That, being brought into the open air, It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poifon which affaileth him.
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but 'till thy news be uttered; And then all this thou seest, is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty.
Faulc. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward; Where, heaven he knows, how weshall answer him: For, in a night, the best part of my power, As I upon advantage did remove, Were in the washes, all unwarily,
Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The king dies. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an
My liege! my lord!-But now a king, -now thus. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. What furety of the world, what hope, what stay,
Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here, When this was now a king, and now is clay!
Doth he ftill rage ?
Pemb. He is more patient
Than when you left him even now he fung.
Hen. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes, In their continuance, will not feel themfelves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them: invisible his fiege is now, Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies;
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should fing.
I am the cygnet to this pale faint fwan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death; Aad, from the organ-pipe of frailty, fings
His foul and body to their lafting reft.
Faule. Art thou gone fo? I do but stay behind, To do the office for thee of revenge; And then my foul shall wait on thee to heaven, As it on earth hath been thy fervant ftill. Now, now, you ftars, that move in your right spheres, [faiths; Where be your powers? Shew now your mended And inftantly return with me again, To push deftruction, and perpetual shame, Out of the weak door of our fainting land: Straight let us feek, or straight we shall be fought; The Dauphin rages at our very heels.
Sal. It feems, you know not then fo much as we: The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, Who half an hour fince came from the Dauphin; And brings from him fuch offers of our peace
Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born As we with honour and respect may take,
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It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There is so hot a fummer in my bosom, That all my bowels crumble up to duft : I am a fcribbled form, drawn with a pen Upon a parchment; and against this fire Do I shrink up.
Her. How fares your majesty ? [caft off: K. John. Poifon'd, ill fare;-dead, forfook, And none of you will bid the winter come, To thruft his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course Through my burn'd bofom; nor intreat the north To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold: -I do not ask you much, I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,
And fo ingrateful, you deny me that.
Hen. Oh, that there were some virtue in my tears, That might relieve you!
K. Jobn. The falt of them is hot.- Within me is a hell; and there the poifon Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize On unreprievable condemned blood. Enter Faulçonbridge.
Faule. Oh, I am scalded with my violent motion, And fpleen of speed to see your majefty.
A. Jobn. Oh, coufin, thou art cometoset mine eye: The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt; And all the shrowds, wherewith my life should fail, Ace turned to one thread, one little hair;
With purpose presently to leave this war.
Faulk. He will the rather do it, when he sees Ourfelves well finewed to our defence.
Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; For many carriages he hath difpatch'd To the fea-fide, and put his cause and quarrel To the difpofing of the cardinal: With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, If you think meet, this afternoon will poft To confummate this business happily.
Faule. Let it be fo:-And you, my noble prince, With other princes that may best be spar'd, Shall wait upon your father's funeral.
Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd; For fo he will'd it.
Faulc. Thither shall it then.
And happily may your fweet self put on The lineal state and glory of the land!
To whom, with all fubmiffion, on my knee, I do bequeath my faithful fervices
And true fubjection everlastingly.
Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, To reft without a fpot for evermore. [thanks,
Hen. I have a kind foul, that would give you And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Faule. Oh, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.- This England never did, nor never fhall, Lye at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, [rue, And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt omnes.
Heralds, two Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants.
SCENE, difperfedly, in England and Wales.
Enter Kirg Richard, John of Gaunt, with other Nobles and Attendants.
0 LD John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
Haft thou, according to thy oath and band 5, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold fon; Here to make good the boifterous late appeal, Which then our leifure would not let us hear, Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt. I have, my liege. [him,
Or worthily, as a good subject should, On fome known ground of treachery in him?
Gaunt. As near as I could fift him on that a gument,-
On fome apparent danger seen in him, Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. K. Rich. Then call them to our prefence; face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accufer, and the accused, freely speak:- High-ftomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the fea, hafty as fire.
Enter Bolingbroke and Mowbray.
K. Rich. Tell me moreover, haft thou founded Boling. Many years of happy days befal If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
My gracious fovereign, my most loving liege!
1 This hiftory, however, comprises little more than the two last years of this prince. The action of the drama begins with Bolingbroke's appealing the duke of Norfolk, on an accufation of high treafon, which fell out in the year 1398; and it closes with the murder of king Richard at Pomfretcattle towards the end of the year 1400, or the beginning of the ensuing year. French for what we now call Albemarle, which is a town in Normandy. 3 Mr. Steevens says, it ought to be Lord Berkley, as there was no Earl Berkley 'till fome ages after. 4 Now spelt Rous, one of the duke of Rutland's titles. 5 i. e. bond.
Motub. Each day ftill better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown!
