KING Richard the Second.

Duke of York,

John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, Uncles to the King: Bolingbroke, Son to John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry the Fourth.

Aumerle, Son to the Duke of York.

Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk

Earl of Salisbury.

Lord Berkley.

Bushy,

Bagot,

Servants to King Richard.]

Dutchess of York.

Lords in the Parliament.

Ladies, attending on the Queen.

Heralds, two Gardiners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants.

SCENE, difperfedly, in feveral Parts of England.

THE

(1) The LIFE and DEATH of

KING RICHARD II.

A C T I.
АСТ

SCENE, the COURT.

Enter King Richard, John of Gaunt, with other Nobles and Attendants.

King RICHAR D.

LD John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lan

cafter,

Haft thou, according to thy oath and bond,

Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold fon,

(1) The Life and Death of King Richard II.] But this Hiftory comprizes little more than the Two laft Years of this unfortunate Prince. The Action. of the Drama begins with Bolingbroke's appealing the Duke of Norfolk, on an Accufation of high Treafon, which fell out in the Year 1398; and it' clofes with the Murder of King Richard at Pomfret-Caftle towards the End of the Year 1400, or the Beginning of the enfuing Year,

A 3

Here

Here to make good the boift'rous late Appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ?
Gaunt. I have, my liege.

K. Rich. Tell me moreover, haft thou founded him, If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,

Or worthily, as a good Subject fhould,

On fome known ground of treachery in him?

Gaunt. As near as I could fift him on that argument, On fome apparent Danger seen in him

Aim'd at your Highness; no invet'rate malice.

K. Rich. Then call them to our prefence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, Our felves will hear Th' accufer, and th' accufed freely speak: High-ftomach'd are they Both, and full of ire; In rage, deaf as the fea; hafty as fire.

Enter Bolingbroke and Mowbray.

Boling. May many years of happy days befal My gracious Sovereign, my moft loving Liege! Mob. Each day ftill better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your Crown!

K. Rich. We thank you both, yet one but flatters us
As well appeareth by the caufe you come;
Namely, t'appeal each other of high Treafon..

Coufin of Hereford, what doft thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ?
Boling. Firft (Heaven be the record to my speech!)
In the devotion of a Subject's love,

Tend'ring the precious fafety of my Prince,
And free from other mif-begotten hate,
Come I Appellant to this princely presence.
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my Greeting well; for what I speak,
My body fhall make good upon this earth,

Or

my divine foul answer it in heav'n. Thou art a traitor and a mifcreant ;

Too good to be fo, and too bad to live;
Since, the more fair and cryftal is the Sky,

The

The uglier feem the Clouds, that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the Note,
With a foul Traytor's Name stuff I thy throat;
And wish, so please my Sov'reign, ere I move,
What my Tongue fpeaks, my Right-drawn Sword may
prove.

Mob. Let not my cold words here accufe my zeal ; "Tis not the tryal of a woman's war,

The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this caufe betwixt us twain;
The blood is hot, that muft be cool'd for this.
Yet can I not of fuch tame patience boaft,
As to be husht, and nought at all to say.

First, the fair Rev'rence of your Highness curbs me,
From giving reins and fpurs to my free speech;
Which elfe would post, until it had return'd
Thefe terms of Treafon doubled down his throat.
Setting afide his high blood's Royalty,
And let him be no kinfman to my Liege,
I do defie him, and I fpit at him;

Call him a fland'rous coward, and a villain;
Which to maintain, I would low him odds,
And meet him, were I ty'd to run a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground unhabitable, (2)
Where never Englishman durft fet his foot.
Mean time, let this defend my Loyalty;
By all my hopes, moft falfly doth he lie.

Boling. Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my
Gage,

Difclaiming here the kindred of a King,
And lay afide my high blood's Royalty:

(2) Or any other Ground inhabitable.] I don't know that this Word, (like the French Term, inhabitable,) will admit the two different Acceptations of a Place to be dwelt in, and not to be dwelt in: (or that it may be taken in the latter Senfe, as inba-\ bitabilis (among the Latines) fignifies uninhabitable; tho' inbabitare fignifies only to inhabit :) and therefore I have ventur'd to read,

Or

any other Ground unhabitable.

A 4

(Which

Which fear, not rev'rence, makes thee to except :)
If guilty Dread hath left thee so much strength,
As to take up mine Honour's pawn, then stoop.
By that, and all the rights of Knighthood elfe,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoken, or thou canst devise.
Mowb. I take it up, and by that Sword I fwear,
Which gently laid my Knighthood on my fhoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,

Or chivalrous defign of knightly tryal;

And when I mount, alive may I not light,

If I be traitor, or unjustly fight!

K. Rich. What doth our Coufin lay to Mowbray's charge?

It must be great, that can inherit us

So much as of a thought of Ill in him.

Boking. Look, what I faid, my life fhall prove it true;
That Morubray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles,
In name of lendings for your Highnefs' foldiers,
The which he hath detain'd for lewd imployments;
Like a falfe traitor and injurious villain.
Befides, I fay, and will in battel prove,
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furtheft verge,
That ever was furvey'd by English eye;
That all the treafons for thefe eighteen years,
< Complotted and contrived in this Land,

Fetch from falfe Mowbray their firft head and spring.
Further, I fay, and further will maintain
Upon his bad Life to make all This good,

That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death;
Suggeft his foon-believing adverfaries;

And confequently, like a traitor-coward,

Sluic'd out his inn'cent foul through ftreams of blood;
Which blood, like facrificing Abel's, cries
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
To me, for juftice, and rough chastisement.
And by the glorious Worth of my Defcent,
This arm fhall do it, or this life be spent.
K. Rich. How high a pitch his refolution foars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what fay'ft thou to this?

Mowb