第2章 ACT I SCENE I. London. KING RICHARD II's palac

Further I say and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood:

Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastisement;

And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. KING RICHARD II How high a pitch his resolution soars!

Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? THOMAS MOWBRAY 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. KING RICHARD II Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:

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 my upright soul:

He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:

Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.

Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;

The other part reserved 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 Gloucester's death, 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 an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul But ere I last received 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 appeall'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 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. KING RICHARD II Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me;

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 month to bleed.

Good uncle, let this end where it begun;

We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. JOHN OF GAUNT To be a make-peace shall become my age:

Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. KING RICHARD II And, Norfolk, throw down his. JOHN OF GAUNT When, Harry, when?

Obedience bids I should not bid again. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. THOMAS MOWBRAY 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 disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breathed this poison. KING RICHARD II Rage must be withstood:

Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. THOMAS MOWBRAY Yea, but not change his 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. KING RICHARD II Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!

Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight?

Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my 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.

Exit JOHN OF GAUNT KING RICHARD II We were not born to sue, but to command;

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 can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry.

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