RISC DISC 2/RISC_DISC_2.iso/resources/etexts/shakespeare/histories

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The Complete Shakespeare: HISTORIES
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    2 KING HENRY VI


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY
the Sixth    (KING HENRY VI:)

HUMPHREY    Duke of Gloucester, his uncle. (GLOUCESTER:)

CARDINAL BEAUFORT    Bishop of Winchester, great-uncle to the King.
    (CARDINAL:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Duke of York. (YORK:)


EDWARD    |
    |  his sons
RICHARD    |


DUKE OF SOMERSET    (SOMERSET:)

DUKE OF SUFFOLK    (SUFFOLK:)

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM    (BUCKINGHAM:)

LORD CLIFFORD    (CLIFFORD:)

YOUNG CLIFFORD    his son.

EARL OF SALISBURY    (SALISBURY:)

EARL OF WARWICK    (WARWICK:)

LORD SCALES    (SCALES:)

LORD SAY    (SAY:)

SIR HUMPHREY
STAFFORD    (SIR HUMPHREY:)

WILLIAM STAFFORD    Sir Humphrey Stafford's brother.

SIR JOHN STANLEY    (STANLEY:)

VAUX:

MATTHEW GOFFE:

    A Sea-captain, (Captain:)  Master, and Master's-Mate.

WALTER WHITMORE:

    Two Gentlemen, prisoners with Suffolk.
    (First Gentleman:)
    (Second Gentleman:)


JOHN HUME (HUME:)    |
    |  priests.
JOHN SOUTHWELL    |


BOLINGBROKE    a conjurer.

THOMAS HORNER    an armourer. (HORNER:)

PETER    Thomas Horner's man.

    Clerk of Chatham. (Clerk:)

    Mayor of Saint Alban's. (Mayor:)

SIMPCOX    an impostor.

ALEXANDER IDEN    a Kentish gentleman. (IDEN:)

JACK CADE    a rebel. (CADE:)


GEORGE BEVIS    (BEVIS:)    |
        |
JOHN HOLLAND    (HOLLAND:)    |
        |
DICK the butcher    (DICK:)    |
        |  followers of Cade.
SMITH the weaver    (SMITH:)    |
        |
MICHAEL    (MICHAEL:)    |
        |
&c.        |


    Two Murderers
    (First Murderer:)
    (Second Murderer:)

QUEEN MARGARET    Queen to King Henry.

ELEANOR    Duchess of Gloucester. (DUCHESS:)

MARGARET JOURDAIN    a witch.

    Wife to Simpcox  (Wife:)

    Lords, Ladies, and Attendants. Petitioners,
    Aldermen, a Herald, a Beadle, Sheriff, and
    Officers, Citizens, 'Prentices, Falconers,
    Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c.
    (First Neighbour:)
    (Second Neighbour:)
    (Third Neighbour:)
    (First Petitioner:)
    (Second Petitioner:)
    (Herald:)
    (Beadle:)
    (Sheriff:)
    (Servant:)
    (Soldier:)
    (Townsman:)
    (First 'Prentice:)
    (Second 'Prentice:)
    (Post:)
    (Messenger:)

    A Spirit. (Spirit:)



SCENE    England.




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE I    London. The palace.


    [Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING
    HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and
    CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK,
    YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other]

SUFFOLK    As by your high imperial majesty
    I had in charge at my depart for France,
    As procurator to your excellence,
    To marry Princess Margaret for your grace,
    So, in the famous ancient city, Tours,
    In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,
    The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon,
    Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops,
    I have perform'd my task and was espoused:
    And humbly now upon my bended knee,
    In sight of England and her lordly peers,
    Deliver up my title in the queen
    To your most gracious hands, that are the substance
    Of that great shadow I did represent;
    The happiest gift that ever marquess gave,
    The fairest queen that ever king received.

KING HENRY VI    Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret:
    I can express no kinder sign of love
    Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life,
    Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
    For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
    A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
    If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

QUEEN MARGARET    Great King of England and my gracious lord,
    The mutual conference that my mind hath had,
    By day, by night, waking and in my dreams,
    In courtly company or at my beads,
    With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign,
    Makes me the bolder to salute my king
    With ruder terms, such as my wit affords
    And over-joy of heart doth minister.

KING HENRY VI    Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech,
    Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,
    Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys;
    Such is the fulness of my heart's content.
    Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.

ALL    [Kneeling]  Long live Queen Margaret, England's
    happiness!

QUEEN MARGARET    We thank you all.

    [Flourish]

SUFFOLK    My lord protector, so it please your grace,
    Here are the articles of contracted peace
    Between our sovereign and the French king Charles,
    For eighteen months concluded by consent.

GLOUCESTER    [Reads]  'Imprimis, it is agreed between the French
    king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of
    Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that
    the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret,
    daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and
    Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the
    thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy
    of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released
    and delivered to the king her father'--

    [Lets the paper fall]

KING HENRY VI    Uncle, how now!

GLOUCESTER           Pardon me, gracious lord;
    Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart
    And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further.

KING HENRY VI    Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on.

CARDINAL    [Reads]  'Item, It is further agreed between them,
    that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be
    released and delivered over to the king her father,
    and she sent over of the King of England's own
    proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.'

KING HENRY VI    They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down:
    We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,
    And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York,
    We here discharge your grace from being regent
    I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months
    Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester,
    Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset,
    Salisbury, and Warwick;
    We thank you all for the great favour done,
    In entertainment to my princely queen.
    Come, let us in, and with all speed provide
    To see her coronation be perform'd.

    [Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SUFFOLK]

GLOUCESTER    Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,
    To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
    Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
    What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,
    His valour, coin and people, in the wars?
    Did he so often lodge in open field,
    In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
    To conquer France, his true inheritance?
    And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,
    To keep by policy what Henry got?
    Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
    Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,
    Received deep scars in France and Normandy?
    Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,
    With all the learned council of the realm,
    Studied so long, sat in the council-house
    Early and late, debating to and fro
    How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe,
    And had his highness in his infancy
    Crowned in Paris in despite of foes?
    And shall these labours and these honours die?
    Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,
    Your deeds of war and all our counsel die?
    O peers of England, shameful is this league!
    Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,
    Blotting your names from books of memory,
    Razing the characters of your renown,
    Defacing monuments of conquer'd France,
    Undoing all, as all had never been!

CARDINAL    Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,
    This peroration with such circumstance?
    For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still.

GLOUCESTER    Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can;
    But now it is impossible we should:
    Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,
    Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine
    Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style
    Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.

SALISBURY    Now, by the death of Him that died for all,
    These counties were the keys of Normandy.
    But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?

WARWICK    For grief that they are past recovery:
    For, were there hope to conquer them again,
    My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.
    Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;
    Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer:
    And are the cities, that I got with wounds,
    Delivered up again with peaceful words?
    Mort Dieu!

YORK    For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate,
    That dims the honour of this warlike isle!
    France should have torn and rent my very heart,
    Before I would have yielded to this league.
    I never read but England's kings have had
    Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives:
    And our King Henry gives away his own,
    To match with her that brings no vantages.

GLOUCESTER    A proper jest, and never heard before,
    That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth
    For costs and charges in transporting her!
    She should have stayed in France and starved
    in France, Before--

CARDINAL    My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot:
    It was the pleasure of my lord the King.

GLOUCESTER    My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind;
    'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,
    But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye.
    Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face
    I see thy fury: if I longer stay,
    We shall begin our ancient bickerings.
    Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,
    I prophesied France will be lost ere long.

    [Exit]

CARDINAL    So, there goes our protector in a rage.
    'Tis known to you he is mine enemy,
    Nay, more, an enemy unto you all,
    And no great friend, I fear me, to the king.
    Consider, lords, he is the next of blood,
    And heir apparent to the English crown:
    Had Henry got an empire by his marriage,
    And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,
    There's reason he should be displeased at it.
    Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words
    Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect.
    What though the common people favour him,
    Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of
    Gloucester,'
    Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice,
    'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!'
    With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!'
    I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,
    He will be found a dangerous protector.

BUCKINGHAM    Why should he, then, protect our sovereign,
    He being of age to govern of himself?
    Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,
    And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk,
    We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat.

CARDINAL    This weighty business will not brook delay:
    I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently.

    [Exit]

SOMERSET    Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride
    And greatness of his place be grief to us,
    Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal:
    His insolence is more intolerable
    Than all the princes in the land beside:
    If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector.

BUCKINGHAM    Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector,
    Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal.

    [Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET]

SALISBURY    Pride went before, ambition follows him.
    While these do labour for their own preferment,
    Behoves it us to labour for the realm.
    I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester
    Did bear him like a noble gentleman.
    Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal,
    More like a soldier than a man o' the church,
    As stout and proud as he were lord of all,
    Swear like a ruffian and demean himself
    Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.
    Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age,
    Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping,
    Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,
    Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey:
    And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,
    In bringing them to civil discipline,
    Thy late exploits done in the heart of France,
    When thou wert regent for our sovereign,
    Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people:
    Join we together, for the public good,
    In what we can, to bridle and suppress
    The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal,
    With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition;
    And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds,
    While they do tend the profit of the land.

WARWICK    So God help Warwick, as he loves the land,
    And common profit of his country!

YORK    [Aside]  And so says York, for he hath greatest cause.

SALISBURY    Then let's make haste away, and look unto the main.

WARWICK    Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost;
    That Maine which by main force Warwick did win,
    And would have kept so long as breath did last!
    Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine,
    Which I will win from France, or else be slain,

    [Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY]

YORK    Anjou and Maine are given to the French;
    Paris is lost; the state of Normandy
    Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone:
    Suffolk concluded on the articles,
    The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased
    To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.
    I cannot blame them all: what is't to them?
    'Tis thine they give away, and not their own.
    Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage
    And purchase friends and give to courtezans,
    Still revelling like lords till all be gone;
    While as the silly owner of the goods
    Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands
    And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,
    While all is shared and all is borne away,
    Ready to starve and dare not touch his own:
    So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,
    While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold.
    Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland
    Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood
    As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd
    Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.
    Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!
    Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,
    Even as I have of fertile England's soil.
    A day will come when York shall claim his own;
    And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts
    And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,
    And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown,
    For that's the golden mark I seek to hit:
    Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,
    Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,
    Nor wear the diadem upon his head,
    Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.
    Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve:
    Watch thou and wake when others be asleep,
    To pry into the secrets of the state;
    Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,
    With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen,
    And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars:
    Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,
    With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed;
    And in my standard bear the arms of York
    To grapple with the house of Lancaster;
    And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown,
    Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down.

    [Exit]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE II    GLOUCESTER'S house.


    [Enter GLOUCESTER and his DUCHESS]

DUCHESS    Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn,
    Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?
    Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,
    As frowning at the favours of the world?
    Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth,
    Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?
    What seest thou there? King Henry's diadem,
    Enchased with all the honours of the world?
    If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,
    Until thy head be circled with the same.
    Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
    What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine:
    And, having both together heaved it up,
    We'll both together lift our heads to heaven,
    And never more abase our sight so low
    As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

GLOUCESTER    O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,
    Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts.
    And may that thought, when I imagine ill
    Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,
    Be my last breathing in this mortal world!
    My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.

DUCHESS    What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it
    With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.

GLOUCESTER    Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,
    Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot,
    But, as I think, it was by the cardinal;
    And on the pieces of the broken wand
    Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset,
    And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk.
    This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows.

DUCHESS    Tut, this was nothing but an argument
    That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove
    Shall lose his head for his presumption.
    But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke:
    Methought I sat in seat of majesty
    In the cathedral church of Westminster,
    And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd;
    Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel'd to me
    And on my head did set the diadem.

GLOUCESTER    Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright:
    Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor,
    Art thou not second woman in the realm,
    And the protector's wife, beloved of him?
    Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,
    Above the reach or compass of thy thought?
    And wilt thou still be hammering treachery,
    To tumble down thy husband and thyself
    From top of honour to disgrace's feet?
    Away from me, and let me hear no more!

DUCHESS    What, what, my lord! are you so choleric
    With Eleanor, for telling but her dream?
    Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself,
    And not be cheque'd.

GLOUCESTER    Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again.

    [Enter Messenger]

Messenger    My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure
    You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's,
    Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk.

GLOUCESTER    I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?

DUCHESS    Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently.

    [Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Messenger]

    Follow I must; I cannot go before,
    While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind.
    Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,
    I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks
    And smooth my way upon their headless necks;
    And, being a woman, I will not be slack
    To play my part in Fortune's pageant.
    Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man,
    We are alone; here's none but thee and I.

    [Enter HUME]

HUME    Jesus preserve your royal majesty!

DUCHESS    What say'st thou? majesty! I am but grace.

HUME    But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice,
    Your grace's title shall be multiplied.

DUCHESS    What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd
    With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch,
    With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?
    And will they undertake to do me good?

HUME    This they have promised, to show your highness
    A spirit raised from depth of under-ground,
    That shall make answer to such questions
    As by your grace shall be propounded him.

DUCHESS    It is enough; I'll think upon the questions:
    When from St. Alban's we do make return,
    We'll see these things effected to the full.
    Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man,
    With thy confederates in this weighty cause.

    [Exit]

HUME    Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold;
    Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume!
    Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum:
    The business asketh silent secrecy.
    Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch:
    Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.
    Yet have I gold flies from another coast;
    I dare not say, from the rich cardinal
    And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk,
    Yet I do find it so; for to be plain,
    They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour,
    Have hired me to undermine the duchess
    And buz these conjurations in her brain.
    They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker;'
    Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker.
    Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near
    To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.
    Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last
    Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck,
    And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall:
    Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all.

    [Exit]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE III    The palace.


    [Enter three or four Petitioners, PETER, the
    Armourer's man, being one]

First Petitioner    My masters, let's stand close: my lord protector
    will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver
    our supplications in the quill.

Second Petitioner    Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man!
    Jesu bless him!

    [Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN MARGARET]

PETER    Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen with him.
    I'll be the first, sure.

