Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is cast away; she's quick; the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours.
Ar. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt die.
Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jaquenetta that is quick by him; and hang'd, for Pompey that is dead by him.
Dum. Most rare Pompey!
Boy. Renowned Pompey!
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks For my great suit so easily obtain'd.
King. The extreme parts of time extremely form
All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides
That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love,
The holy suit which fain it would convince;
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
Bir. Greater than great, great, great, great From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost Pompey! Pompey the huge!
Bir. Pompey is mov'd:-More Ates, more Ates; stir them on! stir them on!
Dum. Hector will challenge him.
Bir. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea.
Ar. By the north-pole, I do challenge thee.
Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a nor-
thern man; I'll flash; I'll do it by the sword :-
I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.
Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.
Cost. I'll do it in my shirt.
Dum. Most resolute Pompey!
Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? you will lose your reputation.
Ar. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me: I will not combat in my shirt. [the challenge. Dum. You may not deny it; Pompey hath made Ar. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Bir. What reason have you for't?
Ar. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; go woolward for penance.
Boy. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's; and that 'a wears next his heart for a favour. Enter Mercade.
Mer. God save you, madam!
Prin. Welcome, Mercade;
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.
Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father—
Prin. Dead, for my life.
Mer. Even so; my tale is told.
Bir. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud. Ar. For mine own part, I breathe free breath: I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. [exit Worthies.
King. How fares your majesty? Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay. Prin. Prepare, I say.—I thank you gracious For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, [lords, Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe In your rich wisdom, to excuse or hide The liberal opposition of our spirits: If over-boldly we have borne ourselves In the converse of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it.-Farewell, worthy lord! A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue:
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,
As to rejoice at friends but newly found. [double.
Prin. I understand you not: my griefs are
Bir. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of
And by these badges understand the king. [grief;-
For your fair sakes have we neglected time, [ladies,
Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to the opposed end of our intents:
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,-
As love is full of unbefitting strains;
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ;
Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye,
Full of strange shapes, of habits, aud of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecom❜d our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested us to make: Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,
By being once false for ever to be true
To those that make us both,-fair ladies, you:
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.
Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;
Your favours, the embassadors of love;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,
As bombast, and as lining to the time:
But more devout than this, in our respects,
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment. [than jest.
Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more
Long. So did our looks.
Ros. We did not quote them so.
King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour,
Grant us your loves.
Prin. A time, methinks, too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in:
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and, therefore this,-
If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning;
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer, made in heat of blood;
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love:
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine,
I will be thine; and till that instant, shut
My woeful self up in a mourning house;
Raining the tears of lamentation,
For the remembrance of my father's death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part;
Neither intitled in the other's heart.
King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. Bir. And what to me, my love? and what to me? Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank;
You are attaint with faults and perjury;`
Therefore, if you my favour mean to get,
A twelvemonth shall you spend and never rest,
But seek the weary beds of people, sick.
Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to Kath. A wife!-A beard, fair health, and honesty ;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three. Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? Kath. Not so, my lord;-a twelvemonth and a day
I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say: Come when the king doth to my lady come, Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then, Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. Long. What says Maria?
Mar. At the twelvemonth's end,
I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. Long. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.
Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young. Bir. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me, Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, What humble suit attends thy answer there: Impose some service on me for thy love.
Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, Before I saw you: and the world's large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks : Full of comparisons and wounding flouts; Which you on all estates will execute, That lie within the mercy of your wit: To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain; And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, (Without the which I am not to be won,) [day You shall this twelvemonth term from day to Visit the speechless, sick and still converse With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
Bir. To move wild laughter in the throat of It cannot be; it is impossible:
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest's prosperity lies in the car
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,
Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groaus,
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
And I will have you, and that fault withal;
But, if they will not, throw away that spirit,
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your reformation.
[befal,
Bir. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will
I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.
Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my
leave.
[to the King.
King. No, madam: we will bring you on your
Bir. Our wooing doth not end like an old play: Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy. King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a And then 'twill end. [day,
Bir. That's too long for a play.
Enter Armado.
Ar. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,-
Prin. Was not that Hector?
Dum. The worthy knight of Troy.
Ar. I will kiss thy royal nnger, and take leave: am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the end of our show.
King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. Ar. Holla! approach.
Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, anc others.
This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin.
SONG.
Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo ;
Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks-
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings le,
Cuckoo ;
Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
III.
Winter. When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who,-a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
IV.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's zaw
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who,-a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Ar. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You, that way; we, this way.
Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby. Lord Fitzwater
Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminster.
Lord Marshal; and another Lord.
Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop.
Captain of a Band of Welchmen.
Queen to King Richard.
Duchess of Gloster.
Duchess of York.
Lady attending on the Queen.
Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners, Keepas, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants.
SCENE-Dispersedly in England and Wales.
LONDON. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.
Enter King Richard, attended; John of Gaunt, &c.
K. Rich. OLD John of Gaunt, time-honour'd
Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,
Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son;
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
Gaunt. I have, my liege.
[him,
K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
Or worthily, as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him?
Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that
argument,-
On some apparent danger seen in him,
Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice.
