The life and death of King

Richard the Second.

Actus Primus, Scana Prima.

Enter King Richard, John of Gaunt, with other Nobles
and Attendants.

King Richard.

Ld John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,
Hast thou according to thy oath and band
Brought hither Henry Herford thy bold son:
Heere to make good the boistrous late appeale,
Which then our leysure would not let us heare,
Against the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray?
Gaunt, I have my Liege.

King. Tell me moreover, hast thou sounded him,
If he appeale the Duke on ancient malice,

Or worthily as a good subject should

On some knowne ground of treacherie in him.

Gaunt. As neere as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seene in him,

Aym'd at your Highnesse, no inveterate malice.

Kin. Then call them to our presence face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, our selves will heare
Th'accuser, and the accused, freely speake;
High stomack'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage, deafe as the sea; hastie as fire.

Enter Bullingbrooke and Mowbray.

Bul. Many yeares of happy dayes befall
My gracious Soveraigne, my most loving Liege.
Mow. Each day still better others happinesse,
Untill the heavens envying earths good hap,
Adde an immortall title to your Crowne.

King. We thanke you both, yet one but flatters us,
As well appeareth by the cause you come,
Namely, to appeale each other of high treason.
Coosin of Hereford, what dost thou object

Against the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray?
Bul. First, heaven be the record to my speech,
In the devotion of a subjects love,

Tendering the precious safetie of my Prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appealant to this Princely presence.
Now Thomas Mowbray do I turne to thee,
And marke my greeting well: for what I speake,
My body shall make good upon this earth,

Or

my divine soule answer it in heaven.
Thou art a Traitor, and a Miscreant ;
Too good to be so, and too bad to live
Since the more faire and christall is the skie,
The uglier seeme the cloudes that in it flye:
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
With a foule Traitors name stuffe I thy throte,

And wish (so please my Soveraigne) ere I move,

What my tong speaks, my right drawn sword may prove.
Mow. Let not my cold words heere accuse my zeale :
"Tis not the triall of a Womans warre,
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twaine :
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,