Second Petitioner    Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and
    not my lord protector.

SUFFOLK    How now, fellow! would'st anything with me?

First Petitioner    I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my lord
    protector.

QUEEN MARGARET    [Reading]  'To my Lord Protector!' Are your
    supplications to his lordship? Let me see them:
    what is thine?

First Petitioner    Mine is, an't please your grace, against John
    Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my
    house, and lands, and wife and all, from me.

SUFFOLK    Thy wife, too! that's some wrong, indeed. What's
    yours? What's here!

    [Reads]

    'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the
    commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave!

Second Petitioner    Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township.

PETER    [Giving his petition]  Against my master, Thomas
    Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful
    heir to the crown.

QUEEN MARGARET    What sayst thou? did the Duke of York say he was
    rightful heir to the crown?

PETER    That my master was? no, forsooth: my master said
    that he was, and that the king was an usurper.

SUFFOLK    Who is there?

    [Enter Servant]

    Take this fellow in, and send for
    his master with a pursuivant presently: we'll hear
    more of your matter before the King.

    [Exit Servant with PETER]

QUEEN MARGARET    And as for you, that love to be protected
    Under the wings of our protector's grace,
    Begin your suits anew, and sue to him.

    [Tears the supplication]

    Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go.

ALL    Come, let's be gone.

    [Exeunt]

QUEEN MARGARET    My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,
    Is this the fashion in the court of England?
    Is this the government of Britain's isle,
    And this the royalty of Albion's king?
    What shall King Henry be a pupil still
    Under the surly Gloucester's governance?
    Am I a queen in title and in style,
    And must be made a subject to a duke?
    I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours
    Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love
    And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France,
    I thought King Henry had resembled thee
    In courage, courtship and proportion:
    But all his mind is bent to holiness,
    To number Ave-Maries on his beads;
    His champions are the prophets and apostles,
    His weapons holy saws of sacred writ,
    His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves
    Are brazen images of canonized saints.
    I would the college of the cardinals
    Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome,
    And set the triple crown upon his head:
    That were a state fit for his holiness.

SUFFOLK    Madam, be patient: as I was cause
    Your highness came to England, so will I
    In England work your grace's full content.

QUEEN MARGARET    Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort,
    The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham,
    And grumbling York: and not the least of these
    But can do more in England than the king.

SUFFOLK    And he of these that can do most of all
    Cannot do more in England than the Nevils:
    Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers.

QUEEN MARGARET    Not all these lords do vex me half so much
    As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife.
    She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,
    More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife:
    Strangers in court do take her for the queen:
    She bears a duke's revenues on her back,
    And in her heart she scorns our poverty:
    Shall I not live to be avenged on her?
    Contemptuous base-born callet as she is,
    She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day,
    The very train of her worst wearing gown
    Was better worth than all my father's lands,
    Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.

SUFFOLK    Madam, myself have limed a bush for her,
    And placed a quire of such enticing birds,
    That she will light to listen to the lays,
    And never mount to trouble you again.
    So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me;
    For I am bold to counsel you in this.
    Although we fancy not the cardinal,
    Yet must we join with him and with the lords,
    Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace.
    As for the Duke of York, this late complaint
    Will make but little for his benefit.
    So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last,
    And you yourself shall steer the happy helm.

    [Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER,
    CARDINAL, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY,
    WARWICK, and the DUCHESS]

KING HENRY VI    For my part, noble lords, I care not which;
    Or Somerset or York, all's one to me.

YORK    If York have ill demean'd himself in France,
    Then let him be denay'd the regentship.

SOMERSET    If Somerset be unworthy of the place,
    Let York be regent; I will yield to him.

WARWICK    Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no,
    Dispute not that: York is the worthier.

CARDINAL    Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.

WARWICK    The cardinal's not my better in the field.

BUCKINGHAM    All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.

WARWICK    Warwick may live to be the best of all.

SALISBURY    Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham,
    Why Somerset should be preferred in this.

QUEEN MARGARET    Because the king, forsooth, will have it so.

GLOUCESTER    Madam, the king is old enough himself
    To give his censure: these are no women's matters.

QUEEN MARGARET    If he be old enough, what needs your grace
    To be protector of his excellence?

GLOUCESTER    Madam, I am protector of the realm;
    And, at his pleasure, will resign my place.

SUFFOLK    Resign it then and leave thine insolence.
    Since thou wert king--as who is king but thou?--
    The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck;
    The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas;
    And all the peers and nobles of the realm
    Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.

CARDINAL    The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags
    Are lank and lean with thy extortions.

SOMERSET    Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire
    Have cost a mass of public treasury.

BUCKINGHAM    Thy cruelty in execution
    Upon offenders, hath exceeded law,
    And left thee to the mercy of the law.

QUEEN MARGARET    They sale of offices and towns in France,
    If they were known, as the suspect is great,
    Would make thee quickly hop without thy head.

    [Exit GLOUCESTER. QUEEN MARGARET drops her fan]

    Give me my fan: what, minion! can ye not?

    [She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear]

    I cry you mercy, madam; was it you?

DUCHESS    Was't I! yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman:
    Could I come near your beauty with my nails,
    I'd set my ten commandments in your face.

KING HENRY VI    Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will.

DUCHESS    Against her will! good king, look to't in time;
    She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby:
    Though in this place most master wear no breeches,
    She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged.

    [Exit]

BUCKINGHAM    Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,
    And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds:
    She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs,
    She'll gallop far enough to her destruction.

    [Exit]

    [Re-enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER    Now, lords, my choler being over-blown
    With walking once about the quadrangle,
    I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.
    As for your spiteful false objections,
    Prove them, and I lie open to the law:
    But God in mercy so deal with my soul,
    As I in duty love my king and country!
    But, to the matter that we have in hand:
    I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man
    To be your regent in the realm of France.

SUFFOLK    Before we make election, give me leave
    To show some reason, of no little force,
    That York is most unmeet of any man.

YORK    I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet:
    First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride;
    Next, if I be appointed for the place,
    My Lord of Somerset will keep me here,
    Without discharge, money, or furniture,
    Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands:
    Last time, I danced attendance on his will
    Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost.

WARWICK    That can I witness; and a fouler fact
    Did never traitor in the land commit.

SUFFOLK    Peace, headstrong Warwick!

WARWICK    Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?

    [Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man
    PETER, guarded]

SUFFOLK    Because here is a man accused of treason:
    Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself!

YORK    Doth any one accuse York for a traitor?

KING HENRY VI    What mean'st thou, Suffolk; tell me, what are these?

SUFFOLK    Please it your majesty, this is the man
    That doth accuse his master of high treason:
    His words were these: that Richard, Duke of York,
    Was rightful heir unto the English crown
    And that your majesty was a usurper.

KING HENRY VI    Say, man, were these thy words?

HORNER    An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor
    thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am
    falsely accused by the villain.

PETER    By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak them to
    me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my
    Lord of York's armour.

YORK    Base dunghill villain and mechanical,
    I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech.
    I do beseech your royal majesty,
    Let him have all the rigor of the law.

HORNER    Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words.
    My accuser is my 'prentice; and when I did correct
    him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his
    knees he would be even with me: I have good
    witness of this: therefore I beseech your majesty,
    do not cast away an honest man for a villain's
    accusation.

KING HENRY VI    Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?

GLOUCESTER    This doom, my lord, if I may judge:
    Let Somerset be regent over the French,
    Because in York this breeds suspicion:
    And let these have a day appointed them
    For single combat in convenient place,
    For he hath witness of his servant's malice:
    This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom.

SOMERSET    I humbly thank your royal majesty.

HORNER    And I accept the combat willingly.

PETER    Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity
    my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O
    Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to
    fight a blow. O Lord, my heart!

GLOUCESTER    Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd.

KING HENRY VI    Away with them to prison; and the day of combat
    shall be the last of the next month. Come,
    Somerset, we'll see thee sent away.

    [Flourish. Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE IV    GLOUCESTER's garden.


    [Enter MARGARET JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and
    BOLINGBROKE]

HUME    Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects
    performance of your promises.

BOLINGBROKE    Master Hume, we are therefore provided: will her
    ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?

HUME    Ay, what else? fear you not her courage.

BOLINGBROKE    I have heard her reported to be a woman of an
    invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient,
    Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be
    busy below; and so, I pray you, go, in God's name,
    and leave us.

    [Exit HUME]

    Mother Jourdain, be you
    prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell,
    read you; and let us to our work.

    [Enter the DUCHESS aloft, HUME following]

DUCHESS    Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this
    gear the sooner the better.

BOLINGBROKE    Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:
    Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,
    The time of night when Troy was set on fire;
    The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl,
    And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves,
    That time best fits the work we have in hand.
    Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise,
    We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.

    [Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the
    circle; BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads, Conjuro te,
    &c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the
    Spirit riseth]

Spirit    Adsum.

MARGARET JOURDAIN    Asmath,
    By the eternal God, whose name and power
    Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;
    For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence.

Spirit    Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done!

BOLINGBROKE    'First of the king: what shall of him become?'

    [Reading out of a paper]

Spirit    The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;
    But him outlive, and die a violent death.

    [As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer]

BOLINGBROKE    'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?'

Spirit    By water shall he die, and take his end.

BOLINGBROKE    'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?'

Spirit    Let him shun castles;
    Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
    Than where castles mounted stand.
    Have done, for more I hardly can endure.

BOLINGBROKE    Descend to darkness and the burning lake!
    False fiend, avoid!

    [Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit]

    [Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM with their Guard
    and break in]

YORK    Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash.
    Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch.
    What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal
    Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains:
    My lord protector will, I doubt it not,
    See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.

DUCHESS    Not half so bad as thine to England's king,
    Injurious duke, that threatest where's no cause.

BUCKINGHAM    True, madam, none at all: what call you this?
    Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close.
    And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us.
    Stafford, take her to thee.

    [Exeunt above DUCHESS and HUME, guarded]

    We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming.
    All, away!

    [Exeunt guard with MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, &c]

YORK    Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well:
    A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!
    Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.
    What have we here?

    [Reads]

    'The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
    But him outlive, and die a violent death.'
    Why, this is just
    'Aio te, AEacida, Romanos vincere posse.'
    Well, to the rest:
    'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?
    By water shall he die, and take his end.
    What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?
    Let him shun castles;
    Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
    Than where castles mounted stand.'
    Come, come, my lords;
    These oracles are hardly attain'd,
    And hardly understood.
    The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's,
    With him the husband of this lovely lady:
    Thither go these news, as fast as horse can
    carry them:
    A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.

BUCKINGHAM    Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York,
    To be the post, in hope of his reward.

YORK    At your pleasure, my good lord. Who's within
    there, ho!

    [Enter a Servingman]

    Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick
    To sup with me to-morrow night. Away!

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE I    Saint Alban's.


    [Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER,
    CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers halloing]

QUEEN MARGARET    Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,
    I saw not better sport these seven years' day:
    Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high;
    And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.

KING HENRY VI    But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,
    And what a pitch she flew above the rest!
    To see how God in all his creatures works!
    Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.

SUFFOLK    No marvel, an it like your majesty,
    My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;
    They know their master loves to be aloft,
    And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.

GLOUCESTER    My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind
    That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

CARDINAL    I thought as much; he would be above the clouds.

GLOUCESTER    Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that?
    Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven?

KING HENRY VI    The treasury of everlasting joy.

CARDINAL    Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts
    Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart;
    Pernicious protector, dangerous peer,
    That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal!

GLOUCESTER    What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory?
    Tantaene animis coelestibus irae?
    Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice;
    With such holiness can you do it?

SUFFOLK    No malice, sir; no more than well becomes
    So good a quarrel and so bad a peer.

GLOUCESTER    As who, my lord?

SUFFOLK           Why, as you, my lord,
    An't like your lordly lord-protectorship.

GLOUCESTER    Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.

QUEEN MARGARET    And thy ambition, Gloucester.

KING HENRY VI    I prithee, peace, good queen,
    And whet not on these furious peers;
    For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.

CARDINAL    Let me be blessed for the peace I make,
    Against this proud protector, with my sword!

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CARDINAL]  Faith, holy uncle, would
    'twere come to that!

CARDINAL    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Marry, when thou darest.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CARDINAL]  Make up no factious
    numbers for the matter;
    In thine own person answer thy abuse.

CARDINAL    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Ay, where thou darest
    not peep: an if thou darest,
    This evening, on the east side of the grove.

KING HENRY VI    How now, my lords!

CARDINAL           Believe me, cousin Gloucester,
    Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
    We had had more sport.

    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]

         Come with thy two-hand sword.

GLOUCESTER    True, uncle.

CARDINAL    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Are ye advised? the
    east side of the grove?

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CARDINAL]  Cardinal, I am with you.

KING HENRY VI    Why, how now, uncle Gloucester!

GLOUCESTER    Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.

    [Aside to CARDINAL]

    Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this,
    Or all my fence shall fail.

CARDINAL    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Medice, teipsum--
    Protector, see to't well, protect yourself.

KING HENRY VI    The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords.
    How irksome is this music to my heart!
    When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?
    I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.

    [Enter a Townsman of Saint Alban's, crying 'A miracle!']

GLOUCESTER    What means this noise?
    Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?

Townsman    A miracle! a miracle!

SUFFOLK    Come to the king and tell him what miracle.

Townsman    Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine,
    Within this half-hour, hath received his sight;
    A man that ne'er saw in his life before.

KING HENRY VI    Now, God be praised, that to believing souls
    Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!

    [Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's and his
    brethren, bearing SIMPCOX, between two in a
    chair, SIMPCOX's Wife following]

CARDINAL    Here comes the townsmen on procession,
    To present your highness with the man.

KING HENRY VI    Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
    Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.

GLOUCESTER    Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king;
    His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.

KING HENRY VI    Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,
    That we for thee may glorify the Lord.
    What, hast thou been long blind and now restored?

SIMPCOX    Born blind, an't please your grace.

