HENRY THE SIXTH PART 3

Act 1 Scene 4

(Alarum. Enter Richard Duke of York)
l1l	York	 The army of the Queen hath got the field#
l2l		My uncles both are slain in rescuing me#
l3l		And all my followers to the eager foe
l4l		Turn back, and fly like ships before the wind,
l5l		Or lambs pursued by hunger-starvèd wolves.
l6l		My sons—God knows what hath bechancèd them.
l7l		But this I know—they have demeaned themselves
l8l		Like men born to renown by life or death.
l9l		Three times did Richard make a lane to me,
l10l		And thrice cried, “Courage, father, fight it out!”
l11l		And full as oft came Edward to my side,
l12l		With purple falchion painted to the hilt
l13l		In blood of those that had encountered him.
l14l		And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
l15l		Richard cried, “Charge and give no foot of ground!”
l16l		[]
l17l		And cried “A crown or else a glorious tomb!
l18l		A sceptre or an earthly sepulchre!”
l19l		With this, we charged again—but out, alas—
l20l		We bodged again, as I have seen a swan
l21l		With bootless labour swim against the tide
l22l		And spend her strength with over-matching waves.
		(A short alarum within)
l23l		Ah, hark—the fatal followers do pursue,
l24l		And I am faint and cannot fly their fury#
l25l		And were I strong, I would not shun their fury.
l26l		The sands are numbered that makes up my life.
l27l		Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
		(Enter Queen Margaret, Lord Clifford, the Earl of Northumberland, and the young Prince Edward, with soldiers)
l28l		Come bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland—
l29l		I dare your quenchless fury to more rage!
l30l		I am your butt, and I abide your shot.
l31l	Northumberland	Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
l32l	Clifford	Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm,
l33l		With downright payment, showed unto my father.
l34l		Now Phae|ton hath tumbled from his car,
l35l		And made an evening at the noontide prick.
l36l	York	My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
l37l		A bird that will revenge upon you all,
l38l		And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
l39l		Scorning whate’er you can afflict me with.
l40l		Why come you not? What—multitudes, and fear?
l41l	Clifford	So cowards fight when they can fly no further#
l42l		So doves do peck the falcon’s piercing talons#
l43l		So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
l44l		Breathe out invectives ’gainst the officers.
l45l	York	O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
l46l		And in thy thought o’errun my former time,
l47l		And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face
l48l		And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice
l49l		Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.
l50l	Clifford	I will not bandy with thee word for word,
l51l		But buckle with thee blows twice two for one.
		(He draws his sword)
l52l	Queen Margaret	 Hold, valiant Clifford: for a thousand causes
l53l		I would prolong a while the traitor’s life.
l54l		Wrath makes him deaf—speak thou, Northumberland.
l55l	Northumberland	Hold, Clifford—do not honour him so much
l56l		To prick thy finger though to wound his heart.
l57l		What valour were it when a cur doth grin
l58l		For one to thrust his hand between his teeth
l59l		When he might spurn him with his foot away?
l60l		It is war’s prize to take all vantages,
l61l		And ten to one is no impeach of valour.
		(They fight and take York)
l62l	Clifford	 Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.
l63l	Northumberland	So doth the cony struggle in the net.
l64l	York	So triumph thieves upon their conquered booty,
l65l		So true men yield, with robbers so o’ermatched.
l66l	Northumberland	(to the Queen)
		 What would your grace have done unto him now?
l67l	Queen Margaret	Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
l68l		Come make him stand upon this molehill here,
l69l		That wrought at mountains with outstretchèd arms
l70l		Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
l71l		(To York)
		 What—was it you that would be England’s king?
l72l		Was ’t you that revelled in our Parliament,
l73l		And made a preachment of your high descent?
l74l		Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
l75l		The wanton Edward and the lusty George?
l76l		And where’s that valiant crookback prodigy,
l77l		Dickie, your boy, that with his grumbling voice
l78l		Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
l79l		Or with the rest where is your darling Rutland?
l80l		Look, York, I stained this napkin with the blood
l81l		That valiant Clifford with his rapier’s point
l82l		Made issue from the bosom of thy boy.
l83l		And if thine eyes can water for his death,
l84l		I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
l85l		Alas, poor York, but that I hate thee deadly
l86l		I should lament thy miserable state.
l87l		I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
l88l		What—hath thy fiery heart so parched thine entrails
l89l		That not a tear can fall for Rutland’s death?
l90l		Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad,
l91l		And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
l92l		Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
l93l		Thou wouldst be fee’d, I see, to make me sport.
l94l		York cannot speak unless he wear a crown.
l95l		(To her men)
		 A crown for York, and, lords, bow low to him.
l96l		Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on.