K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face
to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak :-
[exeunt some Attendants.
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
Re-enter Attendants, with Bolingbroke and Norfolk.
Bol. May many years of happy days befal
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown! [ters us,
K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flat-
As well appeareth by the cause you come;
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason..
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
Bol. First, (heaven be the record to my speech!)
In the devotion of a subject's love,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak,
My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant ;
Too good to be so, and too bad to live;
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note.
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
And wish (so please my sovereign), ere I move,
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword
may prove.
[zeal:
Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain:
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: [me,
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbe
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech,
Which else would post, until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled down his throat,
Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
I do defy him and I spit at him;
Call him a slanderous coward, and a villain:
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds;
And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable,
Where ever Englishman dare set his foot.
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,-
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
Bol. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my
Disclaiming here the kindred of a king; [gage,
And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to excopte
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength,
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop;
By that, and all the rites of knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.
Nor. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear,
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
And, when I mount, alive may I not light,
If I be a traitor, or unjustly fight!
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 appeal'd,
It issues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor:
Which in myself I boldly will defend ;
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mow-To prove myself a loyal gentleman
bray's charge?
It must be great, that can inherit us
So much as of a thought of ill in him. [true;-
Bol. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles,
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers;
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain.
Besides I say, and will in battle prove,~~
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English eye,-
That all the treasons, for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land,
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and
Further I say, and further will maintain [spring.
Upon his bad life, to make all this good,-
That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death;
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries;
And, consequently, like a traitor coward, [blood.
Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
Even from the tongueless caverns of the carth,
To me, for justice, and rough chastisement;
And by the glorious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. [soars!
K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?
Nor. 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 so foul a liar. [ears.
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and
Were he my brother, uay, my kingdom's heir,
(As he is but my father's brother's son),
Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow,
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul;
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou;
Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow.
Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest!
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers:
The other part reserv'd I by consent;
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt,
Upon remainder of a dear account,
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen :
Now swallow down that lic.- For Gloster's
I slew him not; but, to my own disgrace,
Neglected my sworn duty in that casc.—
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom:
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.
K. Rich. Wrath-kindl'd gentlemen, be rul'd by
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. [no boot.
K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there is
Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
The one my duty owes; but my fair name
(Despite of death, that lives upon my grave),
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here;
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear;
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood,
Which breath'd this poison.
K. Rich. Rage must be withstood:
Give me his gage:-Lions make leopards tamc.
Nor. Yea, but not change their spots take but
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 dis.
K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you
Bol. O God defend my soul from such foul sin!
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this outdar'd dastard! Ere my tongue
Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong,
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive of recanting fear;
And spit it, bleeding in his high disgrace,.
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's
[exit Gaunt.
K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to com
Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
At Coventry, upon saint Lambert's day;
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate;
Since we cannot atone you, we shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.-
Marshal, command our officer at arms
Be ready to direct these home alarms.
SCENE II. THE SAME, AT THE DUKE OF LANCASTER'S.
Enter Gaunt and Duchess of Gloster.
Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Gloster's blood
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims,
To stir against the butchers of his life.
But since correction lieth in those hands,
Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;
Who, when he sees the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? [spur?
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
Were as seven phials of his sacred blood,
Or seven fair branches springing from one root:
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
Some of those branches by the destinies cut:
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster,
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood,
One flourishing branch of his most royal root,-
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that
womb,
That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee, Made him a man: and though thou liv'st, and breath'st,
Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father's death,
In that thou see'st thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair:
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
That, which in mean men we entitle-patience,
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,
The best way is to 'venge my Gloster's death.
Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's
substitute,
His deputy anointed in his sight,
Hath caus'd his death: the which if wrongfully,
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
An angry arm against his minister.
Duch. Where, then, alas! may I complain myGaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and
Duch. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt, 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 sins 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! [wife,
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's
With her companion grief must end her life.
Gaunt. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry: As much good stay with thee, as go with me! Duch. Yet one word more ;-grief boundeth where it falls,
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:
I take my leave before I have begun ;
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York.
Lo, this is all: Nay, yet depart not so:
Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
I shall remember more. Bid him-O, what?—
With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see,
But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
And what cheer there for welcome but my groans?
Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where:
Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die;
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
SCENE III. Gosford GREEN, NEAR COVENTRY.
Lists set out, and a throne. Heralds, &c. attending.
Enter the Lord Marshal and Aumerle.
Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford
arm'd?"
Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.
Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd,
For nothing but his Majesty's approach. Flourish of Trumpets. Enter King Richard, who takes his seat on his throne; Gaunt, and several Noblemen, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and answered by another trumpet within. Then enter Norfolk in armour, preceded by a Herald.
K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name: and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause.
Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who
And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms: Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel:
Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath,
And so defend thee heaven, and thy vale.r!
Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of
Norfolk;
Who hither come engaged by my oath
(Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate!)
Both to defend my loyalty and truth,
To God, my king, and my succeeding issue
Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me;
To prove him, in defending of myself,
And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me:
And, as I truly fight, defend me, heaven!
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