University of Virginia Library

SCENE a Chamber of State. King Richard, John of Gaunt, Northumberland, Piercie, Ross, Willoughby, with other Nobles and Attendants.
King
Old John of Gaunt time honour'd Lancaster;
Hast thou according to thy Oath and Bond
Brought hither Harry Herford thy bold Son,
Here to make good th'Impeachment lately charg'd
Against the Duke of Norfolk Thomas Mowbray?

Gaunt.
I have my Liege.

King.
Hast thou moreover sifted him to find
If he Impeach the Duke on private malice;
Or worthily as a good Subject shou'd.

Gaunt.
As far as I can sound him in the Business
On some Apparent danger from the Duke
Aim'd at your Highness, no Inveterate Malice!

King.
Then set 'em in our presence Face to Face;
And Frowning, Brow to Brow, our self will hear
Th' Accuser and the Accus'd both freely speak;
High-Stomacht are they both and in their Rage
Deaf as the storming Sea, hasty as Fire.

Bulling-brook and Mowbray from several Entrances.
Bull.
Now many years of happy day's befal
My gracious Soveraign my most honour'd Liege.

Mow.
Each day exceeding th' others happiness
Till Heav'n in Jealousie to Earth's success
Add an immortal Title to your Crown.

King.
Cousin of Herford what dost thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk Thomas Mowbray?

Bull.
First then be Heav'n the Record to my speech,
That in devotion to a Subjects love
(Not on Suggestions of a private Hatred)
Come I Appealant 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 Heav'n:
Thou art a Trayter to the King and State,
A foul Excrescence of a Noble Stem;
To Heav'n I speak it, and by Heav'n 'tis true,
That thou art Treason spotted, false as Hell,
And wish (so please my Soveraign) ere we move,
What my Tongue speaks, my right drawn Sword may prove.

Mow.
Let not the coldness of my Language draw
My Sov'reign Liege your Censure on my Zeal,
'Tis not the Tryal of a Womans War,
The senseless clamour of contending Tongues
Can arbitrate the Diff'rence 'twixt us Two,
The Blood is hot that must be cool'd for this:
The Reverence of this Presence curbs my speech,
That else had shot like Lightning and return'd
This charge of Treason, to the sland'rers Throat:
Set but aside his high Blood's Royalty,
And let him be no Kins-man to the King.
Allow me this, and Bulling-brook's a Villain;
Which to maintain I will allow him odds,
Pursue him bare-foot to the farthest North,
Whose Chastisement I tamely now forbear,

Bull.
White-liver'd Coward there I throw my Gage,
Disclaiming my Relation to the King,
Which Fear, not Reverence make thee to object;
If guilty Dread has left thee so much strength,
Stoop and take up forthwith my Honour's Pawn;
By that and all the Rights of Knight-hood else
I will make good against thee Arm to Arm
What I have said, and Seal it with thy Soul.

Mow.
I seize it Herford as I wou'd seize Thee,
And by the Sword that laid my Knight-hood on me
I'll answer thee in any Knightly Tryal
As hot in Combate as thou art in Brawl.

King.
What do's our Cousen lay to Norfolk's Charge?

Bull.
First then I say (my Sword shall prove it true)
That Mow-bray has receiv'd eight thousand Nobles
In Name of Lendings for your Highness Service,
All which for lew'd Employments he detains
Like a false Traytor and injurious Villain;
Besides I say and will in Combate prove,
That all the Treasons, Plots, Conspiracies
Hatcht for these eighteen years within this Realm,
Fetcht from false Mowbray their first Spring and Head:
Farther I say, and on his Heart will prove it,
That he did Plot the Duke of Gloster's Death,
Whose Martial Ghost to me for Vengeance cryes,
And by the glorious Worth of my Descent
This Arm shall give it, or this Blood be spent.

King.
How high a Pitch his Resolution Soars.
Thomas of Norfolk what say'st thou to this?

Mow.
O let my Sov'raign turn away his Face
And bid his Ear a little while be Deaf,
Till I have told this slander of his Blood,
How Heav'n and good men hate so foul a Lyar.

King.
Now by our Sceptres Awe I tell thee Mowbray,
Were he my Brother, nay my Kingdoms Heir,
Our Blood shou'd nothing priviledge him, nor bend
Our upright Soul from Justice.

Mow.
Then Bulling-brook as low as to thy Heart
Thou ly'st; Three parts of my Receits for Callice
I have disburst amongst his Highness Souldiers;
The Rest I by the King's consent reserv'd
Upon remainder of a dear Account,
Since last I went to fetch the Queen from France.
First swallow down that Lye—for Gloster's Death
I slew him not, but rather to my fault
Neglected my Sworn Duty in that Case,
Compassion being here all my Offence.
And for the rest of thy perfidious Charge,
It Issues from the rancour of a Villain,
The flowing Gall of a degenerate Traytor,
In proof of which I summon thee to Combate,
Beseeching of his Majesty the Grace
To my wrong'd Fame t'appoint our Tryal-day
Where Herford's Blood shall for his slanders pay,
And wash the Poyson of his Tongue away.

King.
Rash men, thus long we have giv'n you the hearing,
Now let the pleasure of your King be heard;
And know our Wisdom shall prescribe a way
To purge this Choller without letting Blood,
Forget, forgive, conclude and be agreed,
Gaunt, see this difference end where it begun,
Wee'l calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your Son.

Gaunt.
To be a Peace-maker becomes my Age
Throw down my Son the Duke of Norfolk's Gage.

King.
And Norfolk throw down his.

Gaunt.
When Harry when?
Obedience bids, I shou'd not bid again.

King.
Will Norfolk when the King commands be slow?

Mow.
My self dread Sov'raign at your feet I throw;
My Life you may command, but not my Shame,
I cannot give, nor will you ask my Fame;
I am Impeacht, disgrac't before my King,
Pierc't to the Soul with Slanders Venom'd Sting,
Incurable but by the Traytor's Blood
That breath'd the Poyson.

King.
Rage must be withstood;
Give me his Gage, Lyons make Leopards tame.

Mow.
Yes, but not change their Spots, take but my shame,
And I resign my Gage; my dear dread Lord,
The purest Treasure Mortal times afford
Is spotless honour; take but that away
Men are but guilded Loam and painted Clay.

King.
Cousin, throw down his Gage, do you begin,

Bull.
Just Heav'n defend me from so foul a sin.
Condemn not Sir your Blood to such disgrace!
Shall I seem brav'd before my Father's Face?
No, Royal Sir, ere my Blaspheaming Tongue
Shall do my Loyalty so foul a wrong,
Or sound so base a Parle, by th' Roots I'le tear
The slavish Herrald of so vile a fear,
And spit it bleeding where the worst disgrace,
And slanders harbour, ev'n in Mowbray's face.

King.
Now by my Scepter you have wak't my spleen,
And since we sue in vain to make ye friends,
Prepare to meet before us in the Lists,
You shall, and he that bauk's the Combat, dies.
Behold me give your head-long fury Scope,
Each to chastise the others guilty Pride.
What Council cannot, let the Sword decide.

[Exeunt.