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.
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!
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.
Farewell, my blood, which if today thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
BOLINGBROKE
O, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me if I be gored with Mowbray’s spear.
As confident as is the falcon’s flight
Against a bird do I with Mowbray fight.
(
To the Lord Marshal
) My loving lord, I take my leave of you;
(To Aumerle)
Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;
Not sick, although I have to do with death,
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
(To Gaunt,
⌈
kneeling
⌉ O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
Whose youthful spirit in me regenerate
Doth with a two-fold 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 a Gaunt
Even in the lusty haviour of his son.
JOHN OF GAUNT
God 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 ⌈
standing
⌉
Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!
MOWBRAY ⌈
standing
⌉
However God 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 uncontrolled enfranchisement
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.
LORD MARSHAL
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!
⌈
An officer bears a lance to Bolingbroke
⌉
BOLINGBROKE
Strong as a tower in hope, I cry ‘Amen!’
LORD MARSHAL (to an officer)
Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.
⌈
An officer bears a lance to Mowbray
⌉
FIRST HERALD
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, 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 God his sovereign and to him disloyal,
Courageously and with a free desire
Attending but the signal to begin.
LORD MARSHAL
Sound trumpets, and set forward combatants!
⌈
A charge is sounded.
⌉
King Richard throws down his warder
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.
⌈
Bolingbroke and Mowbray disarm and sit
⌉
(To the nobles)
Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound
While we return these dukes what we decree.
A long flourish, during which King Richard and his nobles withdraw and hold council,
⌈
then come forward]. King Richard addresses Bolingbroke and Mowbray
Draw near, and list what with our council we have
done.
For that our kingdom’s earth should not be soiled
With that dear blood which it hath fostered,
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil wounds ploughed up with neighbours’ swords,
Which, so roused up with boist’rous untuned 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 enriched 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 shine 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 pronounce.
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 unlooked-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 unstringèd viol or a harp,
Or like a cunning instrument cased up,
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue,
Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips,
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance
Is made my jailer 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 compassionate.
After our sentence, plaining comes too late.
MOWBRAY
Then thus I turn me from my country’s light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
KING RICHARD
Return again, and take an oath with thee.
(To both) Lay on our royal sword your banished hands.
Swear by the duty that you owe to God—
Our part therein we banish with yourselves—
To keep the oath that we administer.
You never shall, so help you truth and God,
Embrace each other’s love in banishment,
Nor never look upon each other’s face,
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
This low‘ring 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.