K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,
As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely, to appeal each other of high treafon.- Coufin of Hereford, what doft thou object Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Boling. First (heaven be the record to my speech!) In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious fafety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come 1 appellant to this princely prefence.- 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 foul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor, and a mifcreant; Too good to be so, and too bad to live; Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier feem 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 fovereign) ere I move, What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn fword [zeal:
Mowb. Let not my cold words here accufe 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 fuch taime patience boaft, As to be hush'd, and nought at all to fay: First, the fair reverence of your lughnets curbs me, From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would poft, until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting afide his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinfman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him;
Call him a flanderous coward, and a villain : Which to maintain, I would allow him odds; And meet him, were I ty'd to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground 2 inhab table Where ever Englishman durft fet his foot. Mean time, let this defend my loyalty, -
By all my hopes, most falfely doth he lie.
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial : And, when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor, or unjustly fight!
K. Rich. What doth our coufin lay to Mowbray's It must be great, that can inherit us 3 So much as of a thought of ill in him. [true;-
Boling. Look, what I faid, my life shall prove it That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, In name of lendings for your highness' foldiers; The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a falfe traitor, and injurious villain. Befides I fay, and will in battle prove, Or here, or elfewhere, 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 spring. Further I fay, and further will maintain Upon his bad life, to make all this good,- That he did plot the duke of Glofter's death; Suggeft his foon-believing adverfaries; And, confequently, like a traitor coward, [blood; Sluic'd out his innocent foul through streams of Which blood, like facrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me, for juftice, and rough chastisement; And, by the glorious worth of my deicent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.
K. Rich. How high a pitch his refolution foars! Thomas of Norfolk, what fay'st thou to this?
Mowb. O, let my fovereign turn away his face, And bid his ears a little while be deaf, 'Till I have told this flander of his blood, How God, and good men, hate fo foul a liar. [ears:
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, a Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's Leir, (As he is but my father's brother's fon) Now by my fceptre's awe I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our facred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unftooping firmnets of my upright foul: He is our fubject, Mowbray, fo art thou; Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow.
Moub. Then, Belingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the falfe paflage of thy throat, thou lieft Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, Disburs'd I to his highness' foldiers: The other part referv'd I by confent; For that my fovereign liege was in my debt,
Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw Upon remainder of a dear account,
Disclaiming here the kindred of a king; And lay afide my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except: If guilty dread hath left thee fo 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 canft worse devise.
Mowb. I take it up; and, by that fword I fwear, -Which gently lay'd my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll anfwer thee in any fair degree,
Since lait I went to France, to fetch his queen: Now fwallow down that lie.
I flew him not; but, to mine own disgrace, Neglected my fworn 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 trefpafs that doth vex my grieved foul: But, ere I last receiv'd the facrament, I did confess it; and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it.
* Meaning, his sword drawn in a right or just caufe.
2 i. e: not habitable. 3 i. e. poffefs us.
K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incifion : 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 fon.
Gaurt. To be a make-peace shall become my age: Throw down, my fon, the duke of Norfolk's gage. K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. Gaunt. When, Harry? when?
Obedience bids, I should not bid again.
K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there
[foot: Mowb. Myfelf I throw, dread fovereign, at thy My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one, my duty owes; but my fair name, (Defpight of death, that lives upon my grave) To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am difgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled 2 here; Pierc'd to the foul with flander's venom'd spear; The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poifon.
K. Rich. Rage must be withstood : Give me his gage:-Lions make leopards tame. Mowb. Yea, but not change their spots: take but my shame,
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The pureft 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 breaft.
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 die.
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The Duke of Lancaster's Palace. Enter Gaunt, and Dutchess of Glofter. Gaunt. Alas! the part 4 I had in Glofter's blood Doth more folicit me, than your exclaims, To ftir against the butchers of his life. But, fince correction lieth in those hands, Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when they fee the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Dutch. Einds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven fons, whereof thyfelf art one, Were as feven phials of his facred blood, Or feven fair branches, fpringing from one root: Some of those seven are dry'd by nature's courte, Some of those branches by the dettinies cut. But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glofter, One phial full of Edward's facred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor fpilt; Is hack'd down, and his fummer leaves all faded, By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that womb,
That metal, that felf-mould, that fashion'd thee, Made him a man; and though thou liv'it, and
Yet art thou flain in him: thou doft confent In fome large meafure to thy father's death, In that thou feeft thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is defpair: In fuffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou shew'st the naked path-way to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we entitle-patience, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breafts. What shall I fay? to fafeguard thine own life, The best way is to venge my Glofter's death.
Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's
His deputy anointed in his fight,
Hath caus'd his death: the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against his minifter.
Dutch. Where then, alas! may I complain my felf? Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and
1 i. e. no advantage in delay or refusal. 2 Baffled, in this, as has been noted in a former, place, means, treated with the greatest ignominy imaginable. 3 i. e. with a face of fupplication. my relation of confanguinity to Glofter.
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