Richard II (Folger Shakespeare Library)

by William Shakespeare

For that my sovereign liege was in my debt

  Upon remainder of a dear account130,

  Since last I went to France to fetch131 his queen.

  Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death,

  I slew him not; but to mine own disgrace

  Neglected my sworn duty in that case.

  For you, my noble lord of Lancaster135,

  The honourable father to my foe,

  Once I did lay an ambush for your life --

  A trespass138 that doth vex my grieved soul.

  But ere I last received the sacrament

  I did confess it, and exactly140 begged

  Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.

  This is my fault. As for the rest appealed142,

  It issues from the rancour of a villain,

  A recreant144 and most degenerate traitor

  Which145 in myself I boldly will defend,

  And interchangeably146 hurl down my gage

  Throws down his gage

  Upon this overweening147 traitor's foot,

  To prove myself a loyal gentleman

  Even in149 the best blood chambered in his bosom.

  In haste whereof150, most heartily I pray

  Your highness to assign our trial day.

  KING RICHARD Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me:

  Let's purge153 this choler without letting blood.

  This we prescribe, though no physician:

  Deep malice makes too deep incision.

  Forget, forgive, conclude156 and be agreed:

  Our doctors157 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 become160 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 boot164.

  MOWBRAY Myself I throw, dread165 sovereign, at thy foot.

  Kneels

  My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:

  The one my duty owes, but my fair name167,

  Despite of death that lives upon my grave,

  To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.

  I am disgraced, impeached170 and baffled here,

  Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear,

  The which no balm172 can cure but his heart-blood

  Which breathed this poison.

  KING RICHARD Rage must be withstood.

  Give me his gage. Lions make leopards175 tame.

  MOWBRAY Yea, but not change his spots176. Take but my shame,

  And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,

  The purest treasure mortal times afford

  Is spotless reputation: that away179,

  Men are but gilded180 loam or painted clay.

  A jewel in a ten-times-barred-up181 chest

  Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.

  Mine honour is my life; both grow in one183:

  Take honour from me, and my life is done.

  Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try185.

  In that I live and for that will I die.

  KING RICHARD Cousin, throw down your gage. Do you begin.

  BULLINGBROOK O, heaven defend my soul from such foul sin!

  Shall I seem crest-fall'n189 in my father's sight?

  Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height190

  Before this out-dared191 dastard? Ere my tongue

  Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong,

  Or sound so base a parle193, my teeth shall tear

  The slavish motive194 of recanting fear,

  And spit it bleeding in his195 high disgrace,

  Where shame doth harbour196, even in Mowbray's face.

  Exit Gaunt

  KING RICHARD We were not born to sue197, 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 day200:

  There shall your swords and lances arbitrate

  The swelling202 difference of your settled hate.

  Since we cannot atone203 you, we shall see

  Justice design204 the victor's chivalry.

  Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms

  Be ready to direct these home alarms206.

  Exeunt

  Act 1 Scene 2

  running scene 2

  Location: unspecified, probably assumed to be Ely House, London

  Enter Gaunt and Duchess of Gloucester

  GAUNT Alas, the part I had in Gloucester's blood1

  Doth more solicit2 me than your exclaims,

  To stir3 against the butchers of his life.

  But since correction lieth in those hands4

  Which made the fault that we cannot correct,

  Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven,

  Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,

  Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

  DUCHESS Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?

  Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?

  Edward11's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,

  Were as seven vials 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 Destinies15 cut.

  But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,

  One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,

  One flourishing branch of his most royal root,

  Is cracked, and all the precious liquor19 spilt,

  Is hacked down, and his summer leaves all faded20,

  By envy's21 hand and murder's bloody axe.

  Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb,

  That metal23, that self-mould that fashioned thee

  Made him a man. And though thou liv'st and breath'st,

  Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent25

  In some large measure to thy father's death,

  In that thou see'st thy wretched brother die,

  Who was the model28 of thy father's life.

  Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair.

  In suff'ring30 thus thy brother to be slaughtered,

  Thou show'st the naked31 pathway to thy life,

  Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.

