Richard II - Уильям Шекспир

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as seuen violles of his Sacred blood,

      Or seuen faire branches springing from one roote:

      Some of those seuen are dride by natures course,

      Some of those branches by the destinies cut:

      But Thomas, my deere Lord, my life, my Glouster,

      One Violl full of Edwards Sacred blood,

      One flourishing branch of his most Royall roote

      Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;

      Is hackt downe, and his summer leafes all vaded

      By Enuies hand, and Murders bloody Axe.

      Ah Gaunt! His blood was thine, that bed, that wombe,

      That mettle, that selfe-mould that fashion'd thee,

      Made him a man: and though thou liu'st, and breath'st,

      Yet art thou slaine in him: thou dost consent

      In some large measure to thy Fathers death,

      In that thou seest thy wretched brother dye,

      Who was the modell of thy Fathers life.

      Call it not patience (Gaunt) it is dispaire,

      In suffring thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,

      Thou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life,

      Teaching sterne murther how to butcher thee:

      That which in meane men we intitle patience

      Is pale cold cowardice in noble brests:

      What shall I say, to safegard thine owne life,

      The best way is to venge my Glousters death

         Gaunt. Heauens is the quarrell: for heauens substitute

      His Deputy annointed in his sight,

      Hath caus'd his death, the which if wrongfully

      Let heauen reuenge: for I may neuer lift

      An angry arme against his Minister

         Dut. Where then (alas may I) complaint my selfe?

        Gau. To heauen, the widdowes Champion to defence

        Dut. Why then I will: farewell old Gaunt.

      Thou go'st to Couentrie, there to behold

      Our Cosine Herford, and fell Mowbray fight:

      O sit my husbands wrongs on Herfords speare,

      That it may enter butcher Mowbrayes brest:

      Or if misfortune misse the first carreere,

      Be Mowbrayes sinnes so heauy in his bosome,

      That they may breake his foaming Coursers backe,

      And throw the Rider headlong in the Lists,

      A Caytiffe recreant to my Cosine Herford:

      Farewell old Gaunt, thy sometimes brothers wife

      With her companion Greefe, must end her life

         Gau. Sister farewell: I must to Couentree,

      As much good stay with thee, as go with mee

         Dut. Yet one word more: Greefe boundeth where it falls,

      Not with the emptie hollownes, but weight:

      I take my leaue, before I haue begun,

      For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.

      Commend me to my brother Edmund Yorke.

      Loe, this is all: nay, yet depart not so,

      Though this be all, do not so quickly go,

      I shall remember more. Bid him, Oh, what?

      With all good speed at Plashie visit mee.

      Alacke, and what shall good old Yorke there see

      But empty lodgings, and vnfurnish'd walles,

      Vn-peopel'd Offices, vntroden stones?

      And what heare there for welcome, but my grones?

      Therefore commend me, let him not come there,

      To seeke out sorrow, that dwels euery where:

      Desolate, desolate will I hence, and dye,

      The last leaue of thee, takes my weeping eye.

      Exeunt.

      Scena Tertia

      Enter Marshall, and Aumerle.

      Mar. My L[ord]. Aumerle, is Harry Herford arm'd

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

         Mar. The Duke of Norfolke, sprightfully and bold,

      Stayes but the summons of the Appealants Trumpet

         Au. Why then the Champions, are prepar'd, and stay

      For nothing but his Maiesties approach.

      Flourish.

      Enter King, Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Greene, & others: Then Mowbray in Armor, and Harrold.

        Rich. Marshall, demand of yonder Champion

      The cause of his arriuall heere in Armes,

      Aske him his name, and orderly proceed

      To sweare him in the iustice of his cause

         Mar. In Gods name, and the Kings say who y art,

      And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in Armes?

      Against what man thou com'st, and what's thy quarrell,

      Speake truly on thy knighthood, and thine oath,

      As so defend thee heauen, and thy valour

         Mow. My name is Tho[mas]. Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

      Who hither comes engaged by my oath

      (Which heauen defend a knight should violate)

      Both to defend my loyalty and truth,

      To God, my King, and his succeeding issue,

      Against the Duke of Herford, that appeales me:

      And by the grace of God, and this mine arme,

      To proue him (in defending of my selfe)

      A Traitor to my God, my King, and me,

      And as I truly fight, defend me heauen.

      Tucket. Enter Hereford, and Harold.

        Rich. Marshall: Aske yonder Knight in Armes,

      Both who he is, and why he commeth hither,

      Thus placed in habiliments of warre:

      And formerly according to our Law

      Depose him in the iustice of his cause

         Mar. What is thy name? and wherfore comst y hither

      Before King Richard in his Royall Lists?

      Against whom com'st thou? and what's thy quarrell?

      Speake like a true Knight, so defend thee heauen

         Bul. Harry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derbie,

      Am I: who ready heere do stand in Armes,

      To proue by heauens grace, and my bodies valour,

      In Lists, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolke,

      That he's a Traitor foule, and dangerous,

      To God of heauen, King Richard, and to me,

      And as I truly fight, defend me heauen

         Mar. On paine of death, no person be so bold,

      Or

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