SCENE III. The lists at Coventry. The Life and Death of Richard the Second  Shakespeare homepage  |  Richard II  | Act 1, Scene 3 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE III. The lists at Coventry. 

 Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE  Lord Marshal  My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? 

 DUKE OF AUMERLE  Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. 

 Lord Marshal  The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, 

 Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 

 DUKE OF AUMERLE  Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay 

 For nothing but his majesty's approach. 



 The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD enters with  his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and  others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in arms, defendant, with a Herald  KING RICHARD II  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. 

 Lord 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 comest, and what thy quarrel: 

 Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath; 

 As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! 

 THOMAS 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! 



 The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, appellant, in armour, with a Herald  KING RICHARD II  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. 

 Lord Marshal  What is thy name? and wherefore comest 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! 

 HENRY 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! 

 Lord 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. 

 HENRY 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. 

 Lord Marshal  The appellant in all duty greets your highness, 

 And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. 

 KING RICHARD II  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. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  O let no noble eye profane a tear 

 For me, if I be gored 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 a Gaunt, 

 Even in the lusty havior of his son. 

 JOHN OF 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. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive! 

 THOMAS 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 II  Farewell, my lord: securely I espy 

 Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. 

 Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 

 Lord Marshal  Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, 

 Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. 

 Lord Marshal  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. 

 Lord Marshal  Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. 



 A charge sounded  Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. 

 KING RICHARD II  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. 



 A long flourish  Draw near, 

 And list what with our council we have done. 

 For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd 

 With that dear blood which it hath fostered; 

 And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 

 Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; 

 And for we think the eagle-winged pride 

 Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, 

 With rival-hating envy, set on you 

 To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle 

 Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; 

 Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums, 

 With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, 

 And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, 

 Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace 

 And make us wade even in our kindred's blood, 

 Therefore, we banish you our territories: 

 You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, 

 Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields 

 Shall not regreet our fair dominions, 

 But tread the stranger paths of banishment. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  Your will be done: this must my comfort be, 

 Sun that warms you here shall shine on me; 

 And those his golden beams to you here lent 

 Shall point on me and gild my banishment. 

 KING RICHARD II  Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, 

 Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: 

 The sly slow hours shall not determinate 

 The dateless limit of thy dear exile; 

 The hopeless word of 'never to return' 

 Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. 

 THOMAS MOWBRAY  A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, 

 And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: 

 A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 

 As to be cast forth in the common air, 

 Have I deserved at your highness' hands. 

 The language I have learn'd these forty years, 

 My native English, now I must forego: 

 And now my tongue's use is to me no more 

 Than an unstringed viol or a harp, 

 Or like a cunning instrument cased up, 

 Or, being open, put into his hands 

 That knows no touch to tune the harmony: 

 Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, 

 Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; 

 And dull unfeeling barren ignorance 

 Is made my gaoler to attend on me. 

 I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, 

 Too far in years to be a pupil now: 

 What is thy sentence then but speechless death, 

 Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? 

 KING RICHARD II  It boots thee not to be compassionate: 

 After our sentence plaining comes too late. 

 THOMAS MOWBRAY  Then thus I turn me from my country's light, 

 To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. 

 KING RICHARD II  Return again, and take an oath with thee. 

 Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; 

 Swear by the duty that you owe to God-- 

 Our part therein we banish with yourselves-- 

 To keep the oath that we administer: 

 You never shall, so help you truth and God! 

 Embrace each other's love in banishment; 

 Nor never look upon each other's face; 

 Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile 

 This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; 

 Nor never by advised purpose meet 

 To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 

 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  I swear. 

 THOMAS MOWBRAY  And I, to keep all this. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:-- 

 By this time, had the king permitted us, 

 One of our souls had wander'd in the air. 

 Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, 

 As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: 

 Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; 

 Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 

 The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. 

 THOMAS MOWBRAY  No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor, 

 My name be blotted from the book of life, 

 And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! 

 But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; 

 And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. 

 Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; 

 Save back to England, all the world's my way. 



 Exit  KING RICHARD II  Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes 

 I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect 

 Hath from the number of his banish'd years 

 Pluck'd four away. 



 To HENRY BOLINGBROKE  Six frozen winter spent, 

 Return with welcome home from banishment. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  How long a time lies in one little word! 

 Four lagging winters and four wanton springs 

 End in a word: such is the breath of kings. 

 JOHN OF GAUNT  I thank my liege, that in regard of me 

 He shortens four years of my son's exile: 

 But little vantage shall I reap thereby; 

 For, ere the six years that he hath to spend 

 Can change their moons and bring their times about 

 My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light 

 Shall be extinct with age and endless night; 

 My inch of taper will be burnt and done, 

 And blindfold death not let me see my son. 

 KING RICHARD II  Why uncle, thou hast many years to live. 

 JOHN OF GAUNT  But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: 

 Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, 

 And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; 

 Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, 

 But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; 

 Thy word is current with him for my death, 

 But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 

 KING RICHARD II  Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, 

 Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: 

 Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? 

 JOHN OF GAUNT  Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. 

 You urged me as a judge; but I had rather 

 You would have bid me argue like a father. 

 O, had it been a stranger, not my child, 

 To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: 

 A partial slander sought I to avoid, 

 And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. 

 Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, 

 I was too strict to make mine own away; 

 But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue 

 Against my will to do myself this wrong. 

 KING RICHARD II  Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so: 

 Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 



 Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train  DUKE OF AUMERLE  Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, 

 From where you do remain let paper show. 

 Lord Marshal  My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, 

 As far as land will let me, by your side. 

 JOHN OF GAUNT  O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, 

 That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  I have too few to take my leave of you, 

 When the tongue's office should be prodigal 

 To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. 

 JOHN OF GAUNT  Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  Joy absent, grief is present for that time. 

 JOHN OF GAUNT  What is six winters? they are quickly gone. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. 

 JOHN OF GAUNT  Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, 

 Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. 

 JOHN OF GAUNT  The sullen passage of thy weary steps 

 Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set 

 The precious jewel of thy home return. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 

 Will but remember me what a deal of world 

 I wander from the jewels that I love. 

 Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 

 To foreign passages, and in the end, 

 Having my freedom, boast of nothing else 

 But that I was a journeyman to grief? 

 JOHN OF GAUNT  All places that the eye of heaven visits 

 Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. 

 Teach thy necessity to reason thus; 

 There is no virtue like necessity. 

 Think not the king did banish thee, 

 But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit, 

 Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 

 Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour 

 And not the king exiled thee; or suppose 

 Devouring pestilence hangs in our air 

 And thou art flying to a fresher clime: 

 Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 

 To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest: 

 Suppose the singing birds musicians, 

 The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, 

 The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more 

 Than a delightful measure or a dance; 

 For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 

 The man that mocks at it and sets it light. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  O, who can hold a fire in his hand 

 By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? 

 Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite 

 By bare imagination of a feast? 

 Or wallow naked in December snow 

 By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? 

 O, no! the apprehension of the good 

 Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: 

 Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more 

 Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. 

 JOHN OF GAUNT  Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way: 

 Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. 

 HENRY BOLINGBROKE  Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; 

 My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! 

 Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, 

 Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. 



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