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!
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; I’m here, bound by my oath-- God forbid a knight should ever break that oath!-- To defend my loyalty and truth To God, my king, and my heirs, Against the Duke of Hereford, who accuses me And, by God’s grace and my strength, To prove him a traitor to God, my king, and me: And as I fight with honor, may heaven defend me!
Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk · Act 1, Scene 3
Mowbray steps forward in the lists and announces his name and his purpose—to defend his honor and his king against Bolingbroke's accusations. The line endures because it is the formal beginning of the trial by combat that Richard will abort, and it contains the last moment in which feudal honor and trial by arms still seem to matter. After this scene, such forms become empty.
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?
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign lord, And all unexpected from your highness’ lips: A greater wrong, not such a deep punishment, As to be cast out into the world’s air, Have I deserved from your highness. The language I’ve spoken these forty years, My native English, I must now give up: And now my tongue is no more useful to me Than an unplayed violin or harp, Or like an instrument put away, Or, when open, put into the hands Of someone who doesn’t know how to play it: In my mouth, you’ve imprisoned my tongue, Doubly locked by my teeth and lips; And dull, uncaring, barren ignorance Has become my jailer to watch over me. I’m too old to beg for pity from a nurse, Too old to be a student now: So what is your sentence but a kind of death, That robs me of my native speech?
Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk · Act 1, Scene 3
Mowbray receives his sentence of perpetual banishment and grieves not for his life but for his tongue—he will lose the language he has spoken for forty years and be reduced to silence. The speech matters because it identifies language as the core of identity; without his native English, Mowbray believes he will be no one. Richard's power lies in his ability to take away not just lands and titles but the very means of self-expression.
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.
No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were a traitor, Let my name be erased from the book of life, And let me be cast out of heaven as I am from here! But what you are, God, you, and I know; And I fear that all too soon the king will regret this. Farewell, my lord. Now I cannot go astray; Except back to England, where all the world’s my path.
Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk · Act 1, Scene 3
Mowbray, departing into exile, swears that if he has ever been a traitor, his name should be erased from the book of life and he should be cast out of heaven. The line endures because it is the last act of a man of the old world—he appeals to God as his witness, and accepts exile as the price of his honor. After this moment, oaths like this will count for nothing.
