The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 414

BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befall My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

MOWBRAY. Each day still better other's happiness Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal t.i.tle to your crown!

KING RICHARD. We thank you both; yet one but flatters us, 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?

BOLINGBROKE. First-heaven be the record to my speech!

In the devotion of a subject's love, Tend'ring 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.

MOWBRAY. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal.

'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 an to say.

First, the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me 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 afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.

Meantime let this defend my loyalty- By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie BOLINGBROKE. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the King; And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.

If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's p.a.w.n, 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 worst devise.

MOWBRAY. 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 traitor or unjustly fight!

KING RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?

It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him.

BOLINGBROKE. Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true- That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand n.o.bles 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 spring.

Further I say, and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood; Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastis.e.m.e.nt; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

KING RICHARD. How high a pitch his resolution soars!

Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?

MOWBRAY. 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 G.o.d and good men hate so foul a liar.

KING RICHARD. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and cars.

Were he my brother, nay, 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.

MOWBRAY. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false pa.s.sage 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 lie. For Gloucester's death- I slew him not, but to my own disgrace Neglected my sworn duty in that case.

For you, my n.o.ble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe, Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespa.s.s 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 To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.

In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your Highness to a.s.sign our trial day.

KING RICHARD. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; 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 month 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.

KING RICHARD. And, Norfolk, throw down his.

GAUNT. When, Harry, when?

Obedience bids I should not bid again.

KING RICHARD. Norfolk, throw down; we bid.

There is no boot.

MOWBRAY. 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 baffl'd 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.

KING RICHARD. Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage-lions make leopards tame.

MOWBRAY. Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame, 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 die.

KING RICHARD. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.

BOLINGBROKE. O, G.o.d defend my soul from such deep 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 face.

Exit GAUNT KING RICHARD. We were not born to sue, but to command; 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 can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry.

Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt

SCENE 2.

London. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace

Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with the d.u.c.h.eSS OF GLOUCESTER

GAUNT. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock'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 they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

d.u.c.h.eSS. 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 vials 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 Gloucester, One vial 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 livest and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life.

Call it not patience, Gaunt-it is despair; In suff'ring thus thy brother to be slaught'red, Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.

That which in mean men we ent.i.tle patience Is pale cold cowardice in n.o.ble b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death.

GAUNT. G.o.d's is the quarrel; for G.o.d's subst.i.tute, 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.

d.u.c.h.eSS. Where then, alas, may I complain myself?

GAUNT. To G.o.d, the widow's champion and defence.

d.u.c.h.eSS. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.

Thou goest 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!

Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife, 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!

d.u.c.h.eSS. 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 thy 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- ah, 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 hear 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. Exeunt

SCENE 3.

The lists at Coventry