Let us talk of gravestones, of burial vaults, of worms.
Let us write all our sorrows on the earth and sit here,
telling sad stories of the death of kings.
Some deposed, some slain in battle,
some haunted by the ghosts of their victims,
some poisoned by their wives,
some killed in their sleep.
All of them — dead.

Old John of Gaunt, time-honored Lancaster,
with your brave son Henry of Hereford beside you —
who brings forth accusations against Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.
We had no leisure to hear them till now.

King:
Did you ask if he speaks from enmity or duty,
as a loyal subject witnessing treason?

Gaunt:
As far as I’ve gleaned from my son,
he sees in Mowbray a danger to Your Majesty.

King:
Then summon them both. Let the accused and accuser
speak freely before us.

Both (kneeling):
Long live my gracious lord!
May each day outshine the last,
and may Heaven, envious of Earth,
grant thy crown immortality.

King:
We thank you both,
but only one of you speaks true.
For your business is not joy but accusation.
You each name the other a traitor.
Cousin Hereford, what charges do you bring
against our Norfolk?

Hereford:
I call on Heaven to witness,
that not from malice, but out of loyalty to Your Grace,
do I accuse Mowbray.
You, Thomas Mowbray,
hear me well —
I shall prove my words with this body on Earth,
and with my soul in Heaven:
You are a traitor and a vile wretch.
The brighter the sky,
the darker the clouds that mar it.

Mowbray:
Were it not for my reverence for the King,
I would hurl these accusations back in kind.
But I spit on your words,
and call you a dishonorable liar.

King:
What says our cousin?

Hereford:
On my life, I speak truth:
that Mowbray received 8000 nobles
for raising troops for Your Grace —
and squandered them in debauchery.
He is a deceiver and a traitor.
And I shall prove it in combat —
or die with honor.

King (aside):
His resolve soars high.

Mowbray:
He is but a subject like myself.
I shall speak without fear or filter.

Mowbray:
Then I answer you, Bolingbroke —
from the depths of this “traitor’s heart”:
you lie.

King:
Peace, both of you.
Let not your fury draw blood.
Though I’m no healer,
I offer this prescription:
Let us not begin with violence.

Gaunt:
I am used to making peace in my old age.
Son, throw down Mowbray’s gage.

Mowbray:
Then give me his.

King:
Come, Harry — must I ask you twice?

Mowbray:
Let the leopard yield to the lion.

Mowbray:
But my honor is my treasure.
My name unstained is life itself.
Take that, and I am already dead.

King:
Cousin, throw down your gage.
You shall be the first.

Hereford:
God spare me from that sin.

King:
We were born not to beg — but to rule!
And since we cannot make peace,
you shall meet in Coventry,
on Saint Lambert’s Day.
There your swords will answer
what your words could not.

Translation and adaptation by Cxd3
From the series “The Hollow Crown” — Richard II