For I do see the cruel pangs of death! [flight; Hub. O, my sweet Sir, news fitting to the Right* in thine eye.--Away, my friends! New And happy newness, that intends old right. [Exeunt, leading off MELUN.
SCENE V.-The same. -The French Camp. Enter LEWIS and his Train.
Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set; [blush, But stay'd, and made the western welkin; When the English measur'd backward their own ground,
In faint retire: O, bravely came we off, When with a volley of our needless shot, After such bloody toil, we bid good night; And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up, Last in the field, and almost lords of it!
Mess. Where is my prince the Dauphin ? Lew. Here: - What news?
Mess. The count Melun is slain; the English lords,
By his persuasion, are again fallen off: [long, And your supply, which you have wish'd so Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news!-Beshrew thy very heart!
I did not think to be so sad to-night, As this hath made me.-Who was he, that said, King John did fly, an hour or two before The stumbling night did part our weary powers?
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. Lew. Well; keep good quarter, and good care to-night;
The day shall not be up so soon as I, To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? Bast. Hubert, I think.
Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought: I will upon all hazards, well believe [well: Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so Who art thou?
Bast. Who thou wilt: an if thou please, Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think I come one way of the Plantagenets.
Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless night, [me, Have done me shame:-Brave soldier, pardon That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. [news; Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk: I left him almost speechless, and broke out To acquaint you with this evil: that you might The better arm you to the sudden time, Than if you had at leisure known of this. Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to
Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain, Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover. Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty?
Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all come back,
And brought prince Henry in their company; At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, And they are all about his majesty.
Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
And tempt us not to bear above our power! I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power* this night, Passing these flats, are taken by the tide, These Lincoln washes have devoured them; Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd. Away, before! conduct me to the king; I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come.
[Exeunt. SCENE VII.-The Orchard of SwinsteadAbbey.
Enter Prince HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.
P. Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwellinghouse,) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretell the ending of mortality.
Pem. His highness yet doth speak; and holds belief,
That, being brought into the open air, It would allay the burning quality Of that fell poison which assaileth him.
P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard
In their continuance, will not feel themselves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now Against the 'mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies; [hold, Which, in their throng and press to that last Confound themselves. Tis strange, that death should sing.
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, who chants a doleful hymn to his own death; And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings His soul and body to their lasting rest.
Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born
To set a form upon that indigest Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
Re-enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in | When this was now a king, and now is clay! King JOHN in a Chair.
Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay beTo do the office for thee of revenge; [hind, K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath el- And then my soul shall wait on thee to bow-room; It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There is so hot a summer in my bosom, That all my bowels crumble up to dust: I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen Upon a parchment; and against this fire Do I shrink up.
P. Hen. How fares your majesty? K. John. Poison'd, -ill-fare;-dead, forsook,
Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent mo
And spleen of speed to see your majesty. [tion,
K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail,
Are turned to one thread, one little hair: My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered; And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod, And modulet of confounded royalty. Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward; Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him:
For, in a night, the best part of my power, As I upon advantage did remove, Were in the washes, all unwarily, Devoured by the unexpected flood.
Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead My liege! my lord! But now a king,-now P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. [stay, What surety of the world, what hope, what
heaven, As it on earth hath been thy servant still. Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres,'
Where be your powers? Show now your mended faiths;
And instantly return with me again, To push destruction, and perpetual shame, Out of the weak-door of our fainting land: Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.
Sal. It seems, you know not then so much
The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, Who half an hour since came from the Dau- phin;
And brings from him such offers of our peace As we with honour and respect may take, With purpose presently to leave this war.
Bust. He will the rather do it, when he sees Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.
Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; For many carriages he hath despatch'd To the seaside, and put his cause and quarrel To the disposing of the cardinal: With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, If you think meet, this afternoon will post To cónsummate this business happily.
Bast. Let it be so;-And you, my noble With other princes that may best be spar'd, Shall wait upon your father's funeral. P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be in- For so he will'd it. [terr'd;
Bast. Thither shall it then, And happily may your sweet self put on The lineal state and glory of the land! To whom, with all submission, on my-knee, I do bequeath my faithful services And true subjection everlastingly.
Sul. And the like tender of our love we To rest without a spot for evermore. [make, P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you thanks,
And knows not how to do it, but with tears. Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.- This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them: Nought shall make If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt.
SCENE I.-London. - A Room in the Palace. Enter King RICHARD, attended; JOHN of GAUNT, and other Nobles, with him.
K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,* Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son; Here to make good the boisterous 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, hast thou sounded him,
If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice; Or worthily as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him? Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argument,
On some apparent danger seen in him,
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will The accuser, and the accused, freely speak:-[Exeunt some Attendants. High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
Re-enter Attendants, with BOLINGBROKE and
Boling. May many years of happy days befall My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! Nor. Each day still 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 cause you come; Namely, to appeal each other of high treaCousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
Boling. First, (heaven be the record of my In the devotion of a subject's love, [speech!) Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten 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 shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant; Too good to be so, and too bad to live; Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him;
Call him-a slanderous coward, and a villain: Which to maintain, I would allow him odds; And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable* Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,- By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. Boling. Pase trembling coward, there I throw
K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood,* How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar.
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes,
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, (As he is but my father's brother's son,) Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of iny upright soul; He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou; Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, [liest! Through the false passage of thy throat, thou Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers: The other part reserv'd I by consent; For that my sovereign liege was in my debt, Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloster's
I slew him not; but to my own disgrace, ' Neglected my sworn duty in that case,- For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe, Once did I lay in ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul: But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, I did confess it; and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. This is my fault: As for the rest appeal'd,t It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor : Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom: In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day.
K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd
Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision: Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed; Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed.- Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age: [gage. Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. Gaunt. When, Harry? when? Obedience bids, I should not bid again. K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid;
Nor. Myself, I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot;
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame; The one my duty owes; but my fair name, (Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,) To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here; Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd [blood
The which no balm can cure, but his heartWhich breath'd this poison.
* Reproach to his ancestry.
K. Rich. Rage must be withstood:
Give me his gage:-Lions make leopards tame. Nor. Yea, but not change their spots: take but my shame,
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford, Is-spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is-a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live, and for that will I die.
K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you begin.
Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin!
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dar'd dastard! Ere my tongue Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong,
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear; And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. [Ercit GAUNT.
K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to
Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day; There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate; Since we cannot atone* you, we shall see Justice designt the victor's chivalry.- Marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home-alarms.
Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, To stir against the butchers of his life. But since correction lieth in those hands, Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who when he sees the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven phials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the destinies cut: But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glos- ter,-
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root,- Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt; Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, [thee, That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion'd Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and
869 Yet art thou slain in him: Thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair:. In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we entitle-patience, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is to 'venge my Gloster's death. Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's His deputy anointed in his sight, Hath caus'd his death: the which if wrong. [fully Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against his minister.
Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself?
Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and defence.
Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: O, sit my husbaud's wrongs on Hereford's 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 back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometime brother's
With her companion grief must end her life. Gaunt. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry: As much good stay with thee, as go with me! Duch. Yet one word more; -Grief boundeth
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 my 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-0, what?- Alack, and what shall good old York there see, With all good speed at Plashys visit me. But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans ? [there, Therefore commend me; let him not come To seek out sorrow that dwells every where:
Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die; The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exeunt.
SCENE III-Gosford Green, near Coventry. Lists set out, and a Throne. HERALDS, &c. attending.
Enter the Lord MARSHAL, and AUMERLE. Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford
Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully_and bold, [pet
Stays but the summons of the appellant's tru Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd and staf For nothing but his majesty's approach.
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