King Richard the Second - Уильям Шекспир

  KING RICHARD. Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,
    Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,
    Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,
    Here to make good the boist'rous late appeal,
    Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
    Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
  GAUNT. I have, my liege.
  KING RICHARD. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him
    If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,
    Or worthily, as a good subject should,
    On some known ground of treachery in him?
  GAUNT. As near as I could sift him on that argument,
    On some apparent danger seen in him
    Aim'd at your Highness-no inveterate malice.
  KING RICHARD. Then call them to our presence: face to face
    And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
    The accuser and the accused freely speak.
    High-stomach'd are they both and full of ire,
    In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

  BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befall
    My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
  MOWBRAY. Each day still better other's happiness
    Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
    Add an immortal title to your crown!
  KING RICHARD. We thank you both; yet one but flatters us,
    As well appeareth by the cause you come;
    Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.
    Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
    Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
  BOLINGBROKE. First-heaven be the record to my speech!
    In the devotion of a subject's love,
    Tend'ring the precious safety of my prince,
    And free from other misbegotten hate,
    Come I appellant to this princely presence.
    Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
    And mark my greeting well; for what I speak
    My body shall make good upon this earth,
    Or my divine soul answer it in heaven-
    Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,
    Too good to be so, and too bad to live,
    Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
    The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
    Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
    With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
    And wish-so please my sovereign-ere I move,
    What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove.
  MOWBRAY. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal.
    'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
    The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
    Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;
    The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.
    Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
    As to be hush'd and nought at an to say.
    First, the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me
    From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
    Which else would post until it had return'd
    These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
    Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
    And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
    I do defy him, and I spit at him,
    Call him a slanderous coward and a villain;
    Which to maintain, I would allow him odds
    And meet him, were I tied to run afoot
    Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
    Or any other ground inhabitable
    Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
    Meantime let this defend my loyalty-
    By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie
  BOLINGBROKE. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
    Disclaiming here the kindred of the King;
    And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
    Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
    If guilty dread have left thee so much strength
    As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop.
    By that and all the rites of knighthood else
    Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
    What I have spoke or thou canst worst devise.
  MOWBRAY. I take it up; and by that sword I swear
    Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder
    I'll answer thee in any fair degree
    Or chivalrous design of knightly trial;
    And when I mount, alive may I not light
    If I be traitor or unjustly fight!
  KING RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?
    It must be great that can inherit us
    So much as of a thought of ill in him.
  BOLINGBROKE. Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true-
    That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles
    In name of lendings for your Highness' soldiers,
    The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments
    Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
    Besides, I say and will in battle prove-
    Or here, or elsewhere to the furthest verge
    That ever was survey'd by English eye-
    That all the treasons for these eighteen years
    Complotted and contrived in this land
    Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
    Further I say, and further will maintain
    Upon his bad life to make all this good,
    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 cars.
    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 baffl'd 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 ten-times 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 up your gage; do you begin.
  BOLINGBROKE. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!
    Shall I seem crest-fallen 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.

  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;
    Since we can not atone you, we shall see
    Justice design the victor's chivalry.
    Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms
    Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt

  GAUNT. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood
    Doth more solicit me than your exclaims
    To stir against the butchers of his life!
    But since correction lieth in those hands
    Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
    Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;
    Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,
    Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
  DUCHESS. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
    Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
    Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
    Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,
    Or seven fair branches springing from one root.
    Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
    Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;
    But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,
    One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,
    One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
    Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;
    Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
    By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.
    Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb,
    That mettle, that self mould, that fashion'd thee,
    Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,
    Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent
    In some large measure to thy father's death
    In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
    Who was the model of thy father's life.
    Call it not patience, Gaunt-it is despair;
    In suff'ring thus thy brother to be slaught'red,
    Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,
    Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.
    That which in mean men we entitle patience
    Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
    What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life
    The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death.
  GAUNT. God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,
    His deputy anointed in His sight,
    Hath caus'd his death; the which if wrongfully,
    Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
    An angry arm against His minister.
  DUCHESS. Where then, alas, may I complain myself?
  GAUNT. To God, the widow's champion and defence.
  DUCHESS. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
    Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold
    Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
    O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
    That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
    Or, if misfortune miss the first career,
    Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom
    That they may break his foaming courser's back
    And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
    A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!
    Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife,
    With her companion, Grief, must end her life.
  GAUNT. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry.
    As much good stay with thee as go with me!
  DUCHESS. Yet one word more- grief boundeth where it falls,
    Not with the empty hollowness, but weight.
    I take my leave before I have begun,
    For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
    Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.
    Lo, this is all- nay, yet depart not so;
    Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
    I shall remember more. Bid him- ah, what? -
    With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
    Alack, and what shall good old York there see
    But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,
    Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
    And what hear there for welcome but my groans?
    Therefore commend me; let him not come there
    To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.
    Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die;
    The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt

  MARSHAL. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?
  AUMERLE. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.
  MARSHAL. The Duke of Norfolk, spightfully and bold,
    Stays but the summons of the appelant's trumpet.
  AUMERLE. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay
    For nothing but his Majesty's approach.

     The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his nobles,
     GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set,
     enter MOWBRAY, Duke of Nor folk, in arms, defendant, and
     a HERALD

  KING RICHARD. Marshal, demand of yonder champion
    The cause of his arrival here in arms;
    Ask him his name; and orderly proceed
    To swear him in the justice of his cause.
  MARSHAL. In God's name and the King's, say who thou art,
    And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms;
    Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel.
    Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath;
    As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!
  MOWBRAY. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;
    Who hither come engaged by my oath-
    Which God defend a knight should violate! -
    Both to defend my loyalty and truth
    To God, my King, and my succeeding issue,
    Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me;
    And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
    To prove him, in defending of myself,
    A traitor to my God, my King, and me.
    And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

  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.
    Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.
  MARSHAL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
    Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!
  BOLINGBROKE. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.
  MARSHAL. [To an officer] Go bear this lance to Thomas,
      Duke of Norfolk.
  FIRST HERALD. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
    Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,
    On pain to be found false and recreant,
    To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
    A traitor to his God, his King, and him;
    And dares him to set forward to the fight.
  SECOND HERALD. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
    On pain to be found false and recreant,
    Both to defend himself, and to approve
    Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
    To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,
    Courageously and with a free desire
    Attending but the signal to begin.
  MARSHAL. Sound trumpets; and set forward, combatants.
                                           [A charge sounded]
    Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down.
  KING RICHARD. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
    And both return back to their chairs again.
    Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound
    While we return these dukes what we decree.