  That which in mean33 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 venge36 my Gloucester's death.

  GAUNT Heaven's is the quarrel, for heaven's substitute,

  His deputy37 anointed in his sight38,

  Hath caused his death, the which if wrongfully,

  Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift

  An angry arm against his minister.

  DUCHESS Where then, alas, may I complaint myself42?

  GAUNT To heaven, the widow's champion43 to defence.

  DUCHESS Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.

  Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold

  Our cousin46 Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.

  O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,

  That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!

  Or if misfortune miss the first career49,

  Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,

  That they may break his foaming courser51's back,

  And throw the rider headlong in the lists52,

  A caitiff53 recreant to my cousin Hereford!

  Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes54 brother's wife

  With her companion grief must end her life.

  GAUNT Sister, farewell. I must to Coventry.

  As much good stay with thee as go
with me!

  DUCHESS Yet one word more: grief boundeth58 where it falls,

  Not with the empty hollowness, but weight.

  I take my leave before I have begun,

  For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.

  Commend me to my brother62, Edmund York.

  Lo63, this is all. Nay, yet depart not so:

  Though this be all, do not so quickly go.

  I shall remember more. Bid him -- O, what? --

  With all good speed at Plashy66 visit me.

  Alack, and what shall good old York there see

  But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls,

  Unpeopled offices69, untrodden stones?

  And what hear there for welcome but my groans?

  Therefore commend me, let him not come there

  To seek out sorrow that dwells everywhere.

  Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die:

  The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

  Exeunt

  Act 1 Scene 3

  running scene 3

  Location: the area of combat at Coventry

  Enter [the Lord] Marshal and Aumerle

  LORD MARSHAL My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed?

  AUMERLE Yea, at all points2, and longs to enter in.

  LORD MARSHAL The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully3 and bold,

  Stays4 but the summons of the appellant's trumpet.

  AUMERLE Why, then, the champions5 are prepared, and stay

  For nothing but his majesty's approach.

  Flourish. Enter King, Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green and others. [When they are set,] then Mowbray in armour and [a] Herald

  KING RICHARD Marshal, demand7 of yonder champion

  The cause of his arrival here in arms.

  Ask him his name and orderly9 proceed

  To swear him in the justice of his cause.

  LORD MARSHAL In God's name and the king's, say who thou art

  And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms,

  Against what man thou com'st, and what's thy quarrel13.

  Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thine oath,

  As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!

  MOWBRAY My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

  Who hither comes engaged by my oath --

  Which heaven defend18 a knight should violate! --

  Both to defend my loyalty and truth

  To God, my king and his succeeding20 issue,

  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!

  Tucket. Enter Hereford [Bullingbrook] and Herald

  KING RICHARD Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,

  Both who he is and why he cometh hither

  Thus plated28 in habiliments of war,

  And formally, according to our law,

  Depose him30 in the justice of his cause.

  LORD MARSHAL What is thy name? And wherefore31 com'st thou hither,

  To Bullingbrook

  Before King Richard in his royal lists?

  Against whom com'st thou? And what's thy quarrel?

  Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

  BULLINGBROOK Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby

  Am I, who ready here do stand in arms

  To prove, by heaven's grace and my body's valour,

  In lists, 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!

  LORD MARSHAL On pain of death, no person be so bold

  Or daring-hardy43 as to touch the lists,

  Except the marshal and such officers

  Appointed to direct these fair45 designs.

  BULLINGBROOK Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand,

  And bow my knee before his majesty.

  For Mowbray and myself are like two men

  That vow a long and weary pilgrimage,

  Then let us take a ceremonious leave

  And loving farewell of our several51 friends.

  LORD MARSHAL The appellant in all duty greets your highness,

  And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

  KING RICHARD We will descend and fold him in our arms.

  Comes down and embraces Bullingbrook

  Cousin of Hereford, as55 thy cause is just,

  So be thy fortune in this royal fight56!

  Farewell, my blood57, which if today thou shed,

  Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

  BULLINGBROOK O, let no noble eye profane59 a tear

  For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear.

