Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

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LOVE’S LABOUR’S WON

A BRIEF ACCOUNT

IN 1598, Francis Meres called as witnesses to Shakespeare’s excellence in comedy ‘his Gentlemen of Verona, his Errors, his Love Labour’s Lost, his Love Labour’s Wone, his Midsummer’s Night Dream, and his Merchant of Venice’. This was the only evidence that Shakespeare wrote a play called Love’s Labour’s Won until the discovery in 1953 of a fragment of a bookseller’s list that had been used in the binding of a volume published in 1637/8. The fragment itself appears to record titles sold from 9 to 17 August 1603 by a book dealer in the south of England. Among items headed ‘[inte]rludes & tragedyes’ are

marchant of vennis

taming of a shrew

knak to know a knave

knak to know an honest man

loves labor lost

loves labor won

No author is named for any of the items. All the plays named in the list except Love’s Labour’s Won are known to have been printed by 1600; all were written by 1596-7. Taken together, Meres’s reference in 1598 and the 1603 fragment appear to demonstrate that a play by Shakespeare called Love’s Labour’s Won had been performed by the time Meres wrote and was in print by August 1603. Conceivably the phrase served as an alternative title for one of Shakespeare’s other comedies, though the only one believed to have been written by 1598 but not listed by Meres is The Taming of the Shrew, which is named (as The Taming of A Shrew) in the bookseller’s fragment. Otherwise we must suppose that Love’s Labour’s Won is the title of a lost play by Shakespeare, that no copy of the edition mentioned in the bookseller’s list is extant, and that Heminges and Condell failed to include it in the 1623 Folio.

None of these suppositions is implausible. We know of at least one other lost play attributed to Shakespeare (see Cardenio, below), and of many lost works by contemporary playwrights. No copy of the first edition of Titus Andronicus was known until 1904; for I Henry IV and The Passionate Pilgrim only a fragment of the first edition survives. And we now know that Troilus and Cressida was almost omitted from the 1623 Folio (probably for copyright reasons) despite its evident authenticity. It is also possible that, like most of the early editions of Shakespeare’s plays, the lost edition of Love’s Labour’s Won did not name him on the title-page, and this omission might go some way to explaining the failure of the edition to survive, or (if it does) to be noticed. Love’s Labour’s Won stands a much better chance of having survived, somewhere, than Cardenio: because it was printed, between 500 and 1,500 copies were once in circulation, whereas for Cardenio we know of only a single manuscript.

The evidence for the existence of the lost play (unlike that for Cardenio) gives us little indication of its content. Meres explicitly states, and the title implies, that it was a comedy. Its titular pairing with Love’s Labour’s Lost suggests that they may have been written at about the same time. Both Meres and the bookseller’s catalogue place it after Love’s Labour’s Lost; although neither list is necessarily chronological, Meres’s does otherwise agree with our own view of the order of composition of Shakespeare’s comedies.

RICHARD II

THE subject matter of Richard II seemed inflammatorily topical to Shakespeare’s contemporaries. Richard, who had notoriously indulged his favourites, had been compelled to yield his throne to Henry Bolingbroke, Earl of Hereford: like Richard, the ageing Queen Elizabeth had no obvious successor, and she too encouraged favourites—such as the Earl of Essex—who might aspire to the throne. When Shakespeare’s play first appeared in print (in 1597), and in the two succeeding editions printed during Elizabeth’s life, the episode (4.1.145-308) showing Richard yielding the crown was omitted, and in 1601, on the day before Essex led his ill-fated rebellion against Elizabeth, his fellow conspirators commissioned a special performance in the hope of arousing popular support, even though the play was said to be ‘long out of use’—surprisingly, since it was probably written no earlier than 1595.

