refign my gage. My dear, dear Lord, Mine Honour is my life, both grow in one; 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 fhall tear 7 The slavish motive of recanting fear, And fpit it bleeding, in his high difgrace, 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. There fhall your Swords and Lances arbitrate Gaunt. [Exeunt. Changes to the Duke of Lancaster's Palace. A Las! * the part I had in Glo'fter's blood To ftir against the butchers of his life. Dutch. Finds brotherhood in thee no fharper fpur? Or fev'n fair branches, fpringing from one root: Ah, Geunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that womb, The part I had] That is, my relation of confanguinity to Gloucefle HANMER. Made Made him a man; and though thou liv'ft and breath'ft, 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, An angry arm against his Minifter. Dutch. Where then, alas, may I complain my felf? 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. A caitiff recreant-] Caitif originally fignified a prifoner; next a flave, from the condition of prifoners; then a fcoundrel, from the qualities of a flave. Ημισυ της αρλης αποαίνυται δέλιον ημαρ In this paffage it partakes of all thefe fignifications. Gaunt. |