The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 415

Enter the LORD MARSHAL and the DUKE OF AUMERLE

MARSHAL. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?

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

MARSHAL. The Duke of Norfolk, spightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appelant's trumpet.

AUMERLE. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay For nothing but his Majesty's approach.

The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his n.o.bles, GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, enter MOWBRAY, Duke of Nor folk, in arms, defendant, and 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.

MARSHAL. In G.o.d's name and the King's, say who thou art, And why thou comest 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 G.o.d defend a knight should violate!- Both to defend my loyalty and truth To G.o.d, my King, and my succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me; And, by the grace of G.o.d and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my G.o.d, my King, and me.

And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

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.

MARSHAL. 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 G.o.d's grace and my body's valour, In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, To G.o.d of heaven, King Richard, and to me.

And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

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. 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.

MARSHAL. 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.

Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight!

Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

BOLINGBROKE. O, let no n.o.ble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear.

As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.

My loving lord, I take my leave of you; Of you, my n.o.ble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But l.u.s.ty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.

Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.

O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers, And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat And furbish new the name of John o' Gaunt, Even in the l.u.s.ty haviour of his son.

GAUNT. G.o.d in thy good cause make thee prosperous!

Be swift like lightning in the execution, And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.

Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.

BOLINGBROKE. Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!

MOWBRAY. However G.o.d or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.

Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchis.e.m.e.nt, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary.

Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.

As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.

KING RICHARD. Farewell, my lord, securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.

Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.

MARSHAL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance; and G.o.d defend the right!

BOLINGBROKE. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.

MARSHAL. [To an officer] Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.

FIRST HERALD. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Stands here for G.o.d, his sovereign, and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his G.o.d, his King, and him; And dares him to set forward to the fight.

SECOND HERALD. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself, and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To G.o.d, his sovereign, and to him disloyal, Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin.

MARSHAL. Sound trumpets; and set forward, combatants.

[A charge sounded]

Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down.

KING RICHARD. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again.

Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree.

A long flourish, while the KING consults his Council

Draw near, And list what with our council we have done.

For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Which so rous'd up with boist'rous untun'd drums, With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace And make us wade even in our kindred's blood- Therefore we banish you our territories.

You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

BOLINGBROKE. Your will be done. This must my comfort be- That sun that warms you here shall s.h.i.+ne on me, And those his golden beams to you here lent Shall point on me and gild my banishment.

KING RICHARD. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness p.r.o.nounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile; The hopeless word of 'never to return'

Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

MOWBRAY. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your Highness' mouth.

A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your Highness' hands.

The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo; And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp; Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.

Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me.

I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now.

What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

KING RICHARD. It boots thee not to be compa.s.sionate; After our sentence plaining comes too late.

MOWBRAY. Then thus I turn me from my countrv's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.

KING RICHARD. Return again, and take an oath with thee.

Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to G.o.d, Our part therein we banish with yourselves, To keep the oath that we administer: You never shall, so help you truth and G.o.d, Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

BOLINGBROKE. I swear.

MOWBRAY. And I, to keep all this.

BOLINGBROKE. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy.

By this time, had the King permitted us, One of our souls had wand'red in the air, Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land- Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burden of a guilty soul.

MOWBRAY. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd as from hence!

But what thou art, G.o.d, thou, and I, do know; And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.

Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray: Save back to England, an the world's my way. Exit KING RICHARD. Uncle, even in the gla.s.ses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away. [To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen winters spent, Return with welcome home from banishment.

BOLINGBROKE. How long a time lies in one little word!

Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of Kings.

GAUNT. I thank my liege that in regard of me He shortens four years of my son's exile; But little vantage shall I reap thereby, For ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about, My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son.

KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.

GAUNT. But not a minute, King, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou can'st help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death, But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

KING RICHARD. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave.

Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour?

GAUNT. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.

You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father.

O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.

A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.

Alas, I look'd when some of you should say I was too strict to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong.

KING RICHARD. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so.

Six years we banish him, and he shall go.

Flourish. Exit KING with train AUMERLE. Cousin, farewell; what presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show.

MARSHAL. My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride As far as land will let me by your side.

GAUNT. O, to what purpose dost thou h.o.a.rd thy words, That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?

BOLINGBROKE. I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.