But Shakespeare introduced no obvious topicality into his dramatization of Richard’s reign, for which he read widely while using Raphael Holinshed’s Chronicles (1577, revised and enlarged in 1587) as his main source of information. In choosing to write about Richard II (1367―1400) he was returning to the beginning of the story whose ending he had staged in Richard III; for Bolingbroke’s usurpation of the throne to which Richard’s hereditary right was indisputable had set in train the series of events finally expiated only in the union of the houses of York and Lancaster celebrated in the last speech of Richard III. Like Richard III, this is a tragical history, focusing on a single character; but Richard II is a far more introverted and morally ambiguous figure than Richard III. In this play, written entirely in verse, Shakespeare forgoes stylistic variety in favour of an intense, plangent lyricism.

Our early impressions of Richard are unsympathetic. Having banished Mowbray and Bolingbroke, he behaves callously to Bolingbroke’s father, John of Gaunt, a stern upholder of the old order to whose warning against his irresponsible behaviour he pays no attention, and upon Gaunt’s death confiscates his property with no regard for Bolingbroke’s rights. During Richard’s absence on an Irish campaign, Bolingbroke returns to England and gains support in his efforts to claim his inheritance. Gradually, as the balance of power shifts, Richard makes deeper claims on the audience’s sympathy. When he confronts Bolingbroke at Flint Castle (3.1) he eloquently laments his imminent deposition even though Bolingbroke insists that he comes only to claim what is his; soon afterwards (4.1.98-103) the Duke of York announces Richard’s abdication. The transference of power is effected in a scene of lyrical expansiveness, and Richard becomes a pitiable figure as he is led to imprisonment in Pomfret (Pontefract) Castle while his former queen is banished to France. Richard’s self-exploration reaches its climax in his soliloquy spoken shortly before his murder at the hands of Piers Exton; at the end of the play, Henry, anxious and guilt-laden, denies responsibility for the murder and plans an expiatory pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

KING RICHARD II

The QUEEN, his wife

JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster, Richard’s uncle

Harry BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, John of Gaunt’s son, later

KING HENRY IV

DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, widow of Gaunt’s and York’s brother

Duke of YORK, King Richard’s uncle

DUCHESS OF YORK

Duke of AUMERLE, their son

Thomas MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk

Lord BERKELEY

Lord FITZWALTER

Duke of SURREY

ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER

Sir Piers EXTON

LORD MARSHAL

HERALDS

CAPTAIN of the Welsh army

LADIES attending the Queen

GARDENER

Gardener’s MEN

Exton’s MEN

KEEPER of the prison at Pomfret

GROOM of King Richard’s stable,

Lords, soldiers, attendants

The Tragedy of King Richard the Second

1.1 Enter King Richard and John of Gaunt, with the Lord Marshal, other nobles, and attendants

KING RICHARD

Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,

Hast thou according to thy oath and bond

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?

JOHN OF 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?

JOHN OF 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.

[Exit one or more]

Face to face

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear

The accuser and the accused freely speak.

High-stomached are they both and full of ire;

In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Hereford, and Mowbray Duke of Norfolk

BOLINGBROKE

Many years of happy days befall

My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

MOWBRAY

Each day still better others’ 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,

Tend’ring 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 naught 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 (throwing down his gage)

Pale trembling coward, there I throw my 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 (taking up the gage)

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 (to Bolingbroke)

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 contrived 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 grieved 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,

He 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 time to bleed.

Good uncle, let this end where it begun.

We’ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.

JOHN OF 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.

JOHN OF GAUNT

When, Harry, when?

Obedience bids I should not bid again.

KING RICHARD

Norfolk, throw down! We bid; there is no boot.

MOWBRAY (kneeling)

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 ⌈standing⌉

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 down your gage. Do you begin.

BOLINGBROKE

O God defend my soul from such deep sin!

Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father’s sight?

Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height

Before this out-dared 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 John of 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.

Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms

Be ready to direct these home alarms.

Exeunt

1.2 Enter John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, with the Duchess of Gloucester

JOHN OF GAUNT

Alas, the part I had in Gloucester’s blood

Doth more solicit me than your exclaims

To stir against the butchers of his life.

But since correction lieth in those hands

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 OF GLOUCESTER

Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?

Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?

Edward’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 destinies 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 liquor spilt;

Is hacked down, and his summer leaves all faded

By envy’s hand and murder’s bloody axe.

