Shakespeare's Henriad (Book 1-4). William Hazlitt. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: William Hazlitt
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That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester’s death,

       Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,

       And consequently, like a traitor coward,

       Sluic’d 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 say’st 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

       Disburs’d I duly to his highness’ soldiers;

       The other part reserv’d 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 receiv’d the sacrament

       I did confess it, and exactly begg’d

       Your Grace’s pardon; and I hope I had it.

       This is my fault: as for the rest appeal’d,

       It issues from the rancour of a villain,

       A recreant and most degenerate traitor;

       Which in myself I boldly will defend,

       And interchangeably hurl down my gage

       Upon this overweening traitor’s foot,

       To prove myself a loyal gentleman

       Even in the best blood chamber’d in his bosom.

       In haste whereof, most heartily I pray

       Your highness to assign our trial day.

      KING RICHARD.

       Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul’d 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 month to bleed.

       Good uncle, let this end where it begun;

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

      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.

      GAUNT.

       When, Harry, when?

       Obedience bids I should not bid again.

      KING RICHARD.

       Norfolk, throw down; we bid;

       There is no boot.

      MOWBRAY.

       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 disgrac’d, impeach’d, and baffled here;

       Pierc’d to the soul with slander’s venom’d spear,

       The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood

       Which breath’d this poison.

      KING RICHARD.

       Rage must be withstood:

       Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.

      MOWBRAY.

       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 tentimes barr’d-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-fall’n in my father’s sight,

       Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height

       Before this outdar’d 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 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: