*

King. Mowbray, impartiall are our eyes and eares; Where he my brother; nay, my kingdomes heire, As he is but my * fathers brothers fonne,

Now by + scepters awe I make a vow,

Such neighbour neerenes to our facred blood,
Should nothing priuiledge him, nor partialize
The vnftooping firmenèffe of my vpright foule :
He is our fubiect Mowbray, fo art thou,

Free speech and feareleffe I to thee allow.

Mow. Then Bullingbrooke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the falfe paffage of thy throat thou lieft:
Three parts of that receipt I had for Callice,
Disburst I to his highneffe fouldiers;
The other part referu'd I, by confent,
For that my foueraigne liege was in my debt,
Vpon remainder of a deere account,

Since laft I went to France to fetch his queene:
Now swallow downe that lie. For Glocefters death:
I flew him not, but to mine owne difgrace
Neglected my fworne duty in that cafe :

For you my noble lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,

Once did I § lay an ambush for your life;
A trespasse that doth vexe my grieued foule :
Ah, but ere I last receiu'd the facrament,
I did confeffe it, and exactly begd
Your gracés pardon, and I hope I had it.
This is my fault; as for the reft appeald,
It issues from the rancour of a villaine,
A recreant and most degenerate traitour;
Which in my felfe I boldly will defend,
And enterchangeably hurle downe the ++ gage,

Vpon this ouerweening traitors foote,

To prooue my felfe a loyall gentleman,

Euen in the best blood chambred in your + bofome:
In haft whereof, most hartily I pray

Your highnesse to affigne our triall day.

King. Wrath kindled gentleman, be ruled by me,
Lets pvrge this choler without letting bloud,
This we prescribe, though no phisition :
Deepe malice makes too deepe incifion:
Forget, forgiue, conclude, and be agreed,
Our doctors fay, this is no month § to bleed:
Good vnckle, let this end where it begunne;
Weele calme the duke of Norfolke, you your fonne.

Gaunt. To be a make-peace, fhall become my age:
Throw downe (my fonne) the duke of Norfolks gage.
King. And Norfolke, throw downe his.

Gaunt. When Harrie, when? obedience bids, Obedience bids I should not bid againe.

King. Norfolke, throw downe we bid, there is no boote. Mow. My felfe I throw (dread foueraigne) at thy foote My life thou shalt commaund, but not my fhame : The one my dutie owes; but my faire name, Defpight of death that liues vpon my graue, To darke difhonors vfe, thou shalt not haue: I am difgraft, impeacht, and baffuld heere; Pierft to the foule with flaunders venomd fpeare, The which no balme can cure, but his heart blood Which breathd this poyfon.

King. Rage must be withstood:

Giue me his gage; lions make leopards tame.

Mowb. Yea, but not change his spots; take but my shame And I refigne my gage, my deare deare lord. The pureft treasure mortall times affoord,

Is fpotleffe reputation, that away;

Men are but guilded loame, and † painted clay :

A iewell in a tenne times bard vp
Is a bold spirit in a loyall breast.
Mine honour is my life,
Take honour from me,

cheft,

both grow in one;

and my life is done.

Then (deare my liege) mine honour let me try,
In that I liue, and for that will I die.

King. Coofin, throw up § your gage; do you begin.
Bull. O God defend my foule from fuch deepe* finne,
Shall I feeme creft-fallen in my fathers fight?

Or with pale begger-face §§ impeach my hight,
Before this out-darde daftard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound my honour with fuch feeble wrong,
Or found fo base a parlee, †† my teeth fhall teare
The flauish motiue of recanting feare,

And fpit in bleeding in his ‡ high difgrace,

Where shame doth harbour, euen in Mowbraies face.

King. We were not borne to fue, but to command,
Which fince we cannot doe, to make you friends,

Be ready (as your life ** fhall anfwere it)
At Couentrie vpon faint Lambards day:
There shall your swords and launces arbitrate
The fwelling difference of your fetled hate :
Since we cannot attone you, you shall see
Iuftice defigne the victors chiualrie.

*

tor downe beaven foule

Exit Count.

beggar feare tt parle this
** lives

Lord

Lord marfhall, command our officers at armes,

Be readie to direct these home all armes *.

Exit. +

Enter Iohn of Gaunt, with the dutcheffe of Glocefter.

Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Woodstocks § blood,
Doth more folicite me, then your exclaimes,

To stirre against the butchers of his life.
But fince correction lyeth in those handes,
Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
But wee our quarrell to the will of heauen ;
Who when they fee the hower's ripe on earth,
Will raine hot vengeance on offenders heades. .

Dutcheffe. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur ?
Hath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire?
Edwards feauen fonnes, whereof thy felfe art one,
Were feauen viols of his facred blood,

Or feauen faire branches springing from one roote:
Some of thofe feanen are dryed by natures course;
Some of those branches by the destenies cut:
But Thomas my deare lord, my life, my Glocefter,
One violl full of Edwards facred blood,
One flourishing branch of his moft royall roote
Is cract, and all the precious liquor fpilt,

Is hackt downe, and his fummer leaues all faded §§

By envies hand, and murders bloodie axe.

Ah Gaunt, his blood was thine, that bed, that wombe,
That mettall; that felfe mould that fashioned thee,
Made him a man: and though thou liueft and breatheft,
Yet art thou flaine in him; thou dost consent

In fome large measure to thy fathers death,
In that thou feest thy wretched brother die,

⚫ alarms + Scoena fecunda.

Glofters were as, where are

$5 vaded

Who

Who was the modell of thy fathers life :
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is dispaire,
In fuffering thus thy brother to be slaughtred;
Thou fhewest the naked path-way to thy life,
Teaching sterne murder how to butcher thee:
That which in meane men we intitle patience,
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breaftes.

What shall I fay? to fafegard thine owne life,
The best way is, to venge my Glocefters death.
Gaunt. Gods is the quarrell, for Gods* fubftitute,
His deputie annoynted in his fight,

Hath caufd his death; the which if wrongfully,
Let heauen reuenge, for I may neuer lift

An angrie arme against his minister.

Dut. Where then alas may I complaine my felfe?
Gaunt. To God, † the widowes champion and § defence.
Dutc. Why then I will: farewell old Gaunt,

Thou goeft to Couentrie, there to behold
Our coofin Herford and fell Mowbray fight.
O fet my husbands wrong on Herfords fpeare,
That it may enter butcher Mowbrayes breaft.
Or if misfortune miffe the first carrier,
Be Mowbraies finnes fo heauie in his bosome,
That they may breake his foming courfers backe,
And throw the rider headlong in the lifts,
A caytiffe recreant to my coofin Herford.
Farewell old Gaunt, thy fometimes brothers wife,
With her companion, griefe must end her life.
Gaunt. Sifter farewell, I muft to Couentrie:
As much good stay with thee, as go with me.

* Heavens + Heaven $ to

{ fit

Dutch.