The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.



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Reference: b6v - Histories, p. 24

Left Column


The life and death of Richard the Second. In name of lendings for your Highnesse Soldiers,
[90]
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a false Traitor, and iniurious Villaine. Besides I say, and will in battaile proue, Or heere, or elsewhere to the furthest Verge That euer was suruey'd by English eye,
[95]
That all the Treasons for these eighteene yeeres Complotted, and contriued in this Land, Fetch'd from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say, and further will maintaine Vpon his bad life, to make all this good.
[100]
That he did plot the Duke of Glousters death, Suggest his soone beleeuing aduersaries, And consequently, like a Traitor Coward, Sluc'd out his innocent soule through streames of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abels cries,
[105]
(Euen from the toonglesse cauernes of the earth) To me for iustice, and rough chasticement: And by the glorious worth of my discent, This arme shall do it, or this life be spent.
King. How high a pitch his resolution soares:
[110]
Thomas of Norfolke, what sayest thou to this?
Mow. Oh let my Soueraigne turne away his face, And bid his eares a little while be deafe, Till I haue told this slander of his blood, How God, and good men, hate so foule a lyar. King.
[115]
Mowbray, impartiall are our eyes and eares, Were he my brother, nay our kingdomes heyre, As he is but my fathers brothers sonne; Now by my Scepters awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour‑neerenesse to our sacred blood,
[120]
Should nothing priuiledge him, nor partialize The vn‑stooping firmenesse of my vpright soule. He is our subiect ( Mowbray) so art thou, Free speech, and fearelesse, I to thee allow.
Mow. Then Bullingbrooke, as low as to thy heart,
[125]
Through the false passage of thy throat; thou lyest: Three parts of that receipt I had for Callice, Disburst I to his Highnesse souldiers; The other part reseru'd I by consent, For that my Soueraigne Liege was in my debt,
[130]
Vpon remainder of a deere Accompt, Since last I went to France to fetch his Queene: Now swallow downe that Lye. For Glousters death, I slew him not; but (to mine owne disgrace) Neglected my sworne duty in that case:
[135]
For you my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable Father to my foe, Once I did lay an ambush for your life, A trespasse that doth vex my greeued soule: But ere I last receiu'd the Sacrament,
[140]
I did confesse it, and exactly begg'd Your Graces pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the rest appeal'd, It issues from the rancour of a Villaine, A recreant, and most degenerate Traitor,
[145]
Which in my selfe I boldly will defend, And interchangeably hurle downe my gage Vpon this ouer‑weening Traitors foote, An ink mark follows the end of this line. To proue my selfe a loyall Gentleman, Euen in the best blood chamber'd in his bosome. An ink mark follows the end of this line.
[150]
In hast whereof, most heartily I pray Your Highnesse to assigne our Triall day.
King. Wrath‑kindled Gentlemen be rul'd by me: Let's purge this choller without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no Physition,

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Right Column


[155]
Deepe malice makes too deepe incision. Forget, forgiue, conclude, and be agreed, Our Doctors say, This is no time to bleed. Good Vnckle, let this end where it begun, Wee'l calme the Duke of Norfolke; you, your son.
Gaunt.
[160]
To be a make‑peace shall become my age, Throw downe (my sonne) the Duke of Norfolkes gage.
King. And Norfolke, throw downe his. Gaunt. When Harrie when? Obedience bids, Obedience bids I should not bid agen. King.
[165]
Norfolke, throw downe, we bidde; there is no boote.
Mow. My selfe I throw (dread Soueraigne) at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame, The one my dutie owes, but my faire name Despight of death, that liues vpon my graue
[170]
To darke dishonours vse, thou shalt not haue. I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffel'd heere, Pierc'd to the soule with slanders venom'd speare: The which no balme can cure, but his heart blood Which breath'd this poyson.
King.
[175]
Rage must be withstood: Giue me his gage: Lyons make Leopards tame.
Mo. Yea but not change his spots: take but my shame, And I resigne my gage. My deere, deere Lord, The purest treasure mortall times afford
[180]
Is spotlesse reputation: that away, Men are but gilded loame, or painted clay. A Iewell in a ten times barr'd vp Chest, Is a bold spirit, in a loyall brest. Mine Honor is my life; both grow in one:
[185]
Take Honor from me, and my life is done. Then (deere my Liege) mine Honor let me trie, In that I liue; and for that will I die.
King. Coosin, throw downe your gage, Do you begin. Bul.
[190]
Oh heauen defend my soule from such foule sin. Shall I seeme Crest‑falne in my fathers sight, Or with pale beggar‑feare impeach my hight Before this out‑dar'd dastard? Ere my toong, Shall wound mine honor with such feeble wrong;
[195]
Or sound so base a parle: my teeth shall teare The slauish motiue of recanting feare, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, euen in Mowbrayes face.
Exit Gaunt. King. We were not borne to sue, but to command,
[200]
Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be readie, (as your liues shall answer it) At Couentree, vpon S. Saint Lamberts day: There shall your swords and Lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your setled hate:
[205]
Since we cannot attone you, you shall see Iustice designe the Victors Chiualrie. Lord Marshall, command our Officers at Armes, Be readie to direct these home Alarmes.
Exeunt.
Scæna Secunda. [Act 1, Scene 2] Enter Gaunt, and Dutchesse of Gloucester. Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Glousters blood,
[210]
Doth more solicite me then your exclaimes, To stirre against the Butchers of his life. But

