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 all 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