University of Virginia Library

SCENE the Third.

A Pavilion of State before the Lists.
Marshal and Aumerle from several Entrances.
Marsh.
My Lord Aumerle is Harry Herford arm'd?

Aum.
Yes, at all points and longs to enter in,

Marsh.
The Duke of Norfolk sprightfully and bold
Waits but the Summons of the Appealants Trumpet,
But see, the King.

Flourish, Enter King, Queen attended, Gaunt, York, Pierce, Northumberland, &c. who place themselves to view the Combat. Mowbray brought in by a Herald.
King.
Marshal demand of yonder Combatant,
Why he comes here, and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.

Marsh.
In the Kings name say who thou art and what's thy Quarrel?
Speak truly on thy Knighthood and thy Oath,
So Heav'n defend thee and thy Valour.

Mow.
Hither is Mowbray come upon his Oath,
To justifie his Loyalty and truth,
Against false Bullingbrook that has appeal'd me,
And as I truly fight defend me Heav'n.

Trumpet again. Bullingbrook and Herald.
King.
Demand of yonder Knight why he comes here,
And formally according to our Law,
Depose him in the justice of his Cause.

Marsh.
Thy name, and wherefore thou art hither come
Before King Richard in his Royal Lists,
Speak like a true Knight: so defend thee Heav'n,

Bull.
Harry of Herford, Lancaster and Derby,
Stands here in Arms to prove on Thomas Mowbray,
That he's a Traytor to the King and State,
And as I truly fight defend me Heav'n.
But first Lord Marshal I entreat the Grace
To kiss my Soveraigns hand and do him homage,
For Mowbray and my self are like to men
That vow along and weary Pilgrimage,
Therefore shou'd take a ceremonious leave
And tender farewel of our several Friends.

Marsh.
Th'Appealant in all duly greets your Highness,
Craving to kiss your hand and take his leave.

King.
We will descend and fould him in our Arms;
Now Cousin, as thy Cause is just,
So be thy Fortune in this Royal Fight;
Farewel my Blood, which if thou chance to shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge the dead.

Bull.
No noble eye be seen to loose a Tear
On me if I be foil'd by Mowbrays Arm;
As confident as is the Faulcon's flight
At tim'rous Birds do I with Mowbray fight.
O thou the gen'rous Author of my Blood,
[To Gaunt.
Whose youthful Spirit enflames and lifts me up
To reach at Victory above my Head,
Add proof to this Armour with thy Pray'rs,
And with thy Blessings point my vengeful Sword
To furbish new th'illustrious name of Gaunt.

Mow.
However Heaven or Fortune cast my Lot,
There lives or dies a just and loyal man:
Never did wretched Captive greet the hour
Of freedom with more welcome or delight
Than my transported soul do's celebrate
This Feast of battle—Blessing on my King,
And peace on all.

King.
Farewell my Lord.
Virtue and Valour guard thee: Marshal finish.

Marsh.
Harry of Herford, Lancaster and Derby,
Receive thy Sword and Heav'n defend thy Right,
Fear this to Mowbray.

Mow.
Curse on your tedious Ceremonies, more
To us tormenting then t'expecting Bridegrooms.
The signal for Heav'ns sake.

Marsh.
Sound Trumpets, and set forward Combatants.
Stay, stay, the King has thrown his Warder down.

King.
Command the Knights once more back to their Posts,
And let the Trumpets sound a second charge,
Whilst with our Lords we briefly do advise.
Another flourish after which the King speaks.
Command 'em to resigne their Arms, and listen
To what we with our Council have Decreed,
For that our Eyes detest the spectacle
Of Civil Wounds, from whence the dire infection
Of general War may spring, we bar your Combat,
Suppress those Arms that from our Coast wou'd fright
Fair Peace, and make us wade in Kinsmen's Blood:
And lest your Neighbour-hood cause after-broils,
We banish you our Realms to different Climes,
You Bullingbrook on pain of Death,
Till twice five Summers have enircht our Fields.