Wife    Ay, indeed, was he.

SUFFOLK    What woman is this?

Wife    His wife, an't like your worship.

GLOUCESTER    Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have
    better told.

KING HENRY VI    Where wert thou born?

SIMPCOX    At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace.

KING HENRY VI    Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee:
    Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass,
    But still remember what the Lord hath done.

QUEEN MARGARET    Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance,
    Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?

SIMPCOX    God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd
    A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep,
    By good Saint Alban; who said, 'Simpcox, come,
    Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.'

Wife    Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft
    Myself have heard a voice to call him so.

CARDINAL    What, art thou lame?

SIMPCOX    Ay, God Almighty help me!

SUFFOLK    How camest thou so?

SIMPCOX    A fall off of a tree.

Wife    A plum-tree, master.

GLOUCESTER    How long hast thou been blind?

SIMPCOX    Born so, master.

GLOUCESTER           What, and wouldst climb a tree?

SIMPCOX    But that in all my life, when I was a youth.

Wife    Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.

GLOUCESTER    Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst
    venture so.

SIMPCOX    Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons,
    And made me climb, with danger of my life.

GLOUCESTER    A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.
    Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open them:
    In my opinion yet thou seest not well.

SIMPCOX    Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and
    Saint Alban.

GLOUCESTER    Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of?

SIMPCOX    Red, master; red as blood.

GLOUCESTER    Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of?

SIMPCOX    Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet.

KING HENRY VI    Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of?

SUFFOLK    And yet, I think, jet did he never see.

GLOUCESTER    But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many.

Wife    Never, before this day, in all his life.

GLOUCESTER    Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?

SIMPCOX    Alas, master, I know not.

GLOUCESTER    What's his name?

SIMPCOX    I know not.

GLOUCESTER    Nor his?

SIMPCOX    No, indeed, master.

GLOUCESTER    What's thine own name?

SIMPCOX    Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.

GLOUCESTER    Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in
    Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou
    mightest as well have known all our names as thus to
    name the several colours we do wear. Sight may
    distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them
    all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here
    hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his
    cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple
    to his legs again?

SIMPCOX    O master, that you could!

GLOUCESTER    My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not beadles in
    your town, and things called whips?

Mayor    Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.

GLOUCESTER    Then send for one presently.

Mayor    Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.

    [Exit an Attendant]

GLOUCESTER    Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, sirrah,
    if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me
    over this stool and run away.

SIMPCOX    Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone:
    You go about to torture me in vain.

    [Enter a Beadle with whips]

GLOUCESTER    Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah
    beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.

Beadle    I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your
    doublet quickly.

SIMPCOX    Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand.

    [After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over
    the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry, 'A miracle!']

KING HENRY VI    O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long?

QUEEN MARGARET    It made me laugh to see the villain run.

GLOUCESTER    Follow the knave; and take this drab away.

Wife    Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.

GLOUCESTER    Let them be whipped through every market-town, till
    they come to Berwick, from whence they came.

    [Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, &c]

CARDINAL    Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.

SUFFOLK    True; made the lame to leap and fly away.

GLOUCESTER    But you have done more miracles than I;
    You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.

    [Enter BUCKINGHAM]

KING HENRY VI    What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM    Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold.
    A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent,
    Under the countenance and confederacy
    Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife,
    The ringleader and head of all this rout,
    Have practised dangerously against your state,
    Dealing with witches and with conjurers:
    Whom we have apprehended in the fact;
    Raising up wicked spirits from under ground,
    Demanding of King Henry's life and death,
    And other of your highness' privy-council;
    As more at large your grace shall understand.

CARDINAL    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]  And so, my lord protector,
    by this means
    Your lady is forthcoming yet at London.
    This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge;
    'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.

GLOUCESTER    Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart:
    Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers;
    And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee,
    Or to the meanest groom.

KING HENRY VI    O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones,
    Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!

QUEEN MARGARET    Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest.
    And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.

GLOUCESTER    Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal,
    How I have loved my king and commonweal:
    And, for my wife, I know not how it stands;
    Sorry I am to hear what I have heard:
    Noble she is, but if she have forgot
    Honour and virtue and conversed with such
    As, like to pitch, defile nobility,
    I banish her my bed and company
    And give her as a prey to law and shame,
    That hath dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name.

KING HENRY VI    Well, for this night we will repose us here:
    To-morrow toward London back again,
    To look into this business thoroughly
    And call these foul offenders to their answers
    And poise the cause in justice' equal scales,
    Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.

    [Flourish. Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE II    London. YORK'S garden.


    [Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK]

YORK    Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,
    Our simple supper ended, give me leave
    In this close walk to satisfy myself,
    In craving your opinion of my title,
    Which is infallible, to England's crown.

SALISBURY    My lord, I long to hear it at full.

WARWICK    Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good,
    The Nevils are thy subjects to command.

YORK    Then thus:
    Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons:
    The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales;
    The second, William of Hatfield, and the third,
    Lionel Duke of Clarence: next to whom
    Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster;
    The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York;
    The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester;
    William of Windsor was the seventh and last.
    Edward the Black Prince died before his father
    And left behind him Richard, his only son,
    Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as king;
    Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster,
    The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
    Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth,
    Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king,
    Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came,
    And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know,
    Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously.

WARWICK    Father, the duke hath told the truth:
    Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.

YORK    Which now they hold by force and not by right;
    For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead,
    The issue of the next son should have reign'd.

SALISBURY    But William of Hatfield died without an heir.

YORK    The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line
    I claimed the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter,
    Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March:
    Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March;
    Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor.

SALISBURY    This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
    As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;
    And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,
    Who kept him in captivity till he died.
    But to the rest.

YORK           His eldest sister, Anne,
    My mother, being heir unto the crown
    Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was son
    To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son.
    By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir
    To Roger Earl of March, who was the son
    Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe,
    Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence:
    So, if the issue of the elder son
    Succeed before the younger, I am king.

WARWICK    What plain proceeding is more plain than this?
    Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
    The fourth son; York claims it from the third.
    Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign:
    It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee
    And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.
    Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together;
    And in this private plot be we the first
    That shall salute our rightful sovereign
    With honour of his birthright to the crown.

BOTH    Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king!

YORK    We thank you, lords. But I am not your king
    Till I be crown'd and that my sword be stain'd
    With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;
    And that's not suddenly to be perform'd,
    But with advice and silent secrecy.
    Do you as I do in these dangerous days:
    Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence,
    At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
    At Buckingham and all the crew of them,
    Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock,
    That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey:
    'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that
    Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.

SALISBURY    My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full.

WARWICK    My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick
    Shall one day make the Duke of York a king.

YORK    And, Nevil, this I do assure myself:
    Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick
    The greatest man in England but the king.

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE III    A hall of justice.


    [Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
    MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY;
    the DUCHESS, MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, HUME,
    and BOLINGBROKE, under guard]

KING HENRY VI    Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife:
    In sight of God and us, your guilt is great:
    Receive the sentence of the law for sins
    Such as by God's book are adjudged to death.
    You four, from hence to prison back again;
    From thence unto the place of execution:
    The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes,
    And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.
    You, madam, for you are more nobly born,
    Despoiled of your honour in your life,
    Shall, after three days' open penance done,
    Live in your country here in banishment,
    With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man.

DUCHESS    Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death.

GLOUCESTER    Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged thee:
    I cannot justify whom the law condemns.

    [Exeunt DUCHESS and other prisoners, guarded]

    Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
    Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age
    Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!
    I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go;
    Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease.

KING HENRY VI    Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: ere thou go,
    Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself
    Protector be; and God shall be my hope,
    My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet:
    And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved
    Than when thou wert protector to thy King.

QUEEN MARGARET    I see no reason why a king of years
    Should be to be protected like a child.
    God and King Henry govern England's realm.
    Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm.

GLOUCESTER    My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff:
    As willingly do I the same resign
    As e'er thy father Henry made it mine;
    And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it
    As others would ambitiously receive it.
    Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone,
    May honourable peace attend thy throne!

    [Exit]

QUEEN MARGARET    Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen;
    And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself,
    That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once;
    His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off.
    This staff of honour raught, there let it stand
    Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.

SUFFOLK    Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays;
    Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days.

YORK    Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty,
    This is the day appointed for the combat;
    And ready are the appellant and defendant,
    The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,
    So please your highness to behold the fight.

QUEEN MARGARET    Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore
    Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.

KING HENRY VI    O God's name, see the lists and all things fit:
    Here let them end it; and God defend the right!

YORK    I never saw a fellow worse bested,
    Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,
    The servant of this armourer, my lords.

    [Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his
    Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk;
    and he enters with a drum before him and his staff
    with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the other
    door PETER, his man, with a drum and sand-bag, and
    'Prentices drinking to him]

First Neighbour    Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of
    sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.

Second Neighbour    And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco.

Third Neighbour    And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour:
    drink, and fear not your man.

HORNER    Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and
    a fig for Peter!

First 'Prentice    Here, Peter, I drink to thee: and be not afraid.

Second 'Prentice    Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight
    for credit of the 'prentices.

PETER    I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray
    you; for I think I have taken my last draught in
    this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee
    my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer:
    and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O
    Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to
    deal with my master, he hath learnt me so much fence already.

SALISBURY    Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows.
    Sirrah, what's thy name?

PETER    Peter, forsooth.

SALISBURY    Peter! what more?

PETER    Thump.

SALISBURY    Thump! then see thou thump thy master well.

HORNER    Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's
    instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an
    honest man: and touching the Duke of York, I will
    take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the
    king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at
    thee with a downright blow!

YORK    Dispatch: this knave's tongue begins to double.
    Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants!

    [Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes him down]

HORNER    Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason.

    [Dies]

YORK    Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the
    good wine in thy master's way.

PETER    O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence?
    O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right!

KING HENRY VI    Go, take hence that traitor from our sight;
    For his death we do perceive his guilt:
    And God in justice hath revealed to us
    The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,
    Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully.
    Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.

    [Sound a flourish. Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE IV    A street.


    [Enter GLOUCESTER and his Servingmen, in
    mourning cloaks]

GLOUCESTER    Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud;
    And after summer evermore succeeds
    Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold:
    So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.
    Sirs, what's o'clock?

Servants    Ten, my lord.

GLOUCESTER    Ten is the hour that was appointed me
    To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess:
    Uneath may she endure the flinty streets,
    To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
    Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
    The abject people gazing on thy face,
    With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,
    That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels
    When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
    But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare
    My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.

    [Enter the DUCHESS in a white sheet, and a taper
    burning in her hand; with STANLEY, the Sheriff,
    and Officers]

Servant    So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.

GLOUCESTER    No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by.

DUCHESS    Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
    Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze!
    See how the giddy multitude do point,
    And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee!
    Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,
    And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
    And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!

GLOUCESTER    Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.

DUCHESS    Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!
    For whilst I think I am thy married wife
    And thou a prince, protector of this land,
    Methinks I should not thus be led along,
    Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back,
    And followed with a rabble that rejoice
    To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans.
    The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,
    And when I start, the envious people laugh
    And bid me be advised how I tread.
    Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?
    Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world,
    Or count them happy that enjoy the sun?
    No; dark shall be my light and night my day;
    To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.
    Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife,
    And he a prince and ruler of the land:
    Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was
    As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
    Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock
    To every idle rascal follower.
    But be thou mild and blush not at my shame,
    Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death
    Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will;
    For Suffolk, he that can do all in all
    With her that hateth thee and hates us all,
    And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest,
    Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings,
    And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee:
    But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared,
    Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.

GLOUCESTER    Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry;
    I must offend before I be attainted;
    And had I twenty times so many foes,
    And each of them had twenty times their power,
    All these could not procure me any scathe,
    So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless.
    Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach?
    Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away
    But I in danger for the breach of law.
    Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell:
    I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;
    These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.

    [Enter a Herald]

Herald    I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament,
    Holden at Bury the first of this next month.

GLOUCESTER    And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before!
    This is close dealing. Well, I will be there.

    [Exit Herald]

    My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff,
    Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.

Sheriff    An't please your grace, here my commission stays,
    And Sir John Stanley is appointed now
    To take her with him to the Isle of Man.

GLOUCESTER    Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?

STANLEY    So am I given in charge, may't please your grace.

GLOUCESTER    Entreat her not the worse in that I pray
    You use her well: the world may laugh again;
    And I may live to do you kindness if
    You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell!

DUCHESS    What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell!

GLOUCESTER    Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.

    [Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Servingmen]

DUCHESS    Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee!
    For none abides with me: my joy is death;
    Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd,
    Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
    Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence;
    I care not whither, for I beg no favour,
    Only convey me where thou art commanded.

STANLEY    Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man;
    There to be used according to your state.

DUCHESS    That's bad enough, for I am but reproach:
    And shall I then be used reproachfully?

STANLEY    Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's lady;
    According to that state you shall be used.

DUCHESS    Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,
    Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.

Sheriff    It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.

DUCHESS    Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged.
    Come, Stanley, shall we go?

STANLEY    Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,
    And go we to attire you for our journey.

DUCHESS    My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:
    No, it will hang upon my richest robes
    And show itself, attire me how I can.
    Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison.

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE I    The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund's.


    [Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
    MARGARET, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK, BUCKINGHAM,
    SALISBURY and WARWICK to the Parliament]

KING HENRY VI    I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come:
    'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
    Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.

QUEEN MARGARET    Can you not see? or will ye not observe
    The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?
    With what a majesty he bears himself,
    How insolent of late he is become,
    How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself?
    We know the time since he was mild and affable,
    And if we did but glance a far-off look,
    Immediately he was upon his knee,
    That all the court admired him for submission:
    But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,
    When every one will give the time of day,
    He knits his brow and shows an angry eye,
    And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,
    Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
    Small curs are not regarded when they grin;
    But great men tremble when the lion roars;
    And Humphrey is no little man in England.
    First note that he is near you in descent,
    And should you fall, he as the next will mount.
    Me seemeth then it is no policy,
    Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears
    And his advantage following your decease,
    That he should come about your royal person
    Or be admitted to your highness' council.
    By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts,
    And when he please to make commotion,
    'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him.
    Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;
    Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden
    And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
    The reverent care I bear unto my lord
    Made me collect these dangers in the duke.
    If it be fond, call it a woman's fear;
    Which fear if better reasons can supplant,
    I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke.
    My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,
    Reprove my allegation, if you can;
    Or else conclude my words effectual.

