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,'
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 overweening2 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 by

me:

Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
This we prescribe, though no physician ;3
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:

Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage.
K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.
Gaunt. When, Harry? when ?4
Obedience bids, I should not bid again.

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; "we bid; there is
no boot."

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 spear;
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
Which breath'd this poison.

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
I Charged.

2 Arrogant.

3 Pope thought that some of the rhyming verses in this play were not from the hand of Shakspeare.

4 This abrupt elliptical exclamation of impatience is again used in the Taming of a Shrew: Why when, I say! Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.' It appears to be equivalent to when will such a thing be done?"

5 There is no boot,' or it booteth not, is as much as to say there is no help,' resistance would be vain, or profitless.

6i.e. my name that lives on my grave in despite of death.

7 Baffled in this place signifies abused, reviled, reproached in base terms; which was the ancient signification of the word, as well as to deceive or circumvent. 8 There is an allusion here to the crest of Norfolk, which was a golden leopard.

9 The old copies have his spots. The alteration was made by Pope.

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
[Exit GAUST.
K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to com
mand:

face.

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 atonel 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 Duck-
ess of Gloster.12

Gaunt. Alas! the part13 I had in Gloster's blood
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 sees14 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 Gloster,-
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, 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 thou slain in him: thou dost consent11
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
substitute,

His deputy anointed in his sight,

Hath caus'd his death; the which if wrongfully,
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
An angry arm against his minister.

10 i. e. make them friends, to make agreement or atonement, to reconcile them to each other."

11 To design is to mark out, to show by a token. It is the sense of the Latin designo. I may here take occasion to remark that Shakspeare's learning appears to me to have been underrated; it is almost always erident in his choice of expressive terms derived from the Latin, and used in their original sense. The propriety of this expression here will be obvious, when we recol lect that designator was a marshal, a master of the play or prize, who appointed every one his place, and adjudged the victory.'

12 The duchess of Gloster was Eleanor Bohun, widow of Duke Thomas, son of Edward III.

13 i. e. my relationship of consanguinity to Gloster. 14 The old copy erroneously reads who when they

see.'

15 i. e. assent; consent is often used by the post for accord, agreement.

Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain my- | Against what man thou com'st, and what thy

3 in our ancient castles the naked stone walls were only covered with tapestry or arras, hung upon tenterbooks, from which it was easily taken down on every removal of the family. (See the Preface to the Northumberland Household Book, by Dr. Percy.) The offices of our old English mansions were the rooms designed for keeping the various stores of provisions, bread, wine, ale, &c. and for culinary purposes. They were always situate within the house, on the groundflour (for there were no subterraneous rooms till about the middle of the reign of Charles I.), and nearly ad. joining each other. When dinner had been set on the board by the sewers, the proper officers attended in each of these offices. Sometimes, on occasions of great festivity, these offices were all thrown open, and limited licence given to all comers to eat and drink at their pleasure. The duchess therefore laments that, in

But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.-
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:
O thou, the earthly author of my blood,-

[To GAUNT.

Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a twofold 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 of Gaunt,
Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.
Gaunt. Heaven 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.
Boling. Mine innocency, and Saint George to
thrive!
[He takes his seat.
Nor. [Rising.] However heaven, 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 uncontroll'd 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.
K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.-
Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

[The King and the Lords return to their seats.
Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!
Boling. [Rising.] Strong as a tower in hope, I

cry-amen.

Mar. Go bear this lance [To an Officer] 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 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.

And both return back to their chairs again :
Withdraw with us :-and let the trumpets sound,
While we return these dukes what we decree.-
A long Flourish.
Draw near,
[To the Combatants.
And list, what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd
With that dear blood which it hath fostered;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil3 wounds plough'd up with neighbours'
swords;

[And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
With rival-hating envy, set you on

To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ;*]
Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd 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 death,
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields,
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,

But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Boling. Your will be done: This must my com-
fort 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.

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier
doom,

Which I with some unwillingness pronounce :
The fly-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.

Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd 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' hand.
The language I have learn'd these forty years,
My native English, now I must forego:
And now my tongue's use is to me no more,
Than an unstringed viol or a harp:
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up,
Or, being open, put into his hands

That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,

2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lips;

of Norfolk,

1 To jest in old language sometimes signified to play a part in a masque.

And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler 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?

K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate,
After our sentence plaining comes too late.

Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's

light,

To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.

[Retiring.

which, in the present instance, he has rejected :-
All sly-slow things with circumspective eyes.'

2 A warder was a kind of truncheon or staff carried 6 Word, for sentence; any short phrase was called a by persons who presided at these single combats; thearord, Thus Ascham, in a Letter to Queen Elizabeth, throwing down of which seems to have been a solemn

Saving that one unpleasaunte word in that Patens, act of prohibition to stay proceedings. A different move-called "Duringe pleasure," turned me after to great ment of the warder had an opposite effect. In Dray- displeasure.'-Conicay Papers. ton's Battle of Agincourt, Erpingham is represented throwing it up as a signal for a charge.

3 Capel's copy of the quarto edition of this play reads Of cruel wounds,' &c. Malone's copy of the sare edition, and all the other editions, read "Of civil wounds, &c.

4 The five lines in brackets are omitted in the folio. 5 The old copies read sly-slow hours. Pope reada fly-stowo hours,' which has been admitted into the text, and conveys an image highly beautiful and just. however remarkable that Pope, in the fourth hook of It is his Essay on Man, v. 226, has employed the epithet

7 As Shakspeare used merit, in this place, in the sense of reward, he frequently uses the word meed, which properly signifies reirard, to express merit.

8 Compassionate is apparently here used in the sense of complaining, plaintive; but no other instance of the word in this sense has occurred to the commentators. May it not be an error of the press, for so pas sionate which would give the required meaning to the passage; passionate being frequently used for to exthis amorous hermit to passionate and playne his mis press passion or grief, to complain. Now leave we fortune.-Palace of Pleasure, vol. ii. LI. 5.

Boling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand,'
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?

Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good,
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more,
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.
Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on
thy way:

Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay.
Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet
soil, adieu;

My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!
Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,-
Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman.2

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The same. A Room in the King's
Castle. Enter KING RICHARD, BAGOT, and
GREEN; AUMERLE following.

K. Rich. We did observe.'-Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his way
Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
But to the next highway, and there I left him.

K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were shed!

As were our England in reversion his,
And he our subjects' next degree in hope."
Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these
thoughts.

Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland
Expedient manage must be made, my lege;
Ere further leisure yield them further means
For their advantage, and your highness' loss.
K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war.
And, for our coffers-with too great a court,
And liberal largess-are grown somewhat light,
We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm;
The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand: If that come short,
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They shall subscribe them for large sums of goid,
And send them after to supply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland presently.
Enter BUSHY.

Bushy, what news?

Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my
lord;

Suddenly taken; and hath sent post-haste,
To entreat your majesty to visit him.
K. Rich. Where lies he?
Bushy. At Ely-house.

K. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's
mind,

Aum. 'Faith, none by me: except the north-To help him to his grave immediately!

east wind,

Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
Awak'd the sleeping rheum; and so, by chance,
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted
with him?

And added years to his short banishment,
He should have had a volume of farewells;
But, since it would not, he had none of me.

K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,
Observ'd his courtship to the common people :—
How he did seem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtesy;
What reverence he did throw away on slaves;
Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles,
And patient underbearing of his fortune,
As 'twere, to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
A brace of draymen bid-God speed him well,
And had the tribute of his supple knee,
With-Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;

|

The lining of his coffers shail make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.-
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him :

'Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late.
[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. London. A Room in Ely-house. GAUNT on a Couch; the DUKE OF YORK, and others standing by him.

Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe
my last

In wholesome counsel to his unstated youth.
York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your
breath;

For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues o dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony:

Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in

10 Edmond duke of York was the fifth son of Edward III, and was born, in 1441, at Langley, near St. Albans, Herts; from whence he had his surname. 'He was of an indolent disposition, a lover of pleasure, and averse to business; easily prevailed upon to lie still and consul his own quiet, and never acting with spirit upon any occasion.'-Lowth's William of Wykehām, p. 205. 11 To insinuate, to lie, to flatter. 12 'This I suppose to be a musical term,' says Steevens. So in Lingua, 1607 :-

I dare engage my ears the close will jar? Surely this is a supererogatory conclusion. Shakspeare evidently means no more than that music is sweetest in its close, or when the last sweet sounds rest on the de