The trumpets found, and the King enters with his No. bles: when they are fet, Enter the Duke of Norfolk in arms, Defendant.

K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder Champion.
The cause of his arrival here in arms;
Ask him his name, and orderly proceed:
To fwear him in the justice of his Caufe..

Mar. In God's name and the King's, fay who thou

art?

[To Mowb.. And why thou com'ft, thus knightly clad in arms! Against what man thou com'ft, and what thy quarrel? Speak truly on thy Knighthood, and thine Oath, And fo defend thee heaven, and thy valour!

Mowb. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk Who hither come engaged by my oath,

(Which, heav'n defend, a Knight should violate!)
Both to defend my Loyalty and Truth,

To God, my King, and my fucceeding Iffue,
Against the Duke of Hereford, that appeals me;、
And by the grace of God, and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of my felf,
A traitor to my God, my King, and me;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heav'n!.

The trumpets found. Enter Bolingbroke, Appellant;

་

in armour.

K. Rich. 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 juftice of his Cause.

Mar: What is thy name, and wherefore com'ft thou

hither,

Before King Richard, in his royal Lifts?

[To Boling. Against whom comeft thou? and what's thy Quarrel? Speak like a true Knight, fo defend thee-heav'n ! Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby Am I, who ready here do ftand in arms,

To prove, by heav'n's grace and my body's valour,

In Lifts, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolk,
That he's a traitor foul and dangerous,

To God of heav'n, King Richard, and to me;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heav'n!
Mar. On pain of death, no perfon be so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the Lifts,
Except the Marfhal, and fuch Officers-
Appointed to direct thefe fair defigns. -

Boling. Lord Marfhal, let me kifs my Sovereign's hand,
And bow my knee before his Majefty:
For Mowbray and my felf are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious Leave,
And loving Farewel, of our feveral friends.

"

Mar. Th' Appellant in all duty greets your Highnefs,.

[To K. Rich. And craves to kifs your hand, and take his leave. K. Rich. We will defcend and fold him in our arms. Coufin of Hereford, as thy Caufe is right,

So be thy Fortune in this royal fight

Farewel, my Blood; which if to day thou fhed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
Boling. Oh, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's fpear:
As confident, as is the Faulcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My loving lord, I take my leave of you,
Of you, my noble Coufin, lord Aumerle.
Not fick, although I have to do with Death;
But lufty, young, and chearly drawing Breath.
Lo, as at English Feafts, fo I regreet

The daintieft laft, to make the end moft fweet :

Oh thou! the earthly author of my blood, [To Gaunt. Whofe youthful fpirit, 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 Bleffings fteel my Lance's point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen Coat,
And furbish new the name of John O' Gaunt

Ev'n in the lufty 'haviour of his fon.

Gaunt. Heav'n in thy good Cause make thee profpe
rous!

Be fwift like Lightning in the execution,
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the Cafque
Of thy adverfe pernicious enemy.

Rouze up thy youthful blood, be brave and live.

Boling. Mine innocence, God and St. George to thrive!

Mowb. However heav'n or fortune caft my lot,
There lives, or dies, true to King Richard's Throne,
A loyal, juft and upright Gentleman:
Never did Captive with a freer heart

Caft off his chains of bondage, and embrace
His golden uncontroul'd enfranchisement,
More than my dancing foul doth celebrate
This Feaft of battel, with mine adversary.
Moft mighty Liege, and my companion Peers,
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.
As gentle and as jocund, as to jeft,

Go I to fight: Truth hath a quiet breaft.
K. Rich. Farewel, my lord ; fecurely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the tryal, Marfhal, and begin.

Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Receive thy Lance; and heav'n defend thy Right!
Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry Amen
Mar. Go bear this Lance to Thomas Duke of Norfolk-
1.Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Stands here for God, his Sovereign and Himself,
On pain to be found falfe and recreant,

To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, his King, and him ;-

And dares him to fet forward to the fight.

2. Her. Here ftandeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

On pain to be found falfe and recreant,
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancafter and Derby,

ΤΟ

To God, his Sovereign, and to him, disloyal:
Courageously, and with a free defire,

Attending but the Signal to begin, [A Charge founded. Mar. Sound, Trumpets; and fet forward, Comba

tants.

-But ftay, the King hath thrown his warder down. K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets, and their fpears,

And Both return back to their chairs again :
Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets found,
While we return thefe Dukes what we decree.

Draw near;

[A long Flourish; after which, the King Speaks to the Combatants.

And lift, what with our Council we have done.
For that our Kingdom's earth fhould not be foil'd
With that dear blood, which it hath foftered;
And, for our eyes do hate the dire afpect

Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbour fwords
And for we think, the eagle-winged pride
Of fky-afpiring and ambitious thoughts
With rival-hating Envy fet you on,

To wake our Peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle fleep;
(Which thus rouz'd up with boift'rous untun'd drums,
And harfh-refounding trumpets' dreadful Bray,
And grating fhock 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 coufin Hereford, on pain of death,
Till twice five Summers have enrich'd our fields,'
Shall not re-greet our fair Dominions,
But tread the stranger paths of Banishment.
Boling. Your will be done: this must comfort be
That Sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me:
And thofe his golden beams, to you here lent,
Shall point on me, and gild my Banishment.

my

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier Doom, Which I with fome unwillinghefs pronounce.

The fly-flow hours fhall not determinate
The dateless limit of thy dear exile:
The hopeless word, of never to return,
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

Mob. A heavy Sentence, my moft fovereign Liege,
And all unlook'd for from your Highness' mouth:
A dearer merit, not fo deep a maim,

As to be caft forth in the common air,
Have I deferved at your Highness' hands.
The language I have learn'd these forty years..
My native English, now I must forgo;
And now my tongue's ufe is to me no more,
Than an unftringed viol, or a harp;
Or, like a cunning Inftrument cas'd up,
Or being open, put into his hands

That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engoal'd my tongue,
Doubly port-cullis'd with my Teeth and Lips:
And dull, unfeeling, barren Ignorance.

Is made my Goaler 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 fpeechless deh,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?
K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compaffionate;
After our Sentence, Plaining comes too late.

Mowb. Then thus I turn me from my Country's light, To dwell in folemn fhades of endless night.

K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with ye
Lay on our royal Sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to heav'n,
(Our part therein we banish with your selves,)
To keep the oath that we administer :

You never fhall, (fo help you truth, and heav'n!)
Embrace each other's love in Banishment;
Nor ever look upon each other's face;

Nor ever write, regreet, or reconcile
This low'ring tempeft of your home-bred hate;
Nor ever by advised purpose meet,
To plot, contrive, or complot any Ill,

'Gainft