Enter lord Marshal and the Duke [of] Aumerle.
My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed?
Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.
The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,
1.3.4297Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet.
Why then, the champions are prepared, and stay
1.3.6299For nothing but his majesty's approach.
1.3.7300The trumpets sound and King [Richard] enters with his nobles, [Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green, and others]. 301When they are set, enter [Mowbray,] Duke of Norfolk, in arms, defendant, [with a Herald]. Marshal, demand of yonder champion
1.3.9304The cause of his arrival here in arms,
1.3.10305Ask him his name, and orderly proceed
1.3.11306To swear him in the justice of his cause.
[To Mowbray] In God's name and the King's, say who thou art
1.3.13308And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms,
1.3.14309Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel.
1.3.15310Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath,
1.3.16311As so defend thee heaven and thy valor!
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
1.3.18313Who hither come engagèd by my oath --
1.3.19314Which God defend a knight should violate! --
1.3.21316To God, my king, and my succeeding issue,
1.3.22317Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me,
1.3.23318And by the grace of God and this mine arm
1.3.24319To prove him, in defending of myself,
1.3.25320A traitor to my God, my king, and me;
1.3.26321And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
[He sits.]
322 The trumpets sound. Enter [Bolingbroke,] Duke of Hereford, 322.1appellant, in armor, [with a Herald]. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms
1.3.28324Both who he is and why he cometh hither
1.3.31327Depose him in the justice of his cause.
[To Bolingbroke] What is thy name? And wherefore com'st thou hither,
1.3.33329Before King Richard in his royal lists?
1.3.34330Against whom com'st thou? And what's thy quarrel?
1.3.35331Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby
1.3.37333Am I, who ready here do stand in arms
1.3.38334To prove, by God's grace and my body's valor,
1.3.39335In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
1.3.40336That he is a traitor foul and dangerous
1.3.41337To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.
1.3.42338And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
[He sits.]
On pain of death, no person be so bold
1.3.44340Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,
1.3.45341Except the Marshal and such officers
1.3.46342Appointed to direct these fair designs.
[Standing] Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand
1.3.49345For Mowbray and myself are like two men
1.3.50346That vow a long and weary pilgrimage.
1.3.51347Then let us take a ceremonious leave
1.3.52348And loving farewell of our several friends.
[To King Richard] The appellant in all duty greets your highness,
1.3.54350And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.
We will descend and fold him in our arms.
[He descends from his seat and embraces Bolingbroke.]
1.3.56352Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
1.3.57353So be thy fortune in this royal fight.
1.3.58354Farewell, my blood, which if today thou shed,
1.3.59355Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
Oh, let no noble eye profane a tear
1.3.61357For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear.
1.3.62358As confident as is the falcon's flight
1.3.63359Against a bird do I with Mowbray fight. --
1.3.64360[To lord Marshal] My loving lord, I take my leave of you. --
1.3.65361[To Aumerle] Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle;
1.3.66362Not sick, although I have to do with death,
1.3.67363But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. --
1.3.68364Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
1.3.69365The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
1.3.70366[To Gaunt, kneeling] O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
1.3.71367Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
1.3.72368Doth with a twofold vigor lift me up
1.3.74370Add proof unto mine armor with thy prayers,
1.3.75371And with thy blessings steel my lance's point
1.3.76372That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat
1.3.77373And furbish new the name of John o'Gaunt,
1.3.78374Even in the lusty havior of his son.
God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
1.3.80376Be swift like lightning in the execution,
1.3.81377And let thy blows, doubly redoublèd,
1.3.82378Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
1.3.84380Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.
[Standing] Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!
[Standing] However God or Fortune cast my lot,
1.3.87383There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne,
1.3.88384A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.
1.3.89385Never did captive with a freer heart
1.3.90386Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace
1.3.91387His golden uncontrolled enfranchisement
1.3.92388More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
1.3.93389This feast of battle with mine adversary.
1.3.94390Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,
1.3.95391Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.
1.3.97393Go I to fight. Truth hath a quiet breast.
Farewell, my lord. Securely I espy
1.3.99395Virtue with valor couchèd in thine eye. --
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
1.3.102398Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!
[An attendant bears a lance to Bolingbroke.]
Strong as a tower in hope, I cry "Amen!"
[To the attendant] Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.
[The attendant bears a lance to Mowbray.]
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby
1.3.106402Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,
1.3.108404To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
1.3.109405A traitor to his God, his king, and him,
1.3.110406And dares him to set forward to the fight.
Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
1.3.115411To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,
Sound trumpets, and set forward combatants.
[A charge is sounded.]
[King Richard throws down his warder.]
1.3.119415Stay! The King hath thrown his warder down.
Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
1.3.121417And both return back to their chairs again.
[Bolingbroke and Mowbray disarm and sit.]
1.3.122418[To his council] Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound
1.3.123419While we return these dukes what we decree.
[A long flourish, during which King Richard and his council withdraw to confer then come forward. King Richard addresses Bolingbroke and Mowbray.]
1.3.125422And list what with our council we have done.