Bull.
And must this be your Pleasure? well!
Your pleasure stand, 'twill be my comfort still,
The Sun that warms you here, shall shine on me
And guild my Banishment.

King.
Mowbray for thee remains a heavier doom,
The slow succeeding hours shall not determine
The dateless limit of thy dear exile,
The hopeless word of never to return,
Breath we against thee upon pain of Death.

Mow.
A heavy Sentence my most Sov'raign Lord,
The Language I have learnt these Forty years,
My native English must I now forgo?
I am too old to fawn upon a Nurse,
And learn the Prattle of a forraign tongue.
What is thy Sentence then, but speechless Death?
You take the cruelst way to rob my Breath.

King.
Complaint comes all too late where we decree.

Mow.
Then thus I turn me from my Countries light,
Pleas'd with my doom because it pleas'd the King,
Farewell my Lord, now Mowbray cannot stray,
Let me shun England, all the worlds my way.

King.
Return again and take an Oath with thee.
Lay on our Royal Sword your banisht Hands,
Swear by the duty that you owe to Heav'n
Nere to embrace each others love in Banishment,
Nor ever meet, nor write to reconcile
This lowring tempest of your home-bred hate,
Nor Plot to turn the edge of your Revenge,
On Us, our State, our Subjects and our Land.

Bull.
I Swear.

Mow.
And I to keep all this!

Bull.
By this time Mowbray, had the King permitted,
One of our Souls had wandered in the Air,
As now our flesh is doomd on Earth to wander,
Confess thy Treason ere thou fly the Land;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
Th'incumbring Burden of a guilty Soul.

Mow.
No Bullingbrook, if ever I were false,
Let Heav'n renounce me as my Country has;
But what thou art, Heav'n, Thou and I do know,
And all (my heart forbodes) too soon shall rue.
My absence then shall yet this comfort bring,
Not to behold the Troubles of my King.

[Exit.
King.
Uncle within thy tear-charg'd Eyes I read
Thy hearts fell sorrow, and that troubled Look,
Has from the number of his Banisht years
Pluckt four away; Six frozen Winters spent,
Return with welcome from thy Banishment.

Gaunt.
I thank my Liege, that in regard to me,
He cuts off four years from my Sons exile,
But small advantage shall I reap thereby,
For ere those slow six years can change their Moons,
My inch of Taper will be spent and done,
Nor Gaunt have life to welcom home his Son.

King.
Despair not Uncle, you have long to live.

Gaunt.
But not a Minute King that thou canst give.

King.
Thy Son was banisht upon advice,
To which thy Tongue a party—Verdict gave,

Gaunt.
My interest I submitted to your Will,
You urg'd me like a Judge, and I forgot
A Father's Name, and like a strict Judge doom'd Him.
Alas I look'd when some of you should say,
I was too strict to make my Own away!
But all gave leave to my unwilling Tongue,
To do my ag'd heart this unnatural wrong.

King.
Now for the Rebels that hold out in Ireland,
And turn our mild forbearance to contempt,
Fresh forces must be levi'd with best speed,
Ere farther leisure yield them further strength,
We will our self in person to this War,
And quench this flame before it spread too far.

Ex. with Attendants.
Gaunt.
O to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
When thou shouldst breath dear farewels to thy Friends
That round thee, all like silent Mourners gaze.

Bull.
They will not censure me whose scanty time
And breath's too little to take leave of you.
My dear Companions you have known my Heart
Too long, to doubt it on a silent grief—
Ha! by my swelling blood my Father's pale!
How fare's your honour? good my Lords your hands.

Gaunt.
I feel a heaviness like Death, and hope
It is no counterfeit—All shall be well.

Bull.
By Heav'n it shall—I feel my veins work high,
And conscious glory kindling in my brest,
Inspires a Thought to vast to be exprest;
Where this disgrace will end the Heav'ns can tell,
And Herford's Soul divines, that 'twill be well!
A Beam of royal splendor strikes my Eye,
Before my charm'd sight, Crowns and Scepters fly;
The minutes big with Fate, too slowly run,
But hasty Bullingbrook shall push 'em on.

[Ex.