The Illustrated Works of Shakespeare/Illustrated Works of Shakespeare, The (1990)(Animated Pixels)[!][CDTV-PC].iso/shakes/text/06/01_01

Text File | 1991-04-10 | 10KB | 248 lines

Windsor. A Room in the Castle.
 Enter KING RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other NOBLES and ATTENDANTS.

King Richard    Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,
    Hast thou according to thy oath and band
    Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,
    Here to make good the boist'rous late appeal,
    Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
    Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

Gaunt    I have, my liege.

King Richard    Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
    If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,
    Or worthily, as a good subject should,
    On some known ground of treachery in him?

Gaunt    As near as I could sift him on that argument,
    On some apparent danger seen in him
    Aimed at your highness, no inveterate malice.

King Richard    Then call them to our presence.
                                            [Exeunt some ATTENDANTS.

                                    Face to face,
    And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
    The accuser and the accusd freely speak.
    High-stomached are they both, and full of ire,
    In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

                      Enter BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY.

Bolingbroke    Many years of happy days befall
    My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

Mowbray    Each day still better other's happiness,
    Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
    Add an immortal title to your crown!

King Richard    We thank you both; yet, one but flatters us,
    As well appeareth by the cause you come,
    Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.
    Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
    Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

Bolingbroke    First - heaven be the record to my speech!-
    In the devotion of a subject's love,
    Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
    And free from other misbegotten hate,
    Come I appellant to this princely presence.
    Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
    And mark my greeting well; for what I speak
    My body shall make good upon this earth,
    Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
    Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,
    Too good to be so, and too bad to live,
    Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
    The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
    Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
    With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat,
    And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move
    What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove.

Mowbray    Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal.
    'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
    The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
    Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain.
    The blood is hot that must be cooled for this:
    Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
    As to be hushed and nought at all to say.
    First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
    From giving reins and spurs to my free speech,
    Which else would post until it had returned
    These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
    Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
    And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
    I do defy him, and I spit at him,
    Call him a slanderous coward and a villain;
    Which to maintain I would allow him odds,
    And meet him, were I tied to run afoot
    Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
    Or any other ground inhabitable
    Wherever Englishman durst set his foot.
    Meantime, let this defend my loyalty:
    By all my hopes most falsely doth he lie.

Bolingbroke    Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
                                                    [Throws down his gage.
    Disclaiming here the kindred of the king,
    And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
    Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
    If guilty dread have left thee so much strength
    As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop.
    By that, and all the rites of knighthood else,
    Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
    What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.

Mowbray    I take it up; and by that sword I swear,
    Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
    I'll answer thee in any fair degree
    Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
    And when I mount, alive may I not light,
    If I be traitor or unjustly fight!

King Richard    What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?
    It must be great that can inherit us
    So much as of a thought of ill in him.

Bolingbroke    Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true:
    That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles
    In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,
    The which he hath detained for lewd employments,
    Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
    Besides I say, and will in battle prove,
    Or here or elsewhere, to the furthest verge
    That ever was surveyed by English eye,
    That all the treasons for these eighteen years
    Complotted and contrivd in this land
    Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
    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    How high a pitch his resolution soars!
    Thomas of Norfolk, what sayst thou to this?

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    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.

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 grievd soul;
    But ere I last received the sacrament
    I did confess it, and exactly begged
    Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.
    This is my fault: as for the rest appealed,
    It issues from the rancour of a villain,
    A recreant and most degenerate traitor,
    Which in myself I boldly will defend,
                                                    [Throws down his gage.
    And interchangeably hurl down my gage
    Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
    To prove myself a loyal gentleman
    Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom.
    In haste whereof most heartily I pray
    Your highness to assign our trial day.
                                  [BOLINGBROKE takes up the gage.

King Richard    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.

Gaunt    To be a make-peace shall become my age:
    Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

King Richard    And, Norfolk, throw down his.

Gaunt                                When, Harry, when?
    Obedience bids I should not bid again.

King Richard    Norfolk, throw down we bid, there is no boot.

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, impeached, and baffled here,
    Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear,
    The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
    Which breathed this poison.

King Richard                                Rage must be withstood.
    Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.

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 barred-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    Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.

Bolingbroke    O God defend my soul from such deep sin!
    Shall I seem crestfallen in my father's sight,
    Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
    Before this outdared 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 GAUNT.
King Richard    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 cannot atone you, we shall see
    Justice design the victor's chivalry.
    Marshal, command our officers-at-arms
    Be ready to direct these home alarms.
                                                    [Exeunt.