1.3.126423For that our kingdom's earth should not be soiled
1.3.127424With that dear blood which it hath fosterèd:
1.3.128425And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
1.3.129426Of civil wounds plowed up with neighbor's sword;
1.3.133426.4To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
1.3.135427Which so roused up with boist'rous untuned drums,
1.3.136428With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray
1.3.137429And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
1.3.138430Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace
1.3.139431And make us wade even in our kindred's blood:
1.3.140432Therefore we banish you our territories. --
1.3.141433You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,
1.3.142434Till twice five summers have enriched our fields,
1.3.144436But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Your will be done. This must my comfort be:
1.3.146438That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,
1.3.147439And those his golden beams to you here lent
1.3.148440Shall point on me and gild my banishment.
Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
1.3.150442Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
1.3.151443The sly, slow hours shall not determinate
1.3.154446Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
1.3.156448And all unlooked-for from your highness' mouth.
1.3.159451Have I deservèd at your highness' hands.
1.3.160452The language I have learnt these forty years,
1.3.162454And now my tongue's use is to me no more
1.3.166458That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
1.3.167459Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue,
1.3.168460Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips,
1.3.173465What is thy sentence then but speechless death,
1.3.174466Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?
It boots thee not to be compassionate.
1.3.176468After our sentence, plaining comes too late.
Then thus I turn me from my country's light,
1.3.178470To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
[He begins to exit.]
[To Mowbray] Return again, and take an oath with thee.
1.3.180472[To Mowbray and Bolingbroke] Lay on our royal sword your banished hands.
[They place their right hands on the hilts of King Richard's sword.]
1.3.181473Swear by the duty that you owe to God --
1.3.182474Our part therein we banish with yourselves --
1.3.184476You never shall, so help you truth and God,
1.3.185477Embrace each other's love in banishment,
1.3.188480This louring tempest of your home-bred hate,
1.3.191483'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
I swear.
I swear. And I, to keep all this.
[They step back.]
Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:
1.3.195487By this time, had the King permitted us,
1.3.196488One of our souls had wandered in the air,
1.3.197489Banished this frail sepulcher of our flesh,
1.3.198490As now our flesh is banished from this land.
1.3.199491Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm.
1.3.200492Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
No, Bolingbroke, if ever I were traitor,
1.3.203495My name be blotted from the book of life,
1.3.204496And I from heaven banished as from hence!
1.3.205497But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know;
1.3.206498And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue. --
1.3.207499Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;
500Save back to England, all the world's my way.
Exit.
[To Gaunt] Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
1.3.210503Hath from the number of his banished years
1.3.211504Plucked four away.
[To Bolingbroke] Six frozen winters spent,
1.3.212505Return with welcome home from banishment.
How long a time lies in one little word!
1.3.214507Four lagging winters and four wanton springs
1.3.215508End in a word: such is the breath of kings.
I thank my liege that in regard of me
1.3.217510He shortens four years of my son's exile.
1.3.218511But little vantage shall I reap thereby,
1.3.219512For ere the six years that he hath to spend
1.3.220513Can change their moons and bring their times about,
1.3.221514My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light
1.3.222515Shall be extinct with age and endless night.
1.3.223516My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
1.3.224517And blindfold death not let me see my son.
Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.
But not a minute, King, that thou canst give.
1.3.227520Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
1.3.228521And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow.
1.3.229522Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
1.3.231524Thy word is current with him for my death,
1.3.232525But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
Thy son is banished upon good advice,
1.3.234527Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave.
1.3.235528Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour?
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
1.3.237530You urged me as a judge, but I had rather
1.3.238531You would have bid me argue like a father.
1.3.240531.2To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.
1.3.243532Alas, I looked when some of you should say
1.3.245534But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
1.3.246535Against my will to do myself this wrong.
[To Bolingbroke] Cousin, farewell. -- And, uncle, bid him so.
1.3.248537Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
[Flourish]. Exit [King Richard with his train]. [Aumerle, lord Marshal, Gaunt and Bolingbroke remain.]
[To Bolingbroke] Cousin, farewell. What presence must not know,
1.3.250540From where you do remain let paper show.
[Exit.] [To Bolingbroke] My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride,
1.3.252542As far as land will let me, by your side.
[Bolingbroke remains silent. Lord Marshal draws away.]
Oh, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
1.3.254544That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?
I have too few to take my leave of you,
1.3.256546When the tongue's office should be prodigal
1.3.257547To breathe the abundant dolor of the heart.
Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
What is six winters? They are quickly gone.
To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.
Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure.
My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
The sullen passage of thy weary steps
Nay, rather every tedious stride I make
All places that the eye of heaven visits
1.3.289557.22The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strewed,
Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand
1.3.301565Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
1.3.302566Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more
1.3.303567Than when he bites but lanceth not the sore.
Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way.
1.3.305569Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.
Then, England's ground, farewell! Sweet soil, adieu,
1.3.307571My mother and my nurse that bears me yet!
573Though banished, yet a trueborn Englishman.
Exeunt [Gaunt and Bolingbroke, followed by lord Marshal].