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

That mettle, that self mould that fashioned thee,

Made him a man; and though thou liv‘st and

breathest,

Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent

In some large measure to thy father’s death

In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,

Who was the model of thy father’s life.

Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair.

In suff’ring thus thy brother to be slaughtered

Thou show’st the naked pathway to thy life,

Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.

That which in mean 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 venge my Gloucester’s death.

JOHN OF GAUNT

God’s is the quarrel; for God’s substitute,

His deputy anointed in his sight,

Hath caused his death; the which if wrongfully,

Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift

An angry arm against his minister.

DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER

Where then, alas, may I complain myself?

JOHN OF GAUNT

To God, the widow’s champion and defence.

DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER

Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.

Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold

Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.

O, set my husband’s wrongs on Hereford’s spear,

That it may enter butcher Mowbray’s breast!

Or if misfortune miss the first career,

Be Mowbray’s sins so heavy in his bosom

That they may break his foaming courser’s back

And throw the rider headlong in the lists,

A caitiff, recreant to my cousin Hereford!

Farewell, old Gaunt. Thy sometimes brother’s wife

With her companion, grief, must end her life.

JOHN OF GAUNT

Sister, farewell. I must to Coventry.

As much good stay with thee as go with me.

DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER

Yet one word more. Grief boundeth 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 thy brother, Edmund York.

Lo, this is all.—Nay, yet depart not so!

Though this be all, do not so quickly go.

I shall remember more. Bid him—ah, what?—

With all good speed at Pleshey visit me.

Alack, and what shall good old York there see

But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls,

Unpeopled offices, 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 ⌈severally⌉

1.3 Enter Lord Marshal [with officers setting out chairs], and the Duke of Aumerle

LORD MARSHAL

My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed?

AUMERLE

Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.

LORD MARSHAL

The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,

Stays but the summons of the appellant’s trumpet.

AUMERLE

Why then, the champions are prepared, and stay

For nothing but his majesty’s approach.

The trumpets sound, and King Richard enters, with John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, ⌈Bushy, Bagot, Green,] and other nobles. When they are set, enter Mowbray Duke of Norfolk, defendant, in arms, Fand a Herald]

KING RICHARD

Marshal, demand of yonder champion

The cause of his arrival here in arms.

Ask him his name, and orderly proceed

To swear him in the justice of his cause.

LORD MARSHAL (to Mowbray)

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 thy

quarrel.

Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath,

As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!

MOWBRAY

My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

Who hither come engaged by my oath—

Which God defend a knight should violate—

Both to defend my loyalty and truth

To God, my king, and my succeeding 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!

⌈He sits.⌉

The trumpets sound. Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Hereford, appellant, in armour, ⌈and a Herald⌉

KING RICHARD

Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms

Both who he is and why he cometh hither

Thus plated in habiliments of war;

And formally, according to our law,

Depose him in the justice of his cause.

LORD MARSHAL (to Bolingbroke)

What is thy name? And wherefore com’st thou hither

Before King Richard in his royal lists?

Against whom comest thou? And what’s thy quarrel?

Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

BOLINGBROKE

Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby

Am I, who ready here do stand in arms

To prove by God’s grace and my body’s valour

In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

That he is a traitor foul and dangerous

To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.

And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

⌈He sits⌉

LORD MARSHAL

On pain of death, no person be so bold

Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists

Except the Marshal and such officers

Appointed to direct these fair designs.

BOLINGBROKE ⌈standing⌉

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 several friends.

LORD MARSHAL (to King Richard)

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.

He descends from his seat and embraces Bolingbroke

Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is just,

So be thy fortune in this royal fight.

Farewell, my blood, which if today thou shed,

Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

BOLINGBROKE

O, let no noble eye profane 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.

(To the Lord Marshal) My loving lord, I take my leave of you;

(To Aumerle) Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;

Not sick, although I have to do with death,

But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.

Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.

