YUKI01

KING RICHARD. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,

    Both who he is and why he cometh hither

    Thus plated in habiliments of war;

    And formally, according to our law,

    Depose him in the justice of his cause.

  MARSHAL. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou hither

    Before King Richard in his royal lists?

    Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?

    Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

  BOLINGBROKE. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,

    Am I; who ready here do stand in arms

    To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour,

    In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

    That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,

    To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.

    And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

  MARSHAL. On pain of death, no person be so bold

    Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,

    Except the Marshal and such officers

    Appointed to direct these fair designs.

  BOLINGBROKE. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand,

    And bow my knee before his Majesty;

    For Mowbray and myself are like two men

    That vow a long and weary pilgrimage.

    Then let us take a ceremonious leave

    And loving farewell of our several friends.

  MARSHAL. The appellant in all duty greets your Highness,

    And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

  KING RICHARD. We will descend and fold him in our arms.

    Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,

    So be thy fortune in this royal fight!

    Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,

    Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

  BOLINGBROKE. O, let no noble eye profane a tear

    For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear.

    As confident as is the falcon's flight

    Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.

    My loving lord, I take my leave of you;

    Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;

    Not sick, although I have to do with death,

    But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.

    Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet

    The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.

    O thou, the earthly author of my blood,

    Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,

    Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up

    To reach at victory above my head,

    Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers,

    And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,

    That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat

    And furbish new the name of John o' Gaunt,

    Even in the lusty haviour of his son.

  GAUNT. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!

    Be swift like lightning in the execution,

    And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,

    Fall like amazing thunder on the casque

    Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.

    Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.

  BOLINGBROKE. Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!

  MOWBRAY. However God or fortune cast my lot,

    There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne,

    A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.

    Never did captive with a freer heart

    Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace

    His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,

    More than my dancing soul doth celebrate

    This feast of battle with mine adversary.

    Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,

    Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.

    As gentle and as jocund as to jest

    Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.

  KING RICHARD. Farewell, my lord, securely I espy

    Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.

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