_Mow._ Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. 125 Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais[740] Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;[741] The other part reserved I by consent, For that my sovereign liege was in my debt Upon remainder of a dear account,[742] 130 Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death,[732] I slew him not; but to my own disgrace[743] Neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, 135 The honourable father to my foe, Once did I lay an ambush for your life,[744] A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul; But ere I last received the sacrament[745] I did confess it, and exactly begg'd 140 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: 145 And interchangeably hurl down my gage[746] Upon this overweening traitor's foot,[747] To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.[748] In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 150 Your highness to assign our trial day. _K. Rich._ Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me;[749] Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no physician;[750][751] Deep malice makes too deep incision:[750] 155 Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed;[750] Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.[750][752] 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: 160 Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. _K. Rich._ And, Norfolk, throw down his. _Gaunt._ When, Harry, when?[753] Obedience bids I should not bid again. _K. Rich._ Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. _Mow._ Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. 165 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,[754] To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here; 170 Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood[755] Which breathed this poison. _K. Rich._ Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.[756]