In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.

KING RICHARD.
Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd 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.

GAUNT.
To be a make-peace shall become my age:
Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

KING RICHARD.
And, Norfolk, throw down his.

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

KING RICHARD.
Norfolk, throw down; we bid;
There is no boot.

MOWBRAY.
Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.