At Coventry, upon saint Lambert's day;
There hall your swords and lances a:bitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate;
Since we cannot attone you, we shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.

Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms,
Be ready to direct these home - alarms.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II.

The same. A Room in the duke of Lancaster's

Palace.

Enter GAUNT, and dutchefs of Gloster.

Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Gloster's blood
Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims,
To stir against the butches 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 they see the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Dutch. 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 phia's of his sacred blood,
Or seven fair branches springing from one root;
Some of those seven are dry'd by nature's course,
Some of those branches by the destinies cut:
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster,
One hial 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, that

womb,

That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee, Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and

breath'st,

Yet art thon 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 despairs
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou shew'st the naked path way to thy life,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
That which iu 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
substitute,

His deputy annointed in his sight,

Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully,
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
An angry arin: against his minister.

t

Dutch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself?

Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and defence.

Dutch. 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 husband's wrongs on Hereford's, spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune mifs 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. Gaunt. Sister, farewell: I must to Coventry: As much good stay with thee, as go with me! Dutch. Yet one word more ; Grief bound

eth 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 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 O, what?
With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see,
But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?

And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans?

Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where;
Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die;
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eyel
[Exeunt.]

Gosford Green near Coventry.

Lists set out, and a throne. Heralds etc. attending.

Enter the Lord Marshal and AUMERLE.

Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford
arm'd?

Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.
Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and

bold,

Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay

For nothing but his majesty's approach

Flourish of trumpets. Enter King RICHARD, who takes his seat on his throne; GAUNT, and several noblemen, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and answered by another trumpet within. Then enter NORFOLK in armour, preceded by a herald.

K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder Cham

pion

The cause of his arrival here in arms:

Ask him his name; and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.

Mar. 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; And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour!

Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk;

Who hither come engaged by my oath,
(Which, heaven defend, a knight should vio
late!)

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 takes his seat.]

Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBROKE in armour; preceded by a herald.

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is, and why he cometh hither Thus p'ated in habliments of war;

And formally according to our law
Depose him in the justice of his cause.

Mar. 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! Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and

Derby,

Am 1; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour,

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

To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
Mar. 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."

Boling. Lord Marshal, let me kifs my sove-
reign'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.

Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your

highnefs,

And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. K. Rich.