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Scæna Secunda. [Act 1, Scene 2] Enter Gaunt, and Dutchesse of Gloucester. Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Glousters blood,
[210]
Doth more solicite me then your exclaimes, To stirre against the Butchers of his life. But since correction lyeth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrell to the will of heauen,
[215]
Who when they see the houres ripe on earth, Will raigne hot vengeance on offenders heads.
Dut. Findes brotherhood in thee no sharper spurre? Hath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire? Edwards seuen sonnes (whereof thy selfe art one)
[220]
Were 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,
[225]
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 Murde s bloody Axe.
[230]
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,
[235]
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 suff ring thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life,
[240]
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.
[245]
Heauens is the quarrel: 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.
[250]
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:
[255]
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,
[260]
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,
[265]
As much good stay with thee, as go with mee.
Dut. Yet one wotd 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.
[270]
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.
[275]
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,
[280]
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
 

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<div type="scene" n="2">
   <head rend="italic center">Scæna Secunda.</head>
   <head type="supplied">[Act 1, Scene 2]</head>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter Gaunt, and Dutchesse of Gloucester.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-r2-gau">
      <speaker rend="italic">Gaunt.</speaker>
      <l n="209">Alas, the part I had in Glousters blood,</l>
      <l n="210">Doth more solicite me then your exclaimes,</l>
      <l n="211">To stirre against the Butchers of his life.</l>
      <pb facs="FFimg:axc0349-0.jpg" n="25"/>
      <cb n="1"/>
      <l n="212">But since correction lyeth in those hands</l>
      <l n="213">Which made the fault that we cannot correct,</l>
      <l n="214">Put we our quarrell to the will of heauen,</l>
      <l n="215">Who when they see the houres ripe on earth,</l>
      <l n="216">Will raigne hot vengeance on offenders heads.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-r2-dgl">
      <speaker rend="italic">Dut.</speaker>
      <l n="217">Findes brotherhood in thee no sharper spurre?</l>
      <l n="218">Hath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire?</l>
      <l n="219">
         <hi rend="italic">Edwards</hi>seuen sonnes (whereof thy selfe art one)</l>
      <l n="220">Were as seuen violles of his Sacred blood,</l>
      <l n="221">Or seuen faire branches springing from one roote:</l>
      <l n="222">Some of those seuen are dride by natures course,</l>
      <l n="223">Some of those branches by the destinies cut:</l>
      <l n="224">But<hi rend="italic">Thomas</hi>, my deere Lord, my life, my Glouster,</l>
      <l n="225">One Violl full of<hi rend="italic">Edwards</hi>Sacred blood,</l>
      <l n="226">One flourishing branch of his most Royall roote</l>
      <l n="227">Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;</l>
      <l n="228">Is hackt downe, and his summer leafes all vaded</l>
      <l n="229">By Enuies hand, and Murde<gap extent="1"
              unit="chars"
              reason="illegible"
              agent="partiallyInkedType"
              resp="#ES"/>s bloody Axe.</l>
      <l n="230">Ah<hi rend="italic">Gaunt</hi>! His blood was thine, that bed, that wombe,</l>
      <l n="231">That mettle, that selfe‑mould that fashion'd thee,</l>
      <l n="232">Made him a man: and though thou liu'st, and breath'st,</l>
      <l n="233">Yet art thou slaine in him: thou dost consent</l>
      <l n="234">In some large measure to thy Fathers death,</l>
