Shakespeare/Shakespeare (1991)(Creative Multimedia).iso/dp/0006/00061.txt

Text File | 1989-11-03 | 9KB | 185 lines

$Unique_ID{SSP00061}
$Title{King Henry VI, Part I:  Act II, Scene V}
$Author{Shakespeare, William}
$Subject{}
$Log{Dramatis Personae*00050.txt}

                Portions copyright (c) CMC ReSearch, Inc., 1989

                   The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

                              KING HENRY VI PART I


            ACT II
..............................................................................


           SCENE V:  The Tower of London.
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

                     {Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and Gaolers.}

          MORTIMER:  Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
                     Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.
                     Even like a man new haled from the rack,
                     So fare my limbs with long imprisonment.
                     And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
                     Nestor-like aged in an age of care,
                     Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
                     These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
                     Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;
                     Weak shoulders, overborne with burthening grief,        10
                     And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine
                     That droops his sapless branches to the ground;
                     Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,
                     Unable to support this lump of clay,
                     Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,
                     As witting I no other comfort have.
                     But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?

      First Gaoler:  Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come:
                     We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;
                     And answer was return'd that he will come.              20

          MORTIMER:  Enough:  my soul shall then be satisfied.
                     Poor gentleman!  his wrong doth equal mine.
                     Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
                     Before whose glory I was great in arms,
                     This loathsome sequestration have I had:
                     And even since then hath Richard been obscured,
                     Deprived of honor and inheritance.
                     But now the arbitrator of despairs,
                     Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
                     With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence:           30
                     I would his troubles likewise were expired,
                     That so he might recover what was lost.

                     {Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET.}

      First Gaoler:  My lord, your loving nephew now is come.

          MORTIMER:  Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?

           RICHARD
       PLANTAGENET:  Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used,
                     Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.

          MORTIMER:  Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck,
                     And in his bosom spend my latter gasp:
                     O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,
                     That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.               40
                     And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,
                     Why didst thou say, of late thou wert despised?

           RICHARD
       PLANTAGENET:  First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;
                     And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.
                     This day, in argument upon a case,
                     Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me;
                     Among which terms he used his lavish tongue
                     And did upbraid me with my father's death:
                     Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
                     Else with the like I had requited him.                  50
                     Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,
                     In honor of a true Plantagenet
                     And for alliance sake, declare the cause
                     My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.

          MORTIMER:  That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me
                     And hath detain'd me all my flowering youth
                     Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,
                     Was cursed instrument of his decease.

           RICHARD
       PLANTAGENET:  Discover more at large what cause that was,
                     For I am ignorant and cannot guess.                     60

          MORTIMER:  I will, if that my fading breath permit
                     And death approach not ere my tale be done.
                     Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,
                     Deposed his nephew Richard, Edward's son,
                     The first-begotten and the lawful heir,
                     Of Edward king, the third of that descent:
                     During whose reign the Percies of the north,
                     Finding his usurpation most unjust,
                     Endeavor'd my advancement to the throne:
                     The reason moved these warlike lords to this            70
                     Was, for that--young King Richard thus removed,
                     Leaving no heir begotten of his body--
                     I was the next by birth and parentage;
                     For by my mother I derived am
                     From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son
                     To King Edward the Third; whereas he
                     From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
                     Being but fourth of that heroic line.
                     But mark:  as in this haughty attempt
                     They labored to plant the rightful heir,                80
                     I lost my liberty and they their lives.
                     Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,
                     Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,
                     Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then derived
                     From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,
                     Marrying my sister that thy mother was,
                     Again in pity of my hard distress
                     Levied an army, weening to redeem
                     And have install'd me in the diadem:
                     But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl               90
                     And was beheaded.  Thus the Mortimers,
                     In whom the tide rested, were suppress'd.

           RICHARD
       PLANTAGENET:  Of which, my lord, your honor is the last.

          MORTIMER:  True; and thou seest that I no issue have
                     And that my fainting words do warrant death;
                     Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather:
                     But yet be wary in thy studious care.

           RICHARD
       PLANTAGENET:  Thy grave admonishments prevail with me:
                     But yet, methinks, my father's execution
                     Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.                  100

          MORTIMER:  With silence, nephew, be thou politic:
                     Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,
                     And like a mountain, not to be removed.
                     But now thy uncle is removing hence:
                     As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd
                     With long continuance in a settled place.

           RICHARD
       PLANTAGENET:  O, uncle, would some part of my young years
                     Might but redeem the passage of your age!

          MORTIMER:  Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer doth
                     Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.           110
                     Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
                     Only give order for my funeral:
                     And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes
                     And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!

                     [Dies.]

           RICHARD
       PLANTAGENET:  And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!
                     In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage
                     And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.
                     Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
                     And what I do imagine let that rest.
                     Keepers, convey him hence, and I myself                120
                     Will see his burial better than his life.

                     [Exeunt Gaolers, bearing out the body of MORTIMER.]

                     Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
                     Choked with ambition of the meaner sort:
                     And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
                     Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house:
                     I doubt not but with honor to redress;
                     And therefore haste I to the parliament,
                     Either to be restored to my blood,
                     Or make my ill the advantage of my good.

                     [Exit.]