Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom : 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: Gaunt. K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there is no boott. Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot: 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 tame. Nor. Yea, but not change their spots: take but my shame, And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford, • Arrogant. + No advantage in delay. Is-spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. 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? And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to com mand: Which since we cannot do to make you friends, [Exeunt. * Reconcile. + Show. VOL. IV. F SCENE II. The same. A room in the Duke of Lancaster's palace. 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 spur? Or seven fair branches springing from one root: 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 consentt In some large measure to thy father's death, What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, His deputy anointed in his sight, Hath caus'd his death: the which if wrongfully, An angry arm against his minister. Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself? Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and defence. Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, Gaunt. Sister, farewell: I must to Coventry: Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: I take my leave before I have begun; And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans? [Exeunt. 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 bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. Her house in Essex. |