The Complete Historical Plays of William Shakespeare. William ShakespeareЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 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