      <l n="235">In that thou seest thy wretched brother dye,</l>
      <l n="236">Who was the modell of thy Fathers life.</l>
      <l n="237">Call it not patience (<hi rend="italic">Gaunt</hi>) it is dispaire,</l>
      <l n="238">In suff ring thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,</l>
      <l n="239">Thou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life,</l>
      <l n="240">Teaching sterne murther how to butcher thee:</l>
      <l n="241">That which in meane men we intitle patience</l>
      <l n="242">Is pale cold cowardice in noble brests:</l>
      <l n="243">What shall I say, to safegard thine owne life,</l>
      <l n="244">The best way is to venge my Glousters death.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-r2-gau">
      <speaker rend="italic">Gaunt.</speaker>
      <l n="245">Heauens is the quarrel: for heauens substitute</l>
      <l n="246">His Deputy annointed in his sight,</l>
      <l n="247">Hath caus'd his death, the which if wrongfully</l>
      <l n="248">Let heauen reuenge: for I may neuer lift</l>
      <l n="249">An angry arme against his Minister.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-r2-dgl">
      <speaker rend="italic">Dut.</speaker>
      <l n="250">Where then (alas may I) complaint my selfe?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-r2-gau">
      <speaker rend="italic">Gau.</speaker>
      <l n="251">To heauen, the widdowes Champion to defence</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-r2-dgl">
      <speaker rend="italic">Dut.</speaker>
      <l n="252">Why then I will: farewell old<hi rend="italic">Gaunt</hi>.</l>
      <l n="253">Thou go'st to Couentrie, there to behold</l>
      <l n="254">Our Cosine Herford, and fell Mowbray fight:</l>
      <l n="255">O sit my husbands wrongs on Herfords speare,</l>
      <l n="256">That it may enter butcher Mowbrayes brest:</l>
      <l n="257">Or if misfortune misse the first carreere,</l>
      <l n="258">Be Mowbrayes sinnes so heauy in his bosome,</l>
      <l n="259">That they may breake his foaming Coursers backe,</l>
      <l n="260">And throw the Rider headlong in the Lists,</l>
      <l n="261">A Caytiffe recreant to my Cosine Herford:</l>
      <l n="262">Farewell old<hi rend="italic">Gaunt</hi>, thy sometimes brothers wife</l>
      <l n="263">With her companion Greefe, must end her life.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-r2-gau">
      <speaker rend="italic">Gau.</speaker>
      <l n="264">Sister farewell: I must to Couentree,</l>
      <l n="265">As much good stay with thee, as go with mee.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-r2-dgl">
      <speaker rend="italic">Dut.</speaker>
      <l n="266">Yet one<choice>
            <orig>wotd</orig>
            <corr>word</corr>
         </choice>more: Greefe boundeth where it
      <lb rend="turnunder"/>
         <pc rend="turnunder">(</pc>falls,</l>
      <l n="267">Not with the emptie hollownes, but weight:</l>
      <l n="268">I take my leaue, before I haue begun,</l>
      <l n="269">For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.</l>
      <l n="270">Commend me to my brother<hi rend="italic">Edmund Yorke</hi>.</l>
      <l n="271">Loe, this is all: nay, yet depart not so,</l>
      <l n="272">Though this be all, do not so quickly go,</l>
      <l n="273">I shall remember more. Bid him, Oh, what<c rend="italic">?</c>
      </l>
      <l n="274">With all good speed at Plashie visit mee.</l>
      <l n="275">Alacke, and what shall good old Yorke there see</l>
      <l n="276">But empty lodgings, and vnfurnish'd walles,</l>
      <l n="277">Vn‑peopel'd Offices, vntroden stones?</l>
      <cb n="2"/>
      <l n="278">And what heare there for welcome, but my grones?</l>
      <l n="279">Therefore commend me, let him not come there,</l>
      <l n="280">To seeke out sorrow, that dwels euery where:</l>
      <l n="281">Desolate, desolate will I hence, and dye,</l>
      <l n="282">The last leaue of thee, takes my weeping eye.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exeunt</stage>
</div>

        
        

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