		(She puts a paper crown on York's head)
l97l		Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king,
l98l		Ay, this is he that took King Henry’s chair,
l99l		And this is he was his adopted heir.
l100l		But how is it that great Plantagenet
l101l		Is crowned so soon and broke his solemn oath?
l102l		As I bethink me, you should not be king
l103l		Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.
l104l		And will you pale your head in Henry’s glory,
l105l		And rob his temples of the diadem
l106l		Now, in his life, against your holy oath?
l107l		O ’tis a fault too, too, unpardonable.
l108l		Off with the crown,
		(She knocks it from his head)
		 and with the crown his head,
l109l		And whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.
l110l	Clifford	That is my office for my father’s sake.
l111l	Queen Margaret	Nay, stay—let’s hear the orisons he makes.
l112l	York	She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,
l113l		Whose tongue more poisons than the adder’s tooth—
l114l		How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex
l115l		To triumph like an Amazonian trull
l116l		Upon their woes whom fortune captivates!
l117l		But that thy face is visor-like, unchanging,
l118l		Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
l119l		I would essay, proud Queen, to make thee blush.
l120l		To tell thee whence thou cam’st, of whom derived,
l121l		Were shame enough to shame thee—wert thou not shameless.
l122l		Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,
l123l		Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem—
l124l		Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
l125l		Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
l126l		It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud Queen,
l127l		Unless the adage must be verified
l128l		That beggars mounted run their horse to death.
l129l		’Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud—
l130l		But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small#
l131l		’Tis virtue that doth make them most admired—
l132l		The contrary doth make thee wondered at#
l133l		’Tis government that makes them seem divine—
l134l		The want thereof makes thee abominable.
l135l		Thou art as opposite to every good
l136l		As the antipodes are unto us,
l137l		Or as the south to the septentrion.
l138l		O tiger’s heart wrapped in a woman’s hide!
l139l		How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child
l140l		To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
l141l		And yet be seen to bear a woman’s face?
l142l		Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible—
l143l		Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
l144l		Bidd’st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish.
l145l		Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will.
l146l		For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
l147l		And when the rage allays the rain begins.
l148l		These tears are my sweet Rutland’s obsequies,
l149l		And every drop cries vengeance for his death
l150l		’Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.
l151l	Northumberland	Beshrew me, but his passions move me so
l152l		That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
l153l	York	That face of his the hungry cannibals
l154l		Would not have touched, would not have stained with blood—
l155l		But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
l156l		O, ten times more than tigers of Hyrcania.
l157l		See, ruthless Queen, a hapless father’s tears.
l158l		This cloth thou dipped’st in blood of my sweet boy,
l159l		And I with tears do wash the blood away.
l160l		Keep thou the napkin and go boast of this,
l161l		And if thou tell’st the heavy story right,
l162l		Upon my soul the hearers will shed tears,
l163l		Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears
l164l		And say, “Alas, it was a piteous deed”.
l165l		There, take the crown—and with the crown, my curse:
l166l		And in thy need such comfort come to thee
l167l		As now I reap at thy too cruel hand.
l168l		Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world.
l169l		My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads.
l170l	Northumberland	Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
l171l		I should not, for my life, but weep with him,
l172l		To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
l173l	Queen Margaret	What—weeping-ripe, my lord Northumberland?
l174l		Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
l175l		And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
l176l	Clifford	Here’s for my oath, here’s for my father’s death.
		( 176 He stabs York)
l177l	Queen Margaret	 And here’s to right our gentle-hearted King.
		(She stabs York)
l178l	York	 Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God—
l179l		My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.
		(He dies)
l180l	Queen Margaret	 Off with his head and set it on York gates,
l181l		So York may overlook the town of York.
		(Flourish. Exeunt with York's body)