SUFFOLK    Well hath your highness seen into this duke;
    And, had I first been put to speak my mind,
    I think I should have told your grace's tale.
    The duchess, by his subornation,
    Upon my life, began her devilish practises:
    Or, if he were not privy to those faults,
    Yet, by reputing of his high descent,
    As next the king he was successive heir,
    And such high vaunts of his nobility,
    Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess
    By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall.
    Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep;
    And in his simple show he harbours treason.
    The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.
    No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man
    Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit.

CARDINAL    Did he not, contrary to form of law,
    Devise strange deaths for small offences done?

YORK    And did he not, in his protectorship,
    Levy great sums of money through the realm
    For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it?
    By means whereof the towns each day revolted.

BUCKINGHAM    Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown.
    Which time will bring to light in smooth
    Duke Humphrey.

KING HENRY VI    My lords, at once: the care you have of us,
    To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
    Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience,
    Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent
    From meaning treason to our royal person
    As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove:
    The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given
    To dream on evil or to work my downfall.

QUEEN MARGARET    Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance!
    Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed,
    For he's disposed as the hateful raven:
    Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him,
    For he's inclined as is the ravenous wolf.
    Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?
    Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all
    Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.

    [Enter SOMERSET]

SOMERSET    All health unto my gracious sovereign!

KING HENRY VI    Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?

SOMERSET    That all your interest in those territories
    Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.

KING HENRY VI    Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will be done!

YORK    [Aside]  Cold news for me; for I had hope of France
    As firmly as I hope for fertile England.
    Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud
    And caterpillars eat my leaves away;
    But I will remedy this gear ere long,
    Or sell my title for a glorious grave.

    [Enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER    All happiness unto my lord the king!
    Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long.

SUFFOLK    Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon,
    Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art:
    I do arrest thee of high treason here.

GLOUCESTER    Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush
    Nor change my countenance for this arrest:
    A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.
    The purest spring is not so free from mud
    As I am clear from treason to my sovereign:
    Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?

YORK    'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France,
    And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay;
    By means whereof his highness hath lost France.

GLOUCESTER    Is it but thought so? what are they that think it?
    I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay,
    Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
    So help me God, as I have watch'd the night,
    Ay, night by night, in studying good for England,
    That doit that e'er I wrested from the king,
    Or any groat I hoarded to my use,
    Be brought against me at my trial-day!
    No; many a pound of mine own proper store,
    Because I would not tax the needy commons,
    Have I disbursed to the garrisons,
    And never ask'd for restitution.

CARDINAL    It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.

GLOUCESTER    I say no more than truth, so help me God!

YORK    In your protectorship you did devise
    Strange tortures for offenders never heard of,
    That England was defamed by tyranny.

GLOUCESTER    Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was
    protector,
    Pity was all the fault that was in me;
    For I should melt at an offender's tears,
    And lowly words were ransom for their fault.
    Unless it were a bloody murderer,
    Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers,
    I never gave them condign punishment:
    Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured
    Above the felon or what trespass else.

SUFFOLK    My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered:
    But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,
    Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.
    I do arrest you in his highness' name;
    And here commit you to my lord cardinal
    To keep, until your further time of trial.

KING HENRY VI    My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope
    That you will clear yourself from all suspect:
    My conscience tells me you are innocent.

GLOUCESTER    Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous:
    Virtue is choked with foul ambition
    And charity chased hence by rancour's hand;
    Foul subornation is predominant
    And equity exiled your highness' land.
    I know their complot is to have my life,
    And if my death might make this island happy,
    And prove the period of their tyranny,
    I would expend it with all willingness:
    But mine is made the prologue to their play;
    For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril,
    Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
    Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
    And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;
    Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue
    The envious load that lies upon his heart;
    And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
    Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back,
    By false accuse doth level at my life:
    And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,
    Causeless have laid disgraces on my head,
    And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up
    My liefest liege to be mine enemy:
    Ay, all you have laid your heads together--
    Myself had notice of your conventicles--
    And all to make away my guiltless life.
    I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
    Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt;
    The ancient proverb will be well effected:
    'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.'

CARDINAL    My liege, his railing is intolerable:
    If those that care to keep your royal person
    From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage
    Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at,
    And the offender granted scope of speech,
    'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.

SUFFOLK    Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here
    With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd,
    As if she had suborned some to swear
    False allegations to o'erthrow his state?

QUEEN MARGARET    But I can give the loser leave to chide.

GLOUCESTER    Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed;
    Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false!
    And well such losers may have leave to speak.

BUCKINGHAM    He'll wrest the sense and hold us here all day:
    Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner.

CARDINAL    Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure.

GLOUCESTER    Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch
    Before his legs be firm to bear his body.
    Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
    And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.
    Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were!
    For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear.

    [Exit, guarded]

KING HENRY VI    My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best,
    Do or undo, as if ourself were here.

QUEEN MARGARET    What, will your highness leave the parliament?

KING HENRY VI    Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief,
    Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes,
    My body round engirt with misery,
    For what's more miserable than discontent?
    Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see
    The map of honour, truth and loyalty:
    And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come
    That e'er I proved thee false or fear'd thy faith.
    What louring star now envies thy estate,
    That these great lords and Margaret our queen
    Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?
    Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong;
    And as the butcher takes away the calf
    And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,
    Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,
    Even so remorseless have they borne him hence;
    And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
    Looking the way her harmless young one went,
    And can do nought but wail her darling's loss,
    Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case
    With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes
    Look after him and cannot do him good,
    So mighty are his vowed enemies.
    His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan
    Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.'

    [Exeunt all but QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL,
    SUFFOLK, and YORK; SOMERSET remains apart]

QUEEN MARGARET    Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams.
    Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,
    Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester's show
    Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile
    With sorrow snares relenting passengers,
    Or as the snake roll'd in a flowering bank,
    With shining chequer'd slough, doth sting a child
    That for the beauty thinks it excellent.
    Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I--
    And yet herein I judge mine own wit good--
    This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world,
    To rid us of the fear we have of him.

CARDINAL    That he should die is worthy policy;
    But yet we want a colour for his death:
    'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.

SUFFOLK    But, in my mind, that were no policy:
    The king will labour still to save his life,
    The commons haply rise, to save his life;
    And yet we have but trivial argument,
    More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.

YORK    So that, by this, you would not have him die.

SUFFOLK    Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!

YORK    'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.
    But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,
    Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,
    Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set
    To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,
    As place Duke Humphrey for the king's protector?

QUEEN MARGARET    So the poor chicken should be sure of death.

SUFFOLK    Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness, then,
    To make the fox surveyor of the fold?
    Who being accused a crafty murderer,
    His guilt should be but idly posted over,
    Because his purpose is not executed.
    No; let him die, in that he is a fox,
    By nature proved an enemy to the flock,
    Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,
    As Humphrey, proved by reasons, to my liege.
    And do not stand on quillets how to slay him:
    Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,
    Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,
    So he be dead; for that is good deceit
    Which mates him first that first intends deceit.

QUEEN MARGARET    Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.

SUFFOLK    Not resolute, except so much were done;
    For things are often spoke and seldom meant:
    But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,
    Seeing the deed is meritorious,
    And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,
    Say but the word, and I will be his priest.

CARDINAL    But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,
    Ere you can take due orders for a priest:
    Say you consent and censure well the deed,
    And I'll provide his executioner,
    I tender so the safety of my liege.

SUFFOLK    Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.

QUEEN MARGARET    And so say I.

YORK    And I    and now we three have spoke it,
    It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.

    [Enter a Post]

Post    Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain,
    To signify that rebels there are up
    And put the Englishmen unto the sword:
    Send succors, lords, and stop the rage betime,
    Before the wound do grow uncurable;
    For, being green, there is great hope of help.

CARDINAL    A breach that craves a quick expedient stop!
    What counsel give you in this weighty cause?

YORK    That Somerset be sent as regent thither:
    'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd;
    Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

SOMERSET    If York, with all his far-fet policy,
    Had been the regent there instead of me,
    He never would have stay'd in France so long.

YORK    No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done:
    I rather would have lost my life betimes
    Than bring a burthen of dishonour home
    By staying there so long till all were lost.
    Show me one scar character'd on thy skin:
    Men's flesh preserved so whole do seldom win.

QUEEN MARGARET    Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
    If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with:
    No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still:
    Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,
    Might happily have proved far worse than his.

YORK    What, worse than nought? nay, then, a shame take all!

SOMERSET    And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!

CARDINAL    My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.
    The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms
    And temper clay with blood of Englishmen:
    To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
    Collected choicely, from each county some,
    And try your hap against the Irishmen?

YORK    I will, my lord, so please his majesty.

SUFFOLK    Why, our authority is his consent,
    And what we do establish he confirms:
    Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

YORK    I am content: provide me soldiers, lords,
    Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

SUFFOLK    A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd.
    But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.

CARDINAL    No more of him; for I will deal with him
    That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.
    And so break off; the day is almost spent:
    Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

YORK    My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
    At Bristol I expect my soldiers;
    For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

SUFFOLK    I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York.

    [Exeunt all but YORK]

YORK    Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,
    And change misdoubt to resolution:
    Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art
    Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying:
    Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,
    And find no harbour in a royal heart.
    Faster than spring-time showers comes thought
    on thought,
    And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
    My brain more busy than the labouring spider
    Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
    Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done,
    To send me packing with an host of men:
    I fear me you but warm the starved snake,
    Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting
    your hearts.
    'Twas men I lack'd and you will give them me:
    I take it kindly; and yet be well assured
    You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
    Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
    I will stir up in England some black storm
    Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;
    And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
    Until the golden circuit on my head,
    Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
    Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.
    And, for a minister of my intent,
    I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,
    John Cade of Ashford,
    To make commotion, as full well he can,
    Under the title of John Mortimer.
    In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
    Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,
    And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
    Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine;
    And, in the end being rescued, I have seen
    Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
    Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.
    Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern,
    Hath he conversed with the enemy,
    And undiscover'd come to me again
    And given me notice of their villanies.
    This devil here shall be my substitute;
    For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
    In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:
    By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
    How they affect the house and claim of York.
    Say he be taken, rack'd and tortured,
    I know no pain they can inflict upon him
    Will make him say I moved him to those arms.
    Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will,
    Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength
    And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd;
    For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
    And Henry put apart, the next for me.

    [Exit]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE II    Bury St. Edmund's. A room of state.


    [Enter certain Murderers, hastily]

First Murderer    Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know
    We have dispatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

Second Murderer    O that it were to do! What have we done?
    Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

    [Enter SUFFOLK]

First Murder    Here comes my lord.

SUFFOLK    Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing?

First Murderer    Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

SUFFOLK    Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;
    I will reward you for this venturous deed.
    The king and all the peers are here at hand.
    Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,
    According as I gave directions?

First Murderer    'Tis, my good lord.

SUFFOLK    Away! be gone.

    [Exeunt Murderers]

    [Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
    MARGARET, CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with Attendants]

KING HENRY VI    Go, call our uncle to our presence straight;
    Say we intend to try his grace to-day.
    If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

SUFFOLK    I'll call him presently, my noble lord.

    [Exit]

KING HENRY VI    Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,
    Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester
    Than from true evidence of good esteem
    He be approved in practise culpable.

QUEEN MARGARET    God forbid any malice should prevail,
    That faultless may condemn a nobleman!
    Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

KING HENRY VI    I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.

    [Re-enter SUFFOLK]

    How now! why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
    Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?

SUFFOLK    Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.

QUEEN MARGARET    Marry, God forfend!

CARDINAL    God's secret judgment: I did dream to-night
    The duke was dumb and could not speak a word.

    [KING HENRY VI swoons]

QUEEN MARGARET    How fares my lord? Help, lords! the king is dead.

SOMERSET    Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.

QUEEN MARGARET    Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!

SUFFOLK    He doth revive again: madam, be patient.

KING HENRY VI    O heavenly God!

QUEEN MARGARET    How fares my gracious lord?

SUFFOLK    Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!

KING HENRY VI    What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
    Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
    Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;
    And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,
    By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
    Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
    Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words;
    Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
    Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.
    Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
    Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
    Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
    Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding:
    Yet do not go away: come, basilisk,
    And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
    For in the shade of death I shall find joy;
    In life but double death, now Gloucester's dead.

QUEEN MARGARET    Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?
    Although the duke was enemy to him,
    Yet he most Christian-like laments his death:
    And for myself, foe as he was to me,
    Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans
    Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,
    I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
    Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,
    And all to have the noble duke alive.
    What know I how the world may deem of me?
    For it is known we were but hollow friends:
    It may be judged I made the duke away;
    So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
    And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
    This get I by his death: ay me, unhappy!
    To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!

KING HENRY VI    Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!

QUEEN MARGARET    Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.
    What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face?
    I am no loathsome leper; look on me.
    What! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?
    Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen.
    Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb?
    Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.
    Erect his statue and worship it,
    And make my image but an alehouse sign.
    Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea
    And twice by awkward wind from England's bank
    Drove back again unto my native clime?
    What boded this, but well forewarning wind
    Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest,
    Nor set no footing on this unkind shore'?
    What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts
    And he that loosed them forth their brazen caves:
    And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,
    Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock
    Yet AEolus would not be a murderer,
    But left that hateful office unto thee:
    The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me,
    Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore,
    With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness:
    The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands
    And would not dash me with their ragged sides,
    Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
    Might in thy palace perish Margaret.
    As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,
    When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,
    I stood upon the hatches in the storm,
    And when the dusky sky began to rob
    My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
    I took a costly jewel from my neck,
    A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,
    And threw it towards thy land: the sea received it,
    And so I wish'd thy body might my heart:
    And even with this I lost fair England's view
    And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart
    And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
    For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
    How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue,
    The agent of thy foul inconstancy,
    To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did
    When he to madding Dido would unfold
    His father's acts commenced in burning Troy!
    Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?
    Ay me, I can no more! die, Margaret!
    For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.

