LITMIR.BIZ

         Bul. Lord Marshall, let me kisse my Soueraigns hand,

      And bow my knee before his Maiestie:

      For Mowbray and my selfe are like two men,

      That vow a long and weary pilgrimage,

      Then let vs take a ceremonious leaue

      And louing farwell of our seuerall friends

         Mar. The Appealant in all duty greets your Highnes,

      And craues to kisse your hand, and take his leaue

         Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our armes.

      Cosin of Herford, as thy cause is iust,

      So be thy fortune in this Royall fight:

      Farewell, my blood, which if to day thou shead,

      Lament we may, but not reuenge thee dead

         Bull. Oh let no noble eye prophane a teare

      For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbrayes speare:

      As confident, as is the Falcons flight

      Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.

      My louing Lord, I take my leaue of you,

      Of you (my Noble Cosin) Lord Aumerle;

      Not sicke, although I haue to do with death,

      But lustie, yong, and cheerely drawing breath.

      Loe, as at English Feasts, so I regreete

      The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.

      Oh thou the earthy author of my blood,

      Whose youthfull spirit in me regenerate,

      Doth with a two-fold rigor lift mee vp

      To reach at victory aboue my head,

      Adde proofe vnto mine Armour with thy prayres,

      And with thy blessings steele my Lances point,

      That it may enter Mowbrayes waxen Coate,

      And furnish new the name of Iohn a Gaunt,

      Euen in the lusty hauiour of his sonne

         Gaunt. Heauen in thy good cause make thee prosp'rous

      Be swift like lightning in the execution,

      And let thy blowes doubly redoubled,

      Fall like amazing thunder on the Caske

      Of thy amaz'd pernicious enemy.

      Rouze vp thy youthfull blood, be valiant, and liue

      Bul. Mine innocence, and S[aint]. George to thriue

         Mow. How euer heauen or fortune cast my lot,

      There liues, or dies, true to Kings Richards Throne,

      A loyall, iust, and vpright Gentleman:

      Neuer did Captiue with a freer heart,

      Cast off his chaines of bondage, and embrace

      His golden vncontroul'd enfranchisement,

      More then my dancing soule doth celebrate

      This Feast of Battell, with mine Aduersarie.

      Most mighty Liege, and my companion Peeres,

      Take from my mouth, the wish of happy yeares,

      As gentle, and as iocond, as to iest,

      Go I to fight: Truth, hath a quiet brest

         Rich. Farewell, my Lord, securely I espy

      Vertue with Valour, couched in thine eye:

      Order the triall Marshall, and begin

         Mar. Harrie of Herford, Lancaster, and Derby,

      Receiue thy Launce, and heauen defend thy right

      Bul. Strong as a towre in hope, I cry Amen

      Mar. Go beare this Lance to Thomas D[uke]. of Norfolke

         1.Har. Harry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derbie,

      Stands heere for God, his Soueraigne, and himselfe,

      On paine to be found false, and recreant,

      To proue the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray,

      A Traitor to his God, his King, and him,

      And dares him to set forwards to the fight

         2.Har. Here standeth Tho[mas]: Mowbray Duke of Norfolk

      On paine to be found false and recreant,

      Both to defend himselfe, and to approue

      Henry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derby,

      To God, his Soueraigne, and to him disloyall:

      Couragiously, and with a free desire

      Attending but the signall to begin.

      A charge sounded

        Mar. Sound Trumpets, and set forward Combatants:

      Stay, the King hath throwne his Warder downe

         Rich. Let them lay by their Helmets & their Speares,

      And both returne backe to their Chaires againe:

      Withdraw with vs, and let the Trumpets sound,

      While we returne these Dukes what we decree.

      A long Flourish.

      Draw neere and list

      What with our Councell we haue done.

      For that our kingdomes earth should not be soyld

      With that deere blood which it hath fostered,

      And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect

      Of ciuill wounds plowgh'd vp with neighbors swords,

      Which so rouz'd vp with boystrous vntun'd drummes,

      With harsh resounding Trumpets dreadfull bray,

      And grating shocke of wrathfull yron Armes,

      Might from our quiet Confines fright faire peace,

      And make vs wade euen in our kindreds blood:

      Therefore, we banish you our Territories.

      You Cosin Herford, vpon paine of death,

      Till twice fiue Summers haue enrich'd our fields,

      Shall not regreet our faire dominions,

      But treade the stranger pathes of banishment

         Bul. Your will be done: This must my comfort be,

      That Sun that warmes you heere, shall shine on me:

      And those his golden beames to you heere lent,

      Shall point on me, and gild my banishment

         Rich. Norfolke: for thee remaines a heauier dombe,

      Which I with some vnwillingnesse pronounce,

      The slye slow houres shall not determinate

      The datelesse limit of thy deere exile:

      The hopelesse word, of Neuer to returne,

      Breath I against thee, vpon paine of life

         Mow. A heauy sentence, my most Soueraigne Liege,

      And all vnlook'd for from your Highnesse mouth:

      A deerer merit, not so deepe a maime,

      As to be cast forth in the common ayre

      Haue I deserued

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