Sec. Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,[859]110
On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend himself and to approve[860]
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal;
Courageously and with a free desire115
Attending but the signal to begin.
Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants.
[A charge sounded.[861]
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.[862]
K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
And both return back to their chairs again:120
Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound
While we return these dukes what we decree.
[A long flourish.[863]
Draw near,[864][865]
And list what with our council we have done.[865]
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd125
With that dear blood which it hath fostered;[866]
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword;[867]
And for we think the eagle-winged pride[868]
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,[868]130
With rival-hating envy, set on you[868][869]
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle[868][870]
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;[868][871]
Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums,[872][873][874]
With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,[874][875]135
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,[874][876]
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace,[873][874][877]
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood;[874][878]
Therefore, we banish you our territories:
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,[879]140
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields[880]
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,[881]
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Boling. Your will be done: this must my comfort be,
That sun that warms you here shall shine on me;145
And those his golden beams to you here lent[882]
Shall point on me and gild my banishment.
K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,[883]
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
The sly slow hours shall not determinate[884]150
The dateless limit of thy dear exile;[885]
The hopeless word of 'never to return'
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.[886]
Mow. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:155
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim[887]
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your highness' hands.
The language I have learn'd these forty years,[888]
My native English, now I must forego:160
And now my tongue's use is to me no more
Than an unstringed 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:165
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,[889][890]
Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips;[889][891]
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance[889]
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.[889][892]
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,170
Too far in years to be a pupil now:
What is thy sentence then but speechless death,[893]
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?