  As confident as is the falcon's flight

  Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.--

  My loving lord, I take my leave of you.--

  To Richard

  Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle,

  Not sick, although I have to do with death,

  But lusty66, young, and cheerly drawing breath.

  Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet67

  The daintiest68 last, to make the end most sweet.--

  O thou, the earthy author of my blood,

  To Gaunt

  Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate70,

  Doth with a twofold71 rigour lift me up

  To reach at victory above my head,

  Add proof73 unto mine armour with thy prayers,

  And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,

  That it may enter Mowbray's waxen75 coat,

  And furbish76 new the name of John a Gaunt,

  Even in the lusty 'haviour77 of his son.

  GAUNT Heaven in thy good cause make thee prosp'rous!

  Be swift like lightning in the execution,

  And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,

  Fall like amazing81 thunder on the casque

  Of thy amazed pernicious82 enemy,

  Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.

  BULLINGBROOK Mine innocence and Saint George84 to thrive!

  MOWBRAY 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 uncontrolled enfranchisement90

  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 gentle95 and as jocund as to jest

  Go I to fight. Truth hath a quiet breast.

  KING RICHARD Farewell, my lord. Securely97 I espy

  Virtue with valour couched98 in thine eye.

  Order99 the trial, marshal, and begin.

  LORD MARSHAL Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,

  Receive thy lance. And heaven defend thy right!

  Attendant gives a lance to Bullingbrook

  BULLINGBROOK Strong as a tower, in hope I cry 'Amen'.

  LORD MARSHAL Go bear this lance to Thomas,

  Duke of Norfolk.

  Attendant gives a lance to Mowbray

  FIRST HERALD Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,

  Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself,

  On pain to be found false and recreant106,

  To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,

  A traitor to his God, his king and him108,

  And dares him to set forwards to the fight.

  SECOND HERALD Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

  On pain to be found false and recreant,

  Both to defend himself and to approve112

  Henry of Hereford, L
ancaster and Derby,

  To God, his sovereign and to him114 disloyal,

  Courageously and with a free desire

  Attending116 but the signal to begin.

  A charge sounded

  LORD MARSHAL Sound trumpets, and set forward, combatants.

  Stay118, the king hath thrown his warder down.

  KING RICHARD Let them lay by119 their helmets and their spears,

  And both return back to their chairs again.

  Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound

  While we return122 these dukes what we decree.

  A long flourish

  Draw near, and list123 what with our council we have done.

  For that124 our kingdom's earth should not be soiled

  With that dear125 blood which it hath fostered,

  And for126 our eyes do hate the dire aspect

  Of civil wounds ploughed up with neighbours' swords,

  Which so roused up with boist'rous128 untuned drums,

  With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,

  And grating shock130 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 enriched our fields

  Shall not regreet136 our fair dominions,

  But tread the stranger137 paths of banishment.

  BULLINGBROOK Your will be done. This must my comfort 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.

  KING RICHARD Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,

  Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:

  The sly144 slow hours shall not determinate

  The dateless limit145 of thy dear exile.

  The hopeless word of 'never to return'

  Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life147.

  MOWBRAY A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,

  And all unlooked for149 from your highness' mouth.

  A dearer merit150, not so deep a maim

  As to be cast forth in the common151 air,

  Have I deserved at your highness' hands.

  The language I have learned these forty years,

  My native English, now I must forgo,

  And now my tongue's use is to me no more

  Than an unstringed viol or a harp,

  Or like a cunning157 instrument cased up,

  Or, being open158, put into his hands

  That knows no touch159 to tune the harmony.

  Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue,

  Doubly portcullised161 with my teeth and lips,

  And dull unfeeling barren ignorance

  Is made my jailer 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?

  KING RICHARD It boots168 thee not to be compassionate.

  After our sentence, plaining169 comes too late.

  MOWBRAY Then thus I turn me from my country's light

  To dwell in solemn171 shades of endless night.

  Starts to go

  KING RICHARD Return again, and take an oath with thee.

  Lay on our royal sword your banished hands;