The Hollow Crown

Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs,

Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.

Let us sit upon the ground

And tell sad stories of the death of kings.

How some have been deposed; some slain in war;

Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;

Some poisoned by their wives; some sleeping killed.

All murdered.

Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster.

Hast thou brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,

Here to make good the boisterous late appeal

Which then our leisure would not let us hear

Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

I have, my liege.

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?

As far as I could sift him on that argument,

On some apparent danger seen in the Duke

Aimed at your highness.

Then call them to our presence.

Face to face,

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear

The accuser and the accused freely speak.

Many years of happy days befall

My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

Each day still better other's happiness

Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,

Add an immortal title to your crown!

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?

First - heaven be the record to my speech!

In the devotion of a subject's love,

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.

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 returned

These terms of treason doubled down his throat.

Setting aside his high blood's royalty, I do defy him,

And I spit at him,

Call him a slanderous coward and a villain.

What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?

Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true:

I say that Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles

In name of lending for your highness' soldiers,

The which he hath detained for lewd employments,

Like a false traitor and injurious villain.

Besides I say, and will in battle prove,

That all the treasons for these 18 years

Complotted and contrived in this land

Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.

And by the glorious worth of my descent,

This arm shall prove it, or this life be spent!

HE CHUCKLES

How high a pitch his resolution soars!

Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears.

He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou.

Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart

Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.

Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled 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.

To be a make-peace shall become my age.

Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

And Norfolk, throw down his.

When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again.

Norfolk, give me his gage. Lions make leopards tame.

Yea, but not change his spots.

My dear, dear, lord,

The purest treasure mortal times afford

Is spotless reputation;

Mine honour is my life; both grow in one.

Take honour from me, and my life is done.

Cousin, throw down your gage; do you begin?

O God defend my soul from such deep sin.

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.

Marshal,

demand of yonder knights in arms

Both who they are and why they come hither

Thus plated in habiliments of war.

In God's name and the King's, say who thou art

And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms.

My name is Thomas Mowbray,

Duke of Norfolk,

Who hither come engaged by my oath

Both to defend my loyalty and truth

To God, my king

and my succeeding issue

Against the Duke of Hereford

To prove him, in defending of myself,

A traitor to my God, my king and me.

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.

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.

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.

The appellant in all duty greets your highness

And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

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 today thou shed,

Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

O let no noble eye profane a tear

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

My loving lord, I take my leave of you.

Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle.

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.

God in thy good cause make thee prosperous.

Be swift like lightning in the execution. Be valiant and live.

Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!

Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.

HORSES NEIGH AND SNORT

Stay!

Stay! The King hath thrown his warder down.

Let them lay their helmets by.

Draw near.

For that our kingdom's earth should not be soiled

By that dear blood which it hath fostered

And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect

Of civil wounds ploughed up with neighbours' sword

And for we think the eagle-winged pride

Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,

Set you on,

We therefore banish you our territories

You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,

Till twice five summers have enriched our fields

Shall not regreet our fair dominions,

But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

Your will be done.

This must my comfort be,

The 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.

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.

A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,

And all unlooked for from your highness' mouth.

The language I have learnt these 40 years,

My native English, now I must forego.

Within my mouth you have engaoled my tongue,

Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips,

And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance

Is made my gaoler to attend on me.

What is thy sentence then, but speechless death,

Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

It boots thee not to be compassionate.

After our sentence, plaining comes too late.

Return again, and take an oath with me.

Lay on our royal sword your banished hands.

Swear by the duty that you owe to God

Our part therein we banish with yourselves

To keep the oath that we administer