    [Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY, and many Commons]

WARWICK    It is reported, mighty sovereign,
    That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd
    By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.
    The commons, like an angry hive of bees
    That want their leader, scatter up and down
    And care not who they sting in his revenge.
    Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
    Until they hear the order of his death.

KING HENRY VI    That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;
    But how he died God knows, not Henry:
    Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
    And comment then upon his sudden death.

WARWICK    That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury,
    With the rude multitude till I return.

    [Exit]

KING HENRY VI    O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts,
    My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul
    Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life!
    If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,
    For judgment only doth belong to thee.
    Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
    With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain
    Upon his face an ocean of salt tears,
    To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
    And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling:
    But all in vain are these mean obsequies;
    And to survey his dead and earthly image,
    What were it but to make my sorrow greater?

    [Re-enter WARWICK and others, bearing
    GLOUCESTER'S body on a bed]

WARWICK    Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.

KING HENRY VI    That is to see how deep my grave is made;
    For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,
    For seeing him I see my life in death.

WARWICK    As surely as my soul intends to live
    With that dread King that took our state upon him
    To free us from his father's wrathful curse,
    I do believe that violent hands were laid
    Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.

SUFFOLK    A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!
    What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?

WARWICK    See how the blood is settled in his face.
    Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,
    Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and bloodless,
    Being all descended to the labouring heart;
    Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
    Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;
    Which with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth
    To blush and beautify the cheek again.
    But see, his face is black and full of blood,
    His eye-balls further out than when he lived,
    Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;
    His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with struggling;
    His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
    And tugg'd for life and was by strength subdued:
    Look, on the sheets his hair you see, is sticking;
    His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
    Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.
    It cannot be but he was murder'd here;
    The least of all these signs were probable.

SUFFOLK    Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death?
    Myself and Beaufort had him in protection;
    And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.

WARWICK    But both of you were vow'd Duke Humphrey's foes,
    And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep:
    'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend;
    And 'tis well seen he found an enemy.

QUEEN MARGARET    Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen
    As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death.

WARWICK    Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh
    And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,
    But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?
    Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,
    But may imagine how the bird was dead,
    Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
    Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

QUEEN MARGARET    Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where's your knife?
    Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his talons?

SUFFOLK    I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men;
    But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
    That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart
    That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.
    Say, if thou darest, proud Lord of Warwick-shire,
    That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death.

    [Exeunt CARDINAL, SOMERSET, and others]

WARWICK    What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?

QUEEN MARGARET    He dares not calm his contumelious spirit
    Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
    Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

WARWICK    Madam, be still; with reverence may I say;
    For every word you speak in his behalf
    Is slander to your royal dignity.

SUFFOLK    Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanor!
    If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much,
    Thy mother took into her blameful bed
    Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock
    Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art,
    And never of the Nevils' noble race.

WARWICK    But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee
    And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,
    Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,
    And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,
    I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee
    Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,
    And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st
    That thou thyself was born in bastardy;
    And after all this fearful homage done,
    Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell,
    Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men!

SUFFOLK    Thou shall be waking well I shed thy blood,
    If from this presence thou darest go with me.

WARWICK    Away even now, or I will drag thee hence:
    Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee
    And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ghost.

    [Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK]

KING HENRY VI    What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted!
    Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just,
    And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel
    Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

    [A noise within]

QUEEN MARGARET    What noise is this?

    [Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their
    weapons drawn]

KING HENRY VI    Why, how now, lords! your wrathful weapons drawn
    Here in our presence! dare you be so bold?
    Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?

SUFFOLK    The traitorous Warwick with the men of Bury
    Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.

SALISBURY    [To the Commons, entering]  Sirs, stand apart;
    the king shall know your mind.
    Dread lord, the commons send you word by me,
    Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death,
    Or banished fair England's territories,
    They will by violence tear him from your palace
    And torture him with grievous lingering death.
    They say, by him the good Duke Humphrey died;
    They say, in him they fear your highness' death;
    And mere instinct of love and loyalty,
    Free from a stubborn opposite intent,
    As being thought to contradict your liking,
    Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
    They say, in care of your most royal person,
    That if your highness should intend to sleep
    And charge that no man should disturb your rest
    In pain of your dislike or pain of death,
    Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict,
    Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,
    That slily glided towards your majesty,
    It were but necessary you were waked,
    Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
    The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal;
    And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
    That they will guard you, whether you will or no,
    From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is,
    With whose envenomed and fatal sting,
    Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
    They say, is shamefully bereft of life.

Commons    [Within]  An answer from the king, my
    Lord of Salisbury!

SUFFOLK    'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds,
    Could send such message to their sovereign:
    But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
    To show how quaint an orator you are:
    But all the honour Salisbury hath won
    Is, that he was the lord ambassador
    Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.

Commons    [Within]  An answer from the king, or we will all break in!

KING HENRY VI    Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me.
    I thank them for their tender loving care;
    And had I not been cited so by them,
    Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;
    For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
    Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means:
    And therefore, by His majesty I swear,
    Whose far unworthy deputy I am,
    He shall not breathe infection in this air
    But three days longer, on the pain of death.

    [Exit SALISBURY]

QUEEN MARGARET    O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!

KING HENRY VI    Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk!
    No more, I say: if thou dost plead for him,
    Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
    Had I but said, I would have kept my word,
    But when I swear, it is irrevocable.
    If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found
    On any ground that I am ruler of,
    The world shall not be ransom for thy life.
    Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;
    I have great matters to impart to thee.

    [Exeunt all but QUEEN MARGARET and SUFFOLK]

QUEEN MARGARET    Mischance and sorrow go along with you!
    Heart's discontent and sour affliction
    Be playfellows to keep you company!
    There's two of you; the devil make a third!
    And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!

SUFFOLK    Cease, gentle queen, these execrations,
    And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

QUEEN MARGARET    Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch!
    Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?

SUFFOLK    A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them?
    Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
    I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
    As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear,
    Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
    With full as many signs of deadly hate,
    As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave:
    My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words;
    Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;
    Mine hair be fixed on end, as one distract;
    Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:
    And even now my burthen'd heart would break,
    Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!
    Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!
    Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!
    Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks!
    Their softest touch as smart as lizards' sting!
    Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss,
    And boding screech-owls make the concert full!
    All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell--

QUEEN MARGARET    Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st thyself;
    And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass,
    Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,
    And turn the force of them upon thyself.

SUFFOLK    You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?
    Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
    Well could I curse away a winter's night,
    Though standing naked on a mountain top,
    Where biting cold would never let grass grow,
    And think it but a minute spent in sport.

QUEEN MARGARET    O, let me entreat thee cease. Give me thy hand,
    That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
    Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
    To wash away my woful monuments.
    O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,
    That thou mightst think upon these by the seal,
    Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for thee!
    So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
    'Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by,
    As one that surfeits thinking on a want.
    I will repeal thee, or, be well assured,
    Adventure to be banished myself:
    And banished I am, if but from thee.
    Go; speak not to me; even now be gone.
    O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn'd
    Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves,
    Loather a hundred times to part than die.
    Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!

SUFFOLK    Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished;
    Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.
    'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence;
    A wilderness is populous enough,
    So Suffolk had thy heavenly company:
    For where thou art, there is the world itself,
    With every several pleasure in the world,
    And where thou art not, desolation.
    I can no more: live thou to joy thy life;
    Myself no joy in nought but that thou livest.

    [Enter VAUX]

QUEEN MARGARET    Wither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I prithee?

VAUX    To signify unto his majesty
    That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death;
    For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,
    That makes him gasp and stare and catch the air,
    Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth.
    Sometimes he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost
    Were by his side; sometime he calls the king,
    And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
    The secrets of his overcharged soul;
    And I am sent to tell his majesty
    That even now he cries aloud for him.

QUEEN MARGARET    Go tell this heavy message to the king.

    [Exit VAUX]

    Ay me! what is this world! what news are these!
    But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,
    Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure?
    Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
    And with the southern clouds contend in tears,
    Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows?
    Now get thee hence: the king, thou know'st, is coming;
    If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.

SUFFOLK    If I depart from thee, I cannot live;
    And in thy sight to die, what were it else
    But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
    Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
    As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe
    Dying with mother's dug between its lips:
    Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,
    And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
    To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;
    So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul,
    Or I should breathe it so into thy body,
    And then it lived in sweet Elysium.
    To die by thee were but to die in jest;
    From thee to die were torture more than death:
    O, let me stay, befall what may befall!

QUEEN MARGARET    Away! though parting be a fretful corrosive,
    It is applied to a deathful wound.
    To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee;
    For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe,
    I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out.

SUFFOLK    I go.

QUEEN MARGARET    And take my heart with thee.

SUFFOLK    A jewel, lock'd into the wofull'st cask
    That ever did contain a thing of worth.
    Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we
    This way fall I to death.

QUEEN MARGARET    This way for me.

    [Exeunt severally]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE III    A bedchamber.


    [Enter the KING, SALISBURY, WARWICK, to the
    CARDINAL in bed]

KING HENRY VI    How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to
    thy sovereign.

CARDINAL    If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
    Enough to purchase such another island,
    So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

KING HENRY VI    Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
    Where death's approach is seen so terrible!

WARWICK    Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.

CARDINAL    Bring me unto my trial when you will.
    Died he not in his bed? where should he die?
    Can I make men live, whether they will or no?
    O, torture me no more! I will confess.
    Alive again? then show me where he is:
    I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.
    He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.
    Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright,
    Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.
    Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary
    Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

KING HENRY VI    O thou eternal Mover of the heavens.
    Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
    O, beat away the busy meddling fiend
    That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul.
    And from his bosom purge this black despair!

WARWICK    See, how the pangs of death do make him grin!

SALISBURY    Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.

KING HENRY VI    Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!
    Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,
    Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
    He dies, and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!

WARWICK    So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

KING HENRY VI    Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
    Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;
    And let us all to meditation.

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE I    The coast of Kent.


    [Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a
    Captain, a Master, a Master's-mate, WALTER WHITMORE,
    and others; with them SUFFOLK, and others, prisoners]

Captain    The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day
    Is crept into the bosom of the sea;
    And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
    That drag the tragic melancholy night;
    Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings,
    Clip dead men's graves and from their misty jaws
    Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
    Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
    For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
    Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,
    Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.
    Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;
    And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;
    The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

First Gentleman    What is my ransom, master? let me know.

Master    A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.

Master's-Mate    And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.

Captain    What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
    And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
    Cut both the villains' throats; for die you shall:
    The lives of those which we have lost in fight
    Be counterpoised with such a petty sum!

First Gentleman    I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.

Second Gentleman    And so will I and write home for it straight.

WHITMORE    I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
    And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die;

    [To SUFFOLK]

    And so should these, if I might have my will.

Captain    Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.

SUFFOLK    Look on my George; I am a gentleman:
    Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.

WHITMORE    And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.
    How now! why start'st thou? what, doth
    death affright?

SUFFOLK    Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
    A cunning man did calculate my birth
    And told me that by water I should die:
    Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;
    Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded.

WHITMORE    Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not:
    Never yet did base dishonour blur our name,
    But with our sword we wiped away the blot;
    Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
    Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced,
    And I proclaim'd a coward through the world!

SUFFOLK    Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince,
    The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.

WHITMORE    The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags!

SUFFOLK    Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke:
    Jove sometimes went disguised, and why not I?

Captain    But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.

SUFFOLK    Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood,
    The honourable blood of Lancaster,
    Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
    Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup?
    Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule
    And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
    How often hast thou waited at my cup,
    Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board.
    When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?
    Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall'n,
    Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride;
    How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood
    And duly waited for my coming forth?
    This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
    And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.

WHITMORE    Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?

Captain    First let my words stab him, as he hath me.

SUFFOLK    Base slave, thy words are blunt and so art thou.

Captain    Convey him hence and on our longboat's side
    Strike off his head.

SUFFOLK    Thou darest not, for thy own.

Captain    Yes, Pole.

SUFFOLK           Pole!

Captain             Pool! Sir Pool! lord!
    Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt
    Troubles the silver spring where England drinks.
    Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth
    For swallowing the treasure of the realm:
    Thy lips that kiss'd the queen shall sweep the ground;
    And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey's death,
    Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain,
    Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again:
    And wedded be thou to the hags of hell,
    For daring to affy a mighty lord
    Unto the daughter of a worthless king,
    Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.
    By devilish policy art thou grown great,
    And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged
    With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.
    By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France,
    The false revolting Normans thorough thee
    Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy
    Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts,
    And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
    The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,
    Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,
    As hating thee, are rising up in arms:
    And now the house of York, thrust from the crown
    By shameful murder of a guiltless king
    And lofty proud encroaching tyranny,
    Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours
    Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine,
    Under the which is writ 'Invitis nubibus.'
    The commons here in Kent are up in arms:
    And, to conclude, reproach and beggary
    Is crept into the palace of our king.
    And all by thee. Away! convey him hence.

SUFFOLK    O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
    Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!
    Small things make base men proud: this villain here,
    Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more
    Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate.
    Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob beehives:
    It is impossible that I should die
    By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
    Thy words move rage and not remorse in me:
    I go of message from the queen to France;
    I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel.

Captain    Walter,--

WHITMORE    Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.

SUFFOLK    Gelidus timor occupat artus it is thee I fear.

WHITMORE    Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.
    What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop?

First Gentleman    My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.

SUFFOLK    Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough,
    Used to command, untaught to plead for favour.
    Far be it we should honour such as these
    With humble suit: no, rather let my head
    Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any
    Save to the God of heaven and to my king;
    And sooner dance upon a bloody pole
    Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom.
    True nobility is exempt from fear:
    More can I bear than you dare execute.

Captain    Hale him away, and let him talk no more.

SUFFOLK    Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,
    That this my death may never be forgot!
    Great men oft die by vile bezonians:
    A Roman sworder and banditto slave
    Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand
    Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders
    Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.