(To Gaunt, ⌈kneeling⌉ O thou, the earthly author of my blood,

Whose youthful spirit in me regenerate

Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up

To reach at victory above my head,

Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers,

And with thy blessings steel my lance’s point,

That it may enter Mowbray’s waxen coat

And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt

Even in the lusty haviour of his son.

JOHN OF GAUNT

God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!

Be swift like lightning in the execution,

And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,

Fall like amazing thunder on the casque

Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.

Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.

BOLINGBROKE ⌈standing⌉

Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!

MOWBRAY ⌈standing⌉

However God 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 enfranchisement

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 gentle and as jocund as to jest

Go I to fight. Truth hath a quiet breast.

KING RICHARD

Farewell, my lord. Securely I espy

Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.—

Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.

LORD MARSHAL

Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,

Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!

⌈An officer bears a lance to Bolingbroke⌉

BOLINGBROKE

Strong as a tower in hope, I cry ‘Amen!’

LORD MARSHAL (to an officer)

Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.

⌈An officer bears 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 recreant,

To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,

A traitor to his God, his king, and him,

And dares him to set forward 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 approve

Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby

To God his sovereign and to him disloyal,

Courageously and with a free desire

Attending but the signal to begin.

LORD MARSHAL

Sound trumpets, and set forward combatants!

⌈A charge is sounded.⌉

King Richard throws down his warder

Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down.

KING RICHARD

Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,

And both return back to their chairs again.

⌈Bolingbroke and Mowbray disarm and sit⌉

(To the nobles) Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound

While we return these dukes what we decree.

A long flourish, during which King Richard and his nobles withdraw and hold council, ⌈then come forward]. King Richard addresses Bolingbroke and Mowbray

Draw near, and list what with our council we have

done.

For that our kingdom’s earth should not be soiled

With that dear blood which it hath fostered,

And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect

Of civil wounds ploughed up with neighbours’ swords,

Which, so roused up with boist’rous untuned drums,

With harsh-resounding trumpets’ dreadful bray,

And grating shock 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 life,

Till twice five summers have enriched our fields

Shall not regreet our fair dominions,

But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

BOLINGBROKE

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 sly slow hours shall not determinate

The dateless limit of thy dear exile.

The hopeless word of ‘never to return’

Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

MOWBRAY

A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,

And all unlooked-for from your highness’ mouth.

A dearer merit, not so deep a maim

As to be cast forth in the common air,

Have I deserved at your highness’ hands.

The language I have learnt these forty years,

My native English, now I must forgo,

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

Than an unstringèd viol or a harp,

Or like a cunning instrument cased up,

Or, being open, put into his hands

That knows no touch to tune the harmony.

Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue,

Doubly portcullised 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 boots thee not to be compassionate.

After our sentence, plaining comes too late.

MOWBRAY

Then thus I turn me from my country’s light,

To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.

KING RICHARD

Return again, and take an oath with thee.

(To both) Lay on our royal sword your banished hands.

Swear by the duty that you owe to God—

Our part therein we banish with yourselves—

To keep the oath that we administer.

You never shall, so help you truth and God,

Embrace each other’s love in banishment,

Nor never look upon each other’s face,

Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile

This low‘ring tempest of your home-bred hate,

Nor never by advised purpose meet

To plot, contrive, or complot any ill

’Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

BOLINGBROKE

I swear.

MOWBRAY And I, to keep all this.

BOLINGBROKE

Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:

By this time, had the King permitted us,

One of our souls had wandered in the air,

Banished this frail sepulchre of our flesh,

As now our flesh is banished from this land.

Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm.

Since thou hast far to go, bear not along

The clogging burden of a guilty soul.

MOWBRAY

No, Bolingbroke, if ever I were traitor,

My name be blotted from the book of life,

And I from heaven banished as from hence.

But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know,

And all too soon I fear the King shall rue.

Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray:

Save back to England, all the world’s my way.

Exit

KING RICHARD

Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes

I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect

Hath from the number of his banished years

Plucked four away. (To Bolingbroke) Six frozen winters

spent,

Return with welcome home from banishment.

BOLINGBROKE

How long a time lies in one little word!

Four lagging winters and four wanton springs