K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars Till I have told this slander of his blood," ears: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, and Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: death, For Gloster's I slew him not; but to my own disgrace, this slander of his blood,] i. e. this reproach to his an · my scepter's awe,] The reverence due to my scepter. Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom 7 Your highness to assign our trial day. K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; Let's purge this choler without letting blood: Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. Gaunt. When, Harry? when? Obedience bids, I should not bid again. K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there is no boot.9 Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot: My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: no boot.] That is, no use, in delay, or refusal, The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison. K. Rich. Rage must be withstood: And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you begin. Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin! Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? ( Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. [Exit GAUNT. K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to com mand: Which since we cannot do to make you friends, VOL. IV. 2 Since we cannot atone you,' we shall see [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. A Room in the Duke of Lancaster's Palace. Enter GAUNT, and Duchess of Gloster.3 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 spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? 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; →atone you,] i. e. reconcile you. 'Justice design] i. e, mark out. 3 Duchess of Gloster.] The Duchess of Gloster was Eleanor Bohun, widow of duke Thomas, son of Edward III. the part-] That is, my relation of consanguinity to 4 Gloster. Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, 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' His deputy anointed in his sight, Hath caus'd his death: the which if wrongfully,. Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself? defence. 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, S thou dost consent, &c.] i. e. assent, |