    [Exeunt Whitmore and others with Suffolk]

Captain    And as for these whose ransom we have set,
    It is our pleasure one of them depart;
    Therefore come you with us and let him go.

    [Exeunt all but the First Gentleman]

    [Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK's body]

WHITMORE    There let his head and lifeless body lie,
    Until the queen his mistress bury it.

    [Exit]

First Gentleman    O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
    His body will I bear unto the king:
    If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
    So will the queen, that living held him dear.

    [Exit with the body]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE II    Blackheath.


    [Enter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND]

BEVIS    Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath;
    they have been up these two days.

HOLLAND    They have the more need to sleep now, then.

BEVIS    I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress
    the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.

HOLLAND    So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say it
    was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up.

BEVIS    O miserable age! virtue is not regarded in handicrafts-men.

HOLLAND    The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.

BEVIS    Nay, more, the king's council are no good workmen.

HOLLAND    True; and yet it is said, labour in thy vocation;
    which is as much to say as, let the magistrates be
    labouring men; and therefore should we be
    magistrates.

BEVIS    Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a
    brave mind than a hard hand.

HOLLAND    I see them! I see them! there's Best's son, the
    tanner of Wingham,--

BEVIS    He shall have the skin of our enemies, to make
    dog's-leather of.

HOLLAND    And Dick the Butcher,--

BEVIS    Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity's
    throat cut like a calf.

HOLLAND    And Smith the weaver,--

BEVIS    Argo, their thread of life is spun.

HOLLAND    Come, come, let's fall in with them.

    [Drum. Enter CADE, DICK the Butcher, SMITH the
    Weaver, and a Sawyer, with infinite numbers]

CADE    We John Cade, so termed of our supposed father,--

DICK    [Aside]  Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings.

CADE    For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with
    the spirit of putting down kings and princes,
    --Command silence.

DICK    Silence!

CADE    My father was a Mortimer,--

DICK    [Aside]  He was an honest man, and a good
    bricklayer.

CADE    My mother a Plantagenet,--

DICK    [Aside]  I knew her well; she was a midwife.

CADE    My wife descended of the Lacies,--

DICK    [Aside]  She was, indeed, a pedler's daughter, and
    sold many laces.

SMITH    [Aside]  But now of late, notable to travel with her
    furred pack, she washes bucks here at home.

CADE    Therefore am I of an honourable house.

DICK    [Aside]  Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable;
    and there was he borne, under a hedge, for his
    father had never a house but the cage.

CADE    Valiant I am.

SMITH    [Aside]  A' must needs; for beggary is valiant.

CADE    I am able to endure much.

DICK    [Aside]  No question of that; for I have seen him
    whipped three market-days together.

CADE    I fear neither sword nor fire.

SMITH    [Aside]  He need not fear the sword; for his coat is of proof.

DICK    [Aside]  But methinks he should stand in fear of
    fire, being burnt i' the hand for stealing of sheep.

CADE    Be brave, then; for your captain is brave, and vows
    reformation. There shall be in England seven
    halfpenny loaves sold for a penny: the three-hooped
    pot; shall have ten hoops and I will make it felony
    to drink small beer: all the realm shall be in
    common; and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to
    grass: and when I am king, as king I will be,--

ALL    God save your majesty!

CADE    I thank you, good people: there shall be no money;
    all shall eat and drink on my score; and I will
    apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree
    like brothers and worship me their lord.

DICK    The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.

CADE    Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable
    thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should
    be made parchment? that parchment, being scribbled
    o'er, should undo a man? Some say the bee stings:
    but I say, 'tis the bee's wax; for I did but seal
    once to a thing, and I was never mine own man
    since. How now! who's there?

    [Enter some, bringing forward the Clerk of Chatham]

SMITH    The clerk of Chatham: he can write and read and
    cast accompt.

CADE    O monstrous!

SMITH    We took him setting of boys' copies.

CADE    Here's a villain!

SMITH    Has a book in his pocket with red letters in't.

CADE    Nay, then, he is a conjurer.

DICK    Nay, he can make obligations, and write court-hand.

CADE    I am sorry for't: the man is a proper man, of mine
    honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die.
    Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee: what is thy name?

Clerk    Emmanuel.

DICK    They use to write it on the top of letters: 'twill
    go hard with you.

CADE    Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name? or
    hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest
    plain-dealing man?

CLERK    Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up
    that I can write my name.

ALL    He hath confessed: away with him! he's a villain
    and a traitor.

CADE    Away with him, I say! hang him with his pen and
    ink-horn about his neck.

    [Exit one with the Clerk]

    [Enter MICHAEL]

MICHAEL    Where's our general?

CADE    Here I am, thou particular fellow.

MICHAEL    Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his
    brother are hard by, with the king's forces.

CADE    Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down. He
    shall be encountered with a man as good as himself:
    he is but a knight, is a'?

MICHAEL    No.

CADE    To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently.

    [Kneels]

    Rise up Sir John Mortimer.

    [Rises]

    Now have at him!

    [Enter SIR HUMPHREY and WILLIAM STAFFORD, with
    drum and soldiers]

SIR HUMPHREY    Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,
    Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down;
    Home to your cottages, forsake this groom:
    The king is merciful, if you revolt.

WILLIAM STAFFORD    But angry, wrathful, and inclined to blood,
    If you go forward; therefore yield, or die.

CADE    As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not:
    It is to you, good people, that I speak,
    Over whom, in time to come, I hope to reign;
    For I am rightful heir unto the crown.

SIR HUMPHREY    Villain, thy father was a plasterer;
    And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not?

CADE    And Adam was a gardener.

WILLIAM STAFFORD    And what of that?

CADE    Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.
    Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he not?

SIR HUMPHREY    Ay, sir.

CADE    By her he had two children at one birth.

WILLIAM STAFFORD    That's false.

CADE    Ay, there's the question; but I say, 'tis true:
    The elder of them, being put to nurse,
    Was by a beggar-woman stolen away;
    And, ignorant of his birth and parentage,
    Became a bricklayer when he came to age:
    His son am I; deny it, if you can.

DICK    Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall be king.

SMITH    Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and
    the bricks are alive at this day to testify it;
    therefore deny it not.

SIR HUMPHREY    And will you credit this base drudge's words,
    That speaks he knows not what?

ALL    Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone.

WILLIAM STAFFORD    Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught you this.

CADE    [Aside]  He lies, for I invented it myself.
    Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me, that, for his
    father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys
    went to span-counter for French crowns, I am content
    he shall reign; but I'll be protector over him.

DICK    And furthermore, well have the Lord Say's head for
    selling the dukedom of Maine.

CADE    And good reason; for thereby is England mained, and
    fain to go with a staff, but that my puissance holds
    it up. Fellow kings, I tell you that that Lord Say
    hath gelded the commonwealth, and made it an eunuch:
    and more than that, he can speak French; and
    therefore he is a traitor.

SIR HUMPHREY    O gross and miserable ignorance!

CADE    Nay, answer, if you can: the Frenchmen are our
    enemies; go to, then, I ask but this: can he that
    speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good
    counsellor, or no?

ALL    No, no; and therefore we'll have his head.

WILLIAM STAFFORD    Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail,
    Assail them with the army of the king.

SIR HUMPHREY    Herald, away; and throughout every town
    Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;
    That those which fly before the battle ends
    May, even in their wives' and children's sight,
    Be hang'd up for example at their doors:
    And you that be the king's friends, follow me.

    [Exeunt WILLIAM STAFFORD and SIR HUMPHREY, and soldiers]

CADE    And you that love the commons, follow me.
    Now show yourselves men; 'tis for liberty.
    We will not leave one lord, one gentleman:
    Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon;
    For they are thrifty honest men, and such
    As would, but that they dare not, take our parts.

DICK    They are all in order and march toward us.

CADE    But then are we in order when we are most
    out of order. Come, march forward.

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE III    Another part of Blackheath.


    [Alarums to the fight, wherein SIR HUMPHREY and
    WILLIAM STAFFORD are slain. Enter CADE and the rest]

CADE    Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford?

DICK    Here, sir.

CADE    They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou
    behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own
    slaughter-house: therefore thus will I reward thee,
    the Lent shall be as long again as it is; and thou
    shalt have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking
    one.

DICK    I desire no more.

CADE    And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. This
    monument of the victory will I bear;

    [Putting on SIR HUMPHREY'S brigandine]

    and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels
    till I do come to London, where we will have the
    mayor's sword borne before us.

DICK    If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the
    gaols and let out the prisoners.

CADE    Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's march
    towards London.

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE IV    London. The palace.


    [Enter KING HENRY VI with a supplication, and the
    QUEEN with SUFFOLK'S head, BUCKINGHAM and Lord SAY]

QUEEN MARGARET    Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind,
    And makes it fearful and degenerate;
    Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.
    But who can cease to weep and look on this?
    Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast:
    But where's the body that I should embrace?

BUCKINGHAM    What answer makes your grace to the rebels'
    supplication?

KING HENRY VI    I'll send some holy bishop to entreat;
    For God forbid so many simple souls
    Should perish by the sword! And I myself,
    Rather than bloody war shall cut them short,
    Will parley with Jack Cade their general:
    But stay, I'll read it over once again.

QUEEN MARGARET    Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely face
    Ruled, like a wandering planet, over me,
    And could it not enforce them to relent,
    That were unworthy to behold the same?

KING HENRY VI    Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head.

SAY    Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his.

KING HENRY VI    How now, madam!
    Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death?
    I fear me, love, if that I had been dead,
    Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for me.

QUEEN MARGARET    No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee.

    [Enter a Messenger]

KING HENRY VI    How now! what news? why comest thou in such haste?

Messenger    The rebels are in Southwark; fly, my lord!
    Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer,
    Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house,
    And calls your grace usurper openly
    And vows to crown himself in Westminster.
    His army is a ragged multitude
    Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless:
    Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death
    Hath given them heart and courage to proceed:
    All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,
    They call false caterpillars, and intend their death.

KING HENRY VI    O graceless men! they know not what they do.

BUCKINGHAM    My gracious lord, return to Killingworth,
    Until a power be raised to put them down.

QUEEN MARGARET    Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now alive,
    These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased!

KING HENRY VI    Lord Say, the traitors hate thee;
    Therefore away with us to Killingworth.

SAY    So might your grace's person be in danger.
    The sight of me is odious in their eyes;
    And therefore in this city will I stay
    And live alone as secret as I may.

    [Enter another Messenger]

Messenger    Jack Cade hath gotten London bridge:
    The citizens fly and forsake their houses:
    The rascal people, thirsting after prey,
    Join with the traitor, and they jointly swear
    To spoil the city and your royal court.

BUCKINGHAM    Then linger not, my lord, away, take horse.

KING HENRY VI    Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will succor us.

QUEEN MARGARET    My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceased.

KING HENRY VI    Farewell, my lord: trust not the Kentish rebels.

BUCKINGHAM    Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd.

SAY    The trust I have is in mine innocence,
    And therefore am I bold and resolute.

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE V    London. The Tower.


    [Enter SCALES upon the Tower, walking.
    Then enter two or three Citizens below]

SCALES    How now! is Jack Cade slain?

First Citizen    No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have
    won the bridge, killing all those that withstand
    them: the lord mayor craves aid of your honour from
    the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels.

SCALES    Such aid as I can spare you shall command;
    But I am troubled here with them myself;
    The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower.
    But get you to Smithfield, and gather head,
    And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe;
    Fight for your king, your country and your lives;
    And so, farewell, for I must hence again.

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VI    London. Cannon Street.


    [Enter CADE and the rest, and strikes his staff on
    London-stone]

CADE    Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting
    upon London-stone, I charge and command that, of the
    city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but
    claret wine this first year of our reign. And now
    henceforward it shall be treason for any that calls
    me other than Lord Mortimer.

    [Enter a Soldier, running]

Soldier    Jack Cade! Jack Cade!

CADE    Knock him down there.

    [They kill him]

SMITH    If this fellow be wise, he'll never call ye Jack
    Cade more: I think he hath a very fair warning.

DICK    My lord, there's an army gathered together in
    Smithfield.

CADE    Come, then, let's go fight with them; but first, go
    and set London bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn
    down the Tower too. Come, let's away.

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VII    London. Smithfield.


    [Alarums. MATTHEW GOFFE is slain, and all the rest.
    Then enter CADE, with his company.

CADE    So, sirs: now go some and pull down the Savoy;
    others to the inns of court; down with them all.

DICK    I have a suit unto your lordship.

CADE    Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word.

DICK    Only that the laws of England may come out of your mouth.

HOLLAND    [Aside]  Mass, 'twill be sore law, then; for he was
    thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole
    yet.

SMITH    [Aside]  Nay, John, it will be stinking law for his
    breath stinks with eating toasted cheese.

CADE    I have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, burn
    all the records of the realm: my mouth shall be
    the parliament of England.

HOLLAND    [Aside]  Then we are like to have biting statutes,
    unless his teeth be pulled out.

CADE    And henceforward all things shall be in common.

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    My lord, a prize, a prize! here's the Lord Say,
    which sold the towns in France; he that made us pay
    one and twenty fifteens, and one shilling to the
    pound, the last subsidy.

    [Enter BEVIS, with Lord SAY]

CADE    Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. Ah,
    thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! now
    art thou within point-blank of our jurisdiction
    regal. What canst thou answer to my majesty for
    giving up of Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu, the
    dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these
    presence, even the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I
    am the besom that must sweep the court clean of such
    filth as thou art. Thou hast most traitorously
    corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a
    grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers
    had no other books but the score and the tally, thou
    hast caused printing to be used, and, contrary to
    the king, his crown and dignity, thou hast built a
    paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou
    hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and
    a verb, and such abominable words as no Christian
    ear can endure to hear. Thou hast appointed
    justices of peace, to call poor men before them
    about matters they were not able to answer.
    Moreover, thou hast put them in prison; and because
    they could not read, thou hast hanged them; when,
    indeed, only for that cause they have been most
    worthy to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost thou not?

SAY    What of that?

CADE    Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse wear a
    cloak, when honester men than thou go in their hose
    and doublets.

DICK    And work in their shirt too; as myself, for example,
    that am a butcher.

SAY    You men of Kent,--

DICK    What say you of Kent?

SAY    Nothing but this; 'tis 'bona terra, mala gens.'

CADE    Away with him, away with him! he speaks Latin.

SAY    Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will.
    Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ,
    Is term'd the civil'st place of this isle:
    Sweet is the country, because full of riches;
    The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy;
    Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.
    I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy,
    Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.
    Justice with favour have I always done;
    Prayers and tears have moved me, gifts could never.
    When have I aught exacted at your hands,
    But to maintain the king, the realm and you?
    Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks,
    Because my book preferr'd me to the king,
    And seeing ignorance is the curse of God,
    Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,
    Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits,
    You cannot but forbear to murder me:
    This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings
    For your behoof,--

CADE    Tut, when struck'st thou one blow in the field?

SAY    Great men have reaching hands: oft have I struck
    Those that I never saw and struck them dead.

BEVIS    O monstrous coward! what, to come behind folks?

SAY    These cheeks are pale for watching for your good.

CADE    Give him a box o' the ear and that will make 'em red again.

SAY    Long sitting to determine poor men's causes
    Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.

CADE    Ye shall have a hempen caudle, then, and the help of hatchet.

DICK    Why dost thou quiver, man?

SAY    The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.

CADE    Nay, he nods at us, as who should say, I'll be even
    with you: I'll see if his head will stand steadier
    on a pole, or no. Take him away, and behead him.

SAY    Tell me wherein have I offended most?
    Have I affected wealth or honour? speak.
    Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold?
    Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?
    Whom have I injured, that ye seek my death?
    These hands are free from guiltless bloodshedding,
    This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts.
    O, let me live!

CADE    [Aside]  I feel remorse in myself with his words;
    but I'll bridle it: he shall die, an it be but for
    pleading so well for his life. Away with him! he
    has a familiar under his tongue; he speaks not o'
    God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike
    off his head presently; and then break into his
    son-in-law's house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off
    his head, and bring them both upon two poles hither.

ALL    It shall be done.

SAY    Ah, countrymen! if when you make your prayers,
    God should be so obdurate as yourselves,
    How would it fare with your departed souls?
    And therefore yet relent, and save my life.

CADE    Away with him! and do as I command ye.

    [Exeunt some with Lord SAY]

    The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head
    on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; there
    shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me
    her maidenhead ere they have it: men shall hold of
    me in capite; and we charge and command that their
    wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue can tell.

DICK    My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside and take up
    commodities upon our bills?

CADE    Marry, presently.

ALL    O, brave!

    [Re-enter one with the heads]

CADE    But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another,
    for they loved well when they were alive. Now part
    them again, lest they consult about the giving up of
    some more towns in France. Soldiers, defer the
    spoil of the city until night: for with these borne
    before us, instead of maces, will we ride through
    the streets, and at every corner have them kiss. Away!

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VIII    Southwark.


    [Alarum and retreat. Enter CADE and all his
    rabblement]

CADE    Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus' Corner! Kill
    and knock down! throw them into Thames!

    [Sound a parley]

    What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to
    sound retreat or parley, when I command them kill?

    [Enter BUCKINGHAM and CLIFFORD, attended]

BUCKINGHAM    Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee:
    Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king
    Unto the commons whom thou hast misled;
    And here pronounce free pardon to them all
    That will forsake thee and go home in peace.

CLIFFORD    What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent,
    And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you;
    Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths?
    Who loves the king and will embrace his pardon,
    Fling up his cap, and say 'God save his majesty!'
    Who hateth him and honours not his father,
    Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake,
    Shake he his weapon at us and pass by.

ALL    God save the king! God save the king!

CADE    What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave? And
    you, base peasants, do ye believe him? will you
    needs be hanged with your pardons about your necks?
    Hath my sword therefore broke through London gates,
    that you should leave me at the White Hart in
    Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out
    these arms till you had recovered your ancient
    freedom: but you are all recreants and dastards,
    and delight to live in slavery to the nobility. Let
    them break your backs with burthens, take your
    houses over your heads, ravish your wives and
    daughters before your faces: for me, I will make
    shift for one; and so, God's curse light upon you
    all!

ALL    We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade!

CLIFFORD    Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth,
    That thus you do exclaim you'll go with him?
    Will he conduct you through the heart of France,
    And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?
    Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;
    Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil,
    Unless by robbing of your friends and us.
    Were't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar,
    The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,
    Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you?
    Methinks already in this civil broil
    I see them lording it in London streets,
    Crying 'Villiago!' unto all they meet.
    Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry
    Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy.
    To France, to France, and get what you have lost;
    Spare England, for it is your native coast;
    Henry hath money, you are strong and manly;
    God on our side, doubt not of victory.

ALL    A Clifford! a Clifford! we'll follow the king and Clifford.

CADE    Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this
    multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them
    to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave me
    desolate. I see them lay their heads together to
    surprise me. My sword make way for me, for here is
    no staying. In despite of the devils and hell, have
    through the very middest of you? and heavens and
    honour be witness, that no want of resolution in me.
    but only my followers' base and ignominious
    treasons, makes me betake me to my heels.

    [Exit]

BUCKINGHAM    What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him;
    And he that brings his head unto the king
    Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.

    [Exeunt some of them]

    Follow me, soldiers: we'll devise a mean
    To reconcile you all unto the king.

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE IX    Kenilworth Castle.


    [Sound Trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
    MARGARET, and SOMERSET, on the terrace]

KING HENRY VI    Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne,
    And could command no more content than I?
    No sooner was I crept out of my cradle
    But I was made a king, at nine months old.
    Was never subject long'd to be a king
    As I do long and wish to be a subject.

    [Enter BUCKINGHAM and CLIFFORD]

BUCKINGHAM    Health and glad tidings to your majesty!

KING HENRY VI    Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade surprised?
    Or is he but retired to make him strong?

    [Enter below, multitudes, with halters about
    their necks]

CLIFFORD    He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield;
    And humbly thus, with halters on their necks,
    Expect your highness' doom of life or death.

KING HENRY VI    Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates,
    To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!
    Soldiers, this day have you redeemed your lives,
    And show'd how well you love your prince and country:
    Continue still in this so good a mind,
    And Henry, though he be infortunate,
    Assure yourselves, will never be unkind:
    And so, with thanks and pardon to you all,
    I do dismiss you to your several countries.

ALL    God save the king! God save the king!

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    Please it your grace to be advertised
    The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland,
    And with a puissant and a mighty power
    Of gallowglasses and stout kerns
    Is marching hitherward in proud array,
    And still proclaimeth, as he comes along,
    His arms are only to remove from thee
    The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms traitor.

KING HENRY VI    Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York distress'd.
    Like to a ship that, having 'scaped a tempest,
    Is straightway calm'd and boarded with a pirate:
    But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed;
    And now is York in arms to second him.
    I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him,
    And ask him what's the reason of these arms.
    Tell him I'll send Duke Edmund to the Tower;
    And, Somerset, we'll commit thee thither,
    Until his army be dismiss'd from him.

SOMERSET    My lord,
    I'll yield myself to prison willingly,
    Or unto death, to do my country good.

KING HENRY VI    In any case, be not too rough in terms;
    For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language.

BUCKINGHAM    I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal
    As all things shall redound unto your good.

KING HENRY VI    Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern better;
    For yet may England curse my wretched reign.

    [Flourish. Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE X    Kent. IDEN's garden.


    [Enter CADE]

CADE    Fie on ambition! fie on myself, that have a sword,
    and yet am ready to famish! These five days have I
    hid me in these woods and durst not peep out, for
    all the country is laid for me; but now am I so
    hungry that if I might have a lease of my life for a
    thousand years I could stay no longer. Wherefore,
    on a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, to
    see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another
    while, which is not amiss to cool a man's stomach
    this hot weather. And I think this word 'sallet'
    was born to do me good: for many a time, but for a
    sallet, my brainpan had been cleft with a brown
    bill; and many a time, when I have been dry and
    bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a
    quart pot to drink in; and now the word 'sallet'
    must serve me to feed on.

    [Enter IDEN]

IDEN    Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court,
    And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?
    This small inheritance my father left me
    Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy.
    I seek not to wax great by others' waning,
    Or gather wealth, I care not, with what envy:
    Sufficeth that I have maintains my state
    And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.

CADE    Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a
    stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave.
    Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand
    crowns of the king carrying my head to him: but
    I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow
    my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.

IDEN    Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be,
    I know thee not; why, then, should I betray thee?
    Is't not enough to break into my garden,
    And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds,
    Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner,
    But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?

CADE    Brave thee! ay, by the best blood that ever was
    broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well: I
    have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and
    thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead
    as a doornail, I pray God I may never eat grass more.

IDEN    Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands,
    That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,
    Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man.
    Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine,
    See if thou canst outface me with thy looks:
    Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;
    Thy hand is but a finger to my fist,
    Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon;
    My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;
    And if mine arm be heaved in the air,
    Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth.
    As for words, whose greatness answers words,
    Let this my sword report what speech forbears.

CADE    By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I
    heard! Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out
    the burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere thou
    sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on my knees thou
    mayst be turned to hobnails.

    [Here they fight. CADE falls]

    O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain me:
    let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me
    but the ten meals I have lost, and I'll defy them
    all. Wither, garden; and be henceforth a
    burying-place to all that do dwell in this house,
    because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.

IDEN    Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?
    Sword, I will hollow thee for this thy deed,
    And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead:
    Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point;
    But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat,
    To emblaze the honour that thy master got.

CADE    Iden, farewell, and be proud of thy victory. Tell
    Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort
    all the world to be cowards; for I, that never
    feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour.

    [Dies]

IDEN    How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my judge.
    Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee;
    And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,
    So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell.
    Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels
    Unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave,
    And there cut off thy most ungracious head;
    Which I will bear in triumph to the king,
    Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon.

    [Exit]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE I    Fields between Dartford and Blackheath.


    [Enter YORK, and his army of Irish, with drum
    and colours]

YORK    From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right,
    And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head:
    Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright,
    To entertain great England's lawful king.
    Ah! sancta majestas, who would not buy thee dear?
    Let them obey that know not how to rule;
    This hand was made to handle naught but gold.
    I cannot give due action to my words,
    Except a sword or sceptre balance it:
    A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul,
    On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France.

    [Enter BUCKINGHAM]

    Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?
    The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.

BUCKINGHAM    York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well.

YORK    Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting.
    Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?

BUCKINGHAM    A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,
    To know the reason of these arms in peace;
    Or why thou, being a subject as I am,
    Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,
    Should raise so great a power without his leave,
    Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.

YORK    [Aside]  Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great:
    O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint,
    I am so angry at these abject terms;
    And now, like Ajax Telamonius,
    On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury.
    I am far better born than is the king,
    More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts:
    But I must make fair weather yet a while,
    Till Henry be more weak and I more strong,--
    Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me,
    That I have given no answer all this while;
    My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.
    The cause why I have brought this army hither
    Is to remove proud Somerset from the king,
    Seditious to his grace and to the state.

BUCKINGHAM    That is too much presumption on thy part:
    But if thy arms be to no other end,
    The king hath yielded unto thy demand:
    The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.

YORK    Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?

BUCKINGHAM    Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.

YORK    Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers.
    Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;
    Meet me to-morrow in St. George's field,
    You shall have pay and every thing you wish.
    And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
    Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons,
    As pledges of my fealty and love;
    I'll send them all as willing as I live:
    Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have,
    Is his to use, so Somerset may die.

BUCKINGHAM    York, I commend this kind submission:
    We twain will go into his highness' tent.

    [Enter KING HENRY VI and Attendants]

KING HENRY VI    Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us,
    That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?

YORK    In all submission and humility
    York doth present himself unto your highness.

KING HENRY VI    Then what intends these forces thou dost bring?

YORK    To heave the traitor Somerset from hence,
    And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade,
    Who since I heard to be discomfited.

    [Enter IDEN, with CADE'S head]

IDEN    If one so rude and of so mean condition
    May pass into the presence of a king,
    Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head,
    The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.

KING HENRY VI    The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou!
    O, let me view his visage, being dead,
    That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.
    Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?

IDEN    I was, an't like your majesty.

KING HENRY VI    How art thou call'd? and what is thy degree?

IDEN    Alexander Iden, that's my name;
    A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.

BUCKINGHAM    So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss
    He were created knight for his good service.

KING HENRY VI    Iden, kneel down.

    [He kneels]

    Rise up a knight.
    We give thee for reward a thousand marks,
    And will that thou henceforth attend on us.

IDEN    May Iden live to merit such a bounty.
    And never live but true unto his liege!

    [Rises]

    [Enter QUEEN MARGARET and SOMERSET]

KING HENRY VI    See, Buckingham, Somerset comes with the queen:
    Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.

QUEEN MARGARET    For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head,
    But boldly stand and front him to his face.

YORK    How now! is Somerset at liberty?
    Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts,
    And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.
    Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?
    False king! why hast thou broken faith with me,
    Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?
    King did I call thee? no, thou art not king,
    Not fit to govern and rule multitudes,
    Which darest not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.
    That head of thine doth not become a crown;
    Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff,
    And not to grace an awful princely sceptre.
    That gold must round engirt these brows of mine,
    Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear,
    Is able with the change to kill and cure.
    Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up
    And with the same to act controlling laws.
    Give place: by heaven, thou shalt rule no more
    O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler.

SOMERSET    O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York,
    Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown;
    Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.

YORK    Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of these,
    If they can brook I bow a knee to man.
    Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail;

    [Exit Attendant]

    I know, ere they will have me go to ward,
    They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.

QUEEN MARGARET    Call hither Clifford! bid him come amain,
    To say if that the bastard boys of York
    Shall be the surety for their traitor father.

    [Exit BUCKINGHAM]

YORK    O blood-besotted Neapolitan,
    Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge!
    The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,
    Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those
    That for my surety will refuse the boys!

    [Enter EDWARD and RICHARD]

    See where they come: I'll warrant they'll
    make it good.

    [Enter CLIFFORD and YOUNG CLIFFORD]

QUEEN MARGARET    And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.

CLIFFORD    Health and all happiness to my lord the king!

    [Kneels]

YORK    I thank thee, Clifford: say, what news with thee?
    Nay, do not fright us with an angry look;
    We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again;
    For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.

CLIFFORD    This is my king, York, I do not mistake;
    But thou mistakest me much to think I do:
    To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?

KING HENRY VI    Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour
    Makes him oppose himself against his king.

CLIFFORD    He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,
    And chop away that factious pate of his.

QUEEN MARGARET    He is arrested, but will not obey;
    His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.

YORK    Will you not, sons?

EDWARD    Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.

RICHARD    And if words will not, then our weapons shall.

CLIFFORD    Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!

YORK    Look in a glass, and call thy image so:
    I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.
    Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,
    That with the very shaking of their chains
    They may astonish these fell-lurking curs:
    Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.

    [Enter the WARWICK and SALISBURY]

CLIFFORD    Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death.
    And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,
    If thou darest bring them to the baiting place.

RICHARD    Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur
    Run back and bite, because he was withheld;
    Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw,
    Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and cried:
    And such a piece of service will you do,
    If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.

CLIFFORD    Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump,
    As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!

YORK    Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.

CLIFFORD    Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.

KING HENRY VI    Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow?
    Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair,
    Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son!
    What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian,
    And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?
    O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty?
    If it be banish'd from the frosty head,
    Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?
    Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war,
    And shame thine honourable age with blood?
    Why art thou old, and want'st experience?
    Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?
    For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me
    That bows unto the grave with mickle age.

SALISBURY    My lord, I have consider'd with myself
    The title of this most renowned duke;
    And in my conscience do repute his grace
    The rightful heir to England's royal seat.

KING HENRY VI    Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?

SALISBURY    I have.

KING HENRY VI    Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?

SALISBURY    It is great sin to swear unto a sin,
    But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.
    Who can be bound by any solemn vow
    To do a murderous deed, to rob a man,
    To force a spotless virgin's chastity,
    To reave the orphan of his patrimony,
    To wring the widow from her custom'd right,
    And have no other reason for this wrong
    But that he was bound by a solemn oath?

QUEEN MARGARET    A subtle traitor needs no sophister.

KING HENRY VI    Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.

YORK    Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,
    I am resolved for death or dignity.

CLIFFORD    The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.

WARWICK    You were best to go to bed and dream again,
    To keep thee from the tempest of the field.

CLIFFORD    I am resolved to bear a greater storm
    Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;
    And that I'll write upon thy burgonet,
    Might I but know thee by thy household badge.

WARWICK    Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest,
    The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff,
    This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet,
    As on a mountain top the cedar shows
    That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,
    Even to affright thee with the view thereof.

CLIFFORD    And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear
    And tread it under foot with all contempt,
    Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear.

YOUNG CLIFFORD    And so to arms, victorious father,
    To quell the rebels and their complices.

RICHARD    Fie! charity, for shame! speak not in spite,
    For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.

YOUNG CLIFFORD    Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou canst tell.

RICHARD    If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.

    [Exeunt severally]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE II    Saint Alban's.


    [Alarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK]

WARWICK    Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls:
    And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,
    Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum
    And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,
    Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me:
    Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
    Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.

    [Enter YORK]

    How now, my noble lord? what, all afoot?

YORK    The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed,
    But match to match I have encounter'd him
    And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
    Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.

    [Enter CLIFFORD]

WARWICK    Of one or both of us the time is come.

YORK    Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,
    For I myself must hunt this deer to death.

WARWICK    Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st.
    As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,
    It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.

    [Exit]

CLIFFORD    What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou pause?

YORK    With thy brave bearing should I be in love,
    But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

CLIFFORD    Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,
    But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.

YORK    So let it help me now against thy sword
    As I in justice and true right express it.

CLIFFORD    My soul and body on the action both!

YORK    A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.

    [They fight, and CLIFFORD falls]

CLIFFORD    La fin couronne les oeuvres.

    [Dies]

YORK    Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.
    Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!

    [Exit]

    [Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD]

YOUNG CLIFFORD    Shame and confusion! all is on the rout;
    Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
    Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
    Whom angry heavens do make their minister
    Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
    Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.
    He that is truly dedicate to war
    Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself
    Hath not essentially but by circumstance
    The name of valour.

    [Seeing his dead father]

    O, let the vile world end,
    And the premised flames of the last day
    Knit earth and heaven together!
    Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
    Particularities and petty sounds
    To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,
    To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve
    The silver livery of advised age,
    And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus
    To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight
    My heart is turn'd to stone: and while 'tis mine,
    It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
    No more will I their babes: tears virginal
    Shall be to me even as the dew to fire,
    And beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims
    Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
    Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:
    Meet I an infant of the house of York,
    Into as many gobbets will I cut it
    As wild Medea young Absyrtus did:
    In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
    Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house:
    As did AEneas old Anchises bear,
    So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;
    But then AEneas bare a living load,
    Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.

    [Exit, bearing off his father]

    [Enter RICHARD and SOMERSET to fight. SOMERSET
    is killed]

RICHARD    So, lie thou there;
    For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign,
    The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset
    Hath made the wizard famous in his death.
    Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:
    Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.

    [Exit]

    [Fight: excursions. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
    MARGARET, and others]

QUEEN MARGARET    Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame, away!

KING HENRY VI    Can we outrun the heavens? good Margaret, stay.

QUEEN MARGARET    What are you made of? you'll nor fight nor fly:
    Now is it manhood, wisdom and defence,
    To give the enemy way, and to secure us
    By what we can, which can no more but fly.

    [Alarum afar off]

    If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
    Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape,
    As well we may, if not through your neglect,
    We shall to London get, where you are loved
    And where this breach now in our fortunes made
    May readily be stopp'd.

    [Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD]

YOUNG CLIFFORD    But that my heart's on future mischief set,
    I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly:
    But fly you must; uncurable discomfit
    Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.
    Away, for your relief! and we will live
    To see their day and them our fortune give:
    Away, my lord, away!

    [Exeunt]




    2 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE III    Fields near St. Alban's.


    [Alarum. Retreat. Enter YORK, RICHARD, WARWICK,
    and Soldiers, with drum and colours]

YORK    Of Salisbury, who can report of him,
    That winter lion, who in rage forgets
    Aged contusions and all brush of time,
    And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,
    Repairs him with occasion? This happy day
    Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
    If Salisbury be lost.

RICHARD    My noble father,
    Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,
    Three times bestrid him; thrice I led him off,
    Persuaded him from any further act:
    But still, where danger was, still there I met him;
    And like rich hangings in a homely house,
    So was his will in his old feeble body.
    But, noble as he is, look where he comes.

    [Enter SALISBURY]

SALISBURY    Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day;
    By the mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard:
    God knows how long it is I have to live;
    And it hath pleased him that three times to-day
    You have defended me from imminent death.
    Well, lords, we have not got that which we have:
    'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
    Being opposites of such repairing nature.

YORK    I know our safety is to follow them;
    For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
    To call a present court of parliament.
    Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth.
    What says Lord Warwick? shall we after them?

WARWICK    After them! nay, before them, if we can.
    Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day:
    Saint Alban's battle won by famous York
    Shall be eternized in all age to come.
    Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all:
    And more such days as these to us befall!

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI



    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY    the Sixth.

EDWARD,
PRINCE OF WALES    his son. (PRINCE EDWARD:)

KING LEWIS XI    King of France. (KING LEWIS XI:)

DUKE OF SOMERSET    (SOMERSET:)

DUKE OF EXETER    (EXETER:)

EARL OF OXFORD    (OXFORD:)

EARL OF
NORTHUMBERLAND    (NORTHUMBERLAND:)

EARL OF
WESTMORELAND    (WESTMORELAND:)

LORD CLIFFORD    (CLIFFORD:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Duke of York. (YORK:)


EDWARD    (EDWARD:) Earl of March,    |
    afterwards King Edward IV.    |
    (KING EDWARD IV:)        |
            |
EDMUND    Earl of Rutland, (RUTLAND:)    |
            |  his sons.
GEORGE    (GEORGE:)  afterwards Duke of    |
    Clarence  (CLARENCE:)    |
            |
RICHARD    (RICHARD:) afterwards Duke of    |
    Gloucester, (GLOUCESTER:)    |


DUKE OF NORFOLK    (NORFOLK:)

MARQUESS OF
MONTAGUE    (MONTAGUE:)

EARL OF WARWICK    (WARWICK:)

EARL OF PEMBROKE    (PEMBROKE:)

LORD HASTINGS    (HASTINGS:)

LORD STAFFORD    (STAFFORD:)


SIR JOHN MORTIMER    (JOHN MORTIMER:)    |
        |  uncles to the Duke of York.
SIR HUGH MORTIMER    (HUGH MORTIMER:)    |


HENRY    Earl of Richmond, a youth (HENRY OF RICHMOND:).

LORD RIVERS    brother to Lady Grey. (RIVERS:)

SIR
WILLIAM STANLEY    (STANLEY:)

SIR
JOHN MONTGOMERY    (MONTGOMERY:)

SIR
JOHN SOMERVILLE    (SOMERVILLE:)

    Tutor to Rutland. (Tutor:)

    Mayor of York. (Mayor:)

    Lieutenant of the Tower. (Lieutenant:)

    A Nobleman. (Nobleman:)

    Two Keepers.
    (First Keeper:)
    (Second Keeper:)

    A Huntsman. (Huntsman:)

    A Son that has killed his father. (Son:)

    A Father that has killed his son. (Father:)

QUEEN MARGARET:

LADY GREY    afterwards Queen to Edward IV. (QUEEN ELIZABETH:)

BONA    sister to the French Queen.

    Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, &c.
    (Soldier:)
    (Post:)
    (Messenger:)
    (First Messenger:)
    (Second Messenger:)
    (First Watchman:)
    (Second Watchman:)
    (Third Watchman:)


SCENE    England and France.




ACT I



SCENE I    London. The Parliament-house.


    [Alarum. Enter YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK,
    MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers]

WARWICK    I wonder how the king escaped our hands.

YORK    While we pursued the horsemen of the north,
    He slily stole away and left his men:
    Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,
    Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
    Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself,
    Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast,
    Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in
    Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.

EDWARD    Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham,
    Is either slain or wounded dangerously;
    I cleft his beaver with a downright blow:
    That this is true, father, behold his blood.

MONTAGUE    And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood,
    Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd.

RICHARD    Speak thou for me and tell them what I did.

    [Throwing down SOMERSET's head]

YORK    Richard hath best deserved of all my sons.
    But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?

NORFOLK    Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt!

RICHARD    Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head.

WARWICK    And so do I. Victorious Prince of York,
    Before I see thee seated in that throne
    Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,
    I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close.
    This is the palace of the fearful king,
    And this the regal seat: possess it, York;
    For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs'

YORK    Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will;
    For hither we have broken in by force.

NORFOLK    We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die.

YORK    Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords;
    And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night.

    [They go up]

WARWICK    And when the king comes, offer no violence,
    Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.

YORK    The queen this day here holds her parliament,
    But little thinks we shall be of her council:
    By words or blows here let us win our right.

RICHARD    Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house.

WARWICK    The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,
    Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king,
    And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice
    Hath made us by-words to our enemies.

YORK    Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute;
    I mean to take possession of my right.

WARWICK    Neither the king, nor he that loves him best,
    The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,
    Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells.
    I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares:
    Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.

    [Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLIFFORD,
    NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and the rest]

KING HENRY VI    My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,
    Even in the chair of state: belike he means,
    Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,
    To aspire unto the crown and reign as king.
    Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father.
    And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge
    On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends.

NORTHUMBERLAND    If I be not, heavens be revenged on me!

CLIFFORD    The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.

WESTMORELAND    What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down:
    My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it.

KING HENRY VI    Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.

CLIFFORD    Patience is for poltroons, such as he:
    He durst not sit there, had your father lived.
    My gracious lord, here in the parliament
    Let us assail the family of York.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so.

KING HENRY VI    Ah, know you not the city favours them,
    And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?

EXETER    But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly.

KING HENRY VI    Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart,
    To make a shambles of the parliament-house!
    Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats
    Shall be the war that Henry means to use.
    Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne,
    and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;
    I am thy sovereign.

YORK    I am thine.

EXETER    For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York.

YORK    'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.

EXETER    Thy father was a traitor to the crown.

WARWICK    Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown
    In following this usurping Henry.

CLIFFORD    Whom should he follow but his natural king?

WARWICK    True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York.

KING HENRY VI    And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne?

YORK    It must and shall be so: content thyself.

WARWICK    Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king.

WESTMORELAND    He is both king and Duke of Lancaster;
    And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.

WARWICK    And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget
    That we are those which chased you from the field
    And slew your fathers, and with colours spread
    March'd through the city to the palace gates.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;
    And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.

WESTMORELAND    Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,
    Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives
    Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.

CLIFFORD    Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words,
    I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger
    As shall revenge his death before I stir.

WARWICK    Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats!

YORK    Will you we show our title to the crown?
    If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.

KING HENRY VI    What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?
    Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York;
    Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March:
    I am the son of Henry the Fifth,
    Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop
    And seized upon their towns and provinces.

WARWICK    Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all.

KING HENRY VI    The lord protector lost it, and not I:
    When I was crown'd I was but nine months old.

RICHARD    You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose.
    Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.

EDWARD    Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.

MONTAGUE    Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms,
    Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus.

RICHARD    Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly.

YORK    Sons, peace!

