The trumpets sound. Enter 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 bodyıs valour,
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,
To God in 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 has thrown his warder down.
KING RICHARD II: Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,[A long flourish.]
And both return back to their chairs again: 
Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound
While we return these dukes what we decree.
And list what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soilıd 
With that dear blood which it hath fostered;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighboursı 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,
That 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 highnessı 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 must I 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.