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Edward's feven fons, whereof thyself art one,
Were as feven phials of his facred blood,
Or feven fair branches, fpringing from one root:
Some of those seven are dry'd by nature's course,
Some of those branches by the deftinies, cut;
But Thomas, my dear friend, my life, my Glofter,
One phial full of Edward's facred blood,
One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor fpilt;
Is hack'd down, and his fummer leaves all faded,
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe.

Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that womb,
That metal, that self-mould that fashion'd thee,
Made him a man; and though thou liv'ft, and breath'ft,
Yet art thou flain in him: thou doft confent
In fome large measure to thy father's death,
In that thou feeft thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair :
In fuffering thus thy brother to be flaughter'd,
Thou fhew'ft the naked path-way to thy life,
Teaching ftern murder how to butcher thee.
That, which in mean men we intitle patience,
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

What fhall I fay? to fafeguard thine own life,
The best way is, to 'venge my Glofter's death.
Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's fube
stitute,

His deputy anointed in his fight,

Hath caus'd his death: the which, if wrongfully,
Let God revenge; for I may never lift

An angry arm against his minifter.

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'ft to Coventry, there to behold
Our coufin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
O, fit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's fpear,

That

That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune miss the first career,
Be Mowbray's fins fo heavy in his bosom,
That they may break his foaming courfer's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lifts,
3 A caitiff recreant to my coufin Hereford!
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy fometime brother's wife
With her companion grief muft end her life.

Gaunt. Sifter, farewell; I muft to Coventry:
As much good stay with thee, as go with me!
Dutch. Yet one word more;-grief boundeth where
it falls,

Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:
I take my leave before I have begun ;
For forrow ends not when it feemeth done.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York:
Lo, this is all-nay, yet depart not fo;
Though this be all, do not fo quickly go:
I fhall remember more. Bid him-oh, what?-
With all good speed at Plafhy vifit me.
Alack, and what fhall good old York there fee
But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden ftones?

And what hear there for welcome, but my groans ?
Therefore commend me ;-let him not come there
To feek out forrow, that dwells every where:
Defolate, defolate, will I hence, and die;

The laft leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exeunt.

3 A caitiff recreant-] Caitiff originally fignified a prifoner ; next a flave, from the condition of prifoners; then a scoundrel, from the qualities of a flave.

Ημισυλῆς ἀρετῆς αποαΐνεται δέλιον ήμαρ.

In this paffage it partakes of all thefe fignifications. JOHNSON,

SCENE

SCENE III.

The lifts, at Coventry.

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, fprightfully and bold, Stays but the fummons of the appellant's trumpet, Aum. Why, then the champions are prepar'd; and stay

For nothing but his majesty's approach.

[Flourish.

The trumpets found, and the king enters with Gaunt, Busby, Bagot, and others: when they are fet, enter the duke of Norfolk in armour.

K. Rich. Marfhal, demand of yonder champion
The caufe of his arrival here in arms:
Afk him his name; and orderly proceed
To fwear him in the juftice of his caufe.

Mar. In God's name and the king's, fay who thou art? [To Mowbray. 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!

4 Mowb. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk;

Who hither come engaged by my oath,

(Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate!) Both to defend my loyalty and truth,

Mowbray.] Mr. Edwards, in his MSS. notes, obferves, both from Matthew Paris and Holinfhead, that the duke of Hereford, appellant, entered the lifts firft; and this indeed must have been the regular method of the combat; for the natural order of things requires, that the accufer or challenger fhould be at the place of appointment first. STEEVENS.

To

To God, my king, and his fucceeding iffue 5,
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!

The trumpets found. Enter Bolingbroke, appellant, in

armour.

K. Rich. Marfhal, afk 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'st 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 heaven!

Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancafter, and Derby AmI; who ready here do ftand in arms,

To prove, by heaven'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 heaven, king Richard, and to me;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

Mar. On pain of death, no perfon be fo bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists; .
Except the marshal, and fuch officers
Appointed to direct these fair defigns.

Boling. Lord marshal, let me kifs my fovereign's
hand,

And bow my knee before his majefty:

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•his fucceeding iffue,] Such is the reading of the first folio; the later editions read my iffue. Mowbray's iffue was, by this accufation, in danger of an attainder, and therefore he might come, among other reafons, for their fake; but the old reading is more juft and grammatical. JOHNSON.

For

For Mowbray, and myfelf, are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave,
And loving farewell, of our feveral friends.

Mar. The 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!

Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,
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 spear.
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 most sweet:
Oh thou! the earthly author of my blood, [To Gaunt.
Whofe youthful spirit, 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 of Gaunt
Even in the lufty 'haviour of his fon.

Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee profperous!

Be fwift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the cafque

Of thy adverse pernicious enemy:

Rouze up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. Boling. Mine innocence, and Saint George to thrive !

Mowb.

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