If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice, On fome known ground of treachery in him? ment, On fome apparent Danger feen in him Aim'd at your Highnefs; no invet'rate malice. argu K. Rich. Then call them to our prefence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow. Ourfelves will hear SCENE II. Enter Bolingbroke and Mowbray. Boling. May many years of happy days befal K. Rich. We thank you both, yet one but flatters us, Tend'ring the precious fafety of my Prince, Too good to be fo, and too bad to live; may prove. 2 Mowb. Let not my cold words here accufe 'Tis not the tryal of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, ; Can arbitrate this caufe betwixt us twain First, the fair Rev'rence of your Highnefs curbs me, Call him a fland'rous coward, and a villain; * Where never Englishman durft fet his foot. Boling. Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my Disclaiming here the kindred of a King, And lay afide my high blood's Royalty, Which fear, not rev'rence, makes thee to except. 2 Right-drawn. Drawn in a right or just Cause, *Inhabitable.] That is, not habitable, uninhabitable, As to take up mine Honour's pawn, then stoop; Mowb. I take it up, and by that Sword I fwear, Which gently laid my Knighthood on my fhoulder, I'll anfwer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous defign of knightly tryal; K. Rich. What doth our Coufin fay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great, that can inherit us So much as of a thought of Ill in him. Boling. Look, what I faid, my life fhall prove it true; That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thoufand nobles, Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge, Fetch from falfe Mowbray their first head and fpring. Upon his bad Life to make all This good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death; And confequently, like a traitor coward, Sluic'd out his inn'cent foul through ftreams of blood; K. Rich. How high a pitch his refolution foars! Thomas Thomas of Norfolk, what fay'st thou to this? Mowb. 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 fo foul a liar. K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears. Were he our brother, nay, our Kingdom's heir, As he is but our father's brother's fon; Now by my Scepter's awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour-nearnefs to our facred blood Should nothing priv❜lege him, nor partialize Th' unftooping firmness of my upright foul. He is our fubject, Mowbray, fo art thou; Free fpeech, and fearless, I to thee allow. Mowb. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the falfe paffage of thy throat, thou lieft! Three parts of that Receipt I had for Calais, Disburst I to his Highnefs' foldiers; The other part referv'd I by confent, Since last I went to France to fetch his Queen. Now, íwallow down that Lie.-For Gloucefter's death, 3 My Scepter's are.] The reverence due to my Scepter. And interchangeably hurl down my gage Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bofom. Your Highness to affign our tryal 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; Deep malice makes too deep incifion : Forget, forgive, conclude and be agreed; Our Doctors fay, 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 Obedience bids, I fhould not bid again. K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot *. Mowb. Myfelf I throw, dread Sovereign, at thy foot. 5 My life thou shalt command, but not my Shame; 4 This we prefcribe, though no physician, &c.] I must make one Remark, in general, on the Rhymes throughout this whole play; they are fo much inferior to the rest of the writing, that they appear to me of a different hand. What confirms this, is, that the context does every where exactly (and frequently much better) connect without the inferted rhymes, except in a very few places; and juft there too, the rhyming verfes are of a much better taite than all the others, which rather ftrengthens my conjecture. POPE. *No boot.] That is, no advantage, no use, in delay or refufal. 5 My fair Name, &c.] That is, My name that lives on my grave in defpight of death. This eafy paffage moft of the Editors feem to have mistaken. Pierc'd |