The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  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 cooled for this.

  Yet can I not of such tame patience boast

  As to be hushed and naught at all 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 returned

  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,

  Wherever Englishman durst set his foot.

  Meantime let this defend my loyalty:

  By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.

  BOLINGBROKE (throwing down his gage)

  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 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 canst worse devise.

  MOWBRAY (taking up the gage)

  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 (to Bolingbroke)

  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 received eight thousand nobles

  In name of lendings for your highness’ soldiers,

  The which he hath detained 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 surveyed 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,

  Sluiced 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 chastisement.

  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 sayst 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 God and good men hate so foul a liar!

  KING RICHARD

  Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears.

  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 passage of thy throat thou liest!

  Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais

  Disbursed I duly to his highness’ soldiers.

  The other part reserved 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 noble lord of Lancaster,

  The honourable father to my foe,

  Once did I lay an ambush for your life,

  A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul;

  But ere I last received the Sacrament

  I did confess it, and exactly begged

  Your grace’s pardon, and I hope I had it.

  This is my fault. As for the rest appealed,

  It issues from the rancour of a villain,

  A recreant and most degenerate traitor,

  Which in myself I boldly will defend,He throws down his gage

  And interchangeably hurl down my gage

  Upon this overweening traitor’s foot,

  To prove myself a loyal gentleman

  Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom;

  In haste whereof most heartily I pray

  Your highness to assign our trial day.

  ⌈Bolingbroke takes up the gage⌉

  KING RICHARD

  Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled 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 time to bleed.

  Good uncle, let this end where it begun.

  We’ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.

  JOHN OF 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.

  JOHN OF GAUNT

  When, Harry, when?

  Obedience bids I should not bid again.

  KING RICHARD

  Norfolk, throw down! We bid; there is no boot.

  MOWBRAY (kneeling)

  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 disgraced, impeached, and baffled here,

  Pierced to the soul with slander’s venomed spear,

  The which no balm can cure but his heart blood

  Which breathed this poison.

  KING RICHARD Rage must be withstood.

  Give me his gage. Lions make leopards tame.

  MOWBRAY ⌈standing⌉

  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 barred-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 down your gage. Do you begin.

  BOLINGBROKE

  O God 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 out-dared 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 John of 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 cannot 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

  1.2 Enter John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, with the Duchess of Gloucester

  JOHN OF GAUNT

  Alas, the part I had in Gloucester’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.

  DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER

  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 cracked, and all the precious liquor spilt;

  Is hacked down, and his summer leaves all faded

  By envy’s hand and murder’s bloody axe.

  Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb,

  That mettle, that self mould that fashioned thee,

  Made him a man; and though thou liv‘st 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 slaughtered

  Thou show’st the naked pathway to thy life,

  Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.

  That which in mean men we entitle patience

  Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

  What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life

  The best way is to venge my Gloucester’s death.

  JOHN OF GAUNT

  God’s is the quarrel; for God’s substitute,

  His deputy anointed in his sight,

  Hath caused his death; the which if wrongfully,

  Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift

  An angry arm against his minister.

  DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER

  Where then, alas, may I complain myself?

  JOHN OF GAUNT

  To God, the widow’s champion and defence.

  DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER

  Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.

  Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold

  Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.

  O, set 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.

  JOHN OF GAUNT

  Sister, farewell. I must to Coventry.

  As much good stay with thee as go with me.

  DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER

  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 Pleshey visit me.

  Alack, and what shall good old York there see

  But empty lodgings and unfurnished 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 everywhere.

  Desolate, desolate will I hence and die.

  The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

  Exeunt ⌈severally⌉

  1.3 Enter Lord Marshal [with officers setting out chairs], and the Duke of Aumerle

  LORD MARSHAL

  My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed?

  AUMERLE

  Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.

  LORD MARSHAL

  The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,

  Stays but the summons of the appellant’s trumpet.

  AUMERLE

  Why then, the champions are prepared, and stay

  For nothing but his majesty’s approach.

  The trumpets sound, and King Richard enters, with John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, ⌈Bushy, Bagot, Green,] and other nobles. When they are set, enter Mowbray Duke of Norfolk, defendant, in arms, Fand a Herald]

  KING RICHARD

  Marshal, demand of yonder champion

  The cause of his arrival here in arms.

  Ask him his name, and orderly proceed

  To swear him in the justice of his cause.

  LORD MARSHAL (to Mowbray)

  In God’s name and the King‘s, say who thou art,

  And why thou com’st thus knightly clad in arms,

  Against what man thou com’st, and what thy

  quarrel.


  Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath,

  As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!

  MOWBRAY

  My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

  Who hither come engaged by my oath—

  Which God defend a knight should violate—

  Both to defend my loyalty and truth

  To God, my king, and my succeeding issue,

  Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me;

  And by the grace of God and this mine arm

  To prove him, in defending of myself,

  A traitor to my God, my king, and me.

  And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

  ⌈He sits.⌉

  The trumpets sound. Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Hereford, appellant, in armour, ⌈and a Herald⌉

  KING RICHARD

  Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms

  Both who he is and why he cometh hither

  Thus plated in habiliments of war;

  And formally, according to our law,

  Depose him in the justice of his cause.

  LORD MARSHAL (to Bolingbroke)

  What is thy name? And wherefore com’st thou hither

  Before King Richard in his royal lists?

  Against whom comest thou? And what’s thy quarrel?

  Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

  BOLINGBROKE

  Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby

  Am I, who ready here do stand in arms

  To prove by God’s grace and my body’s valour

  In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

  That he is a traitor foul and dangerous

  To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.

  And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

  ⌈He sits⌉

  LORD MARSHAL

  On pain of death, no person be so bold

  Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists

  Except the Marshal and such officers

  Appointed to direct these fair designs.

  BOLINGBROKE ⌈standing⌉

  Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign’s hand

  And bow my knee before his majesty,

  For Mowbray and myself are like two men

  That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;

  Then let us take a ceremonious leave

  And loving farewell of our several friends.

  LORD MARSHAL (to King Richard)

  The appellant in all duty greets your highness,

  And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

  KING RICHARD

  We will descend and fold him in our arms.

  He descends from his seat and embraces Bolingbroke

  Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is just,

  So be thy fortune in this royal fight.