K. RICH. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. Mow. 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 disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here, Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison.

K. RICH.

Rage must be withstood:

Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame,

Mow. 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.

K. RICH. Cousin, throw down your gage: do you begin.
BOLING. 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-dar'd dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound mine 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. K. RICH. 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.

ACT II.

Scene I.-London. An Apartment in Ely House.

GAUNT on a couch; the DUKE OF YORK and Others standing by him.

GAUNT. Will the king come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?

YORK. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

GAUNT. O! but they say the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention like deep harmony:

He that no more must say is listen'd more.
The setting sun, and music at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,

Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

YORK. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds. Direct not him whose way himself will choose:

'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. GAUNT. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir'd,

And thus expiring do foretell of him :

His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
For violent fires soon burn out themselves.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,

This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,

Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,---
For Christian service and true chivalry,-

As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry

Of the world's ransom, blesséd Mary's Son:
This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,

Is now leas'd out,-I die pronouncing it,

Like to a tenement, or pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,

With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds:
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

Ah! would the scandal vanish with my life,

How happy then were my ensuing death.

Enter KING RICHARD.

YORK. The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more.

K. RICH. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt ?

GAUNT. O! how that name befits my composition : Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old:

Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,

I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.

K. RICH. Should dying men flatter with those that live?
GAUNT. O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick :
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Committ'st thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
O! had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye,
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,
Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd,
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,
It were a shame to let this land by lease;
Landlord of England art thou now, not king.

K. RICH. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head
Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.
GAUNT. O spare me not, my brother Edward's son,
Join with the present sickness that I have;
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower.

Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
These words hereafter thy tormentors be!
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
Love they to live that love and honour have.

[Exit, borne out by his Attendants.

K. RICH. And let them die that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave.

THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH

Enter KING HENRY, NORTHUMBERLAND, Worcester, HOTSPUR, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and Others.

K. HEN. My blood hath been too cold and temperate,

Unapt to stir at these indignities,

And you have found me; for accordingly

You tread upon my patience: but, be sure,

I will from henceforth rather be myself,

Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition,

Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of respect

Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.

WOR. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
The scourge of greatness to be used on it;

And that same greatness too which our own hands
Have holp to make so portly.

NORTH.

My lord,

K. HEN. Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see
Danger and disobedience in thine eye.

O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,
And majesty might never yet endure
The moody frontier of a servant brow.

You have good leave to leave us; when we need
Your use and counsel we shall send for you.

[Exit WORCESTER.

(To NORTHUMBERLAND). You were about to speak NORTH.

Yea, my good lord.

Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
As is deliver'd to your majesty:

Either envy, therefore, or misprision
Is guilty of this fault and not my son.

HOT. My liege, I did deny no prisoners:
But I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridgeroom; and his chin, new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home :
He was perfumed like a milliner,

And 'twixt his fingers and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon

He gave his nose and took 't away again;
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff: and still he smil'd and talk'd;
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corpse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms

He question'd me; among the rest, demanded
My prisoners in your majesty's behalf.

I then all smarting with my wounds being cold,
To be so pester'd with a popinjay,

Out of my grief and my impatience

Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what,

He should, or he should not; for he made me mad

To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet

And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman

Of guns, and drums, and wounds,-God save the mark !

And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth

Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;

And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said;
And I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation

Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

BLUNT. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, Whatever Harry Percy then had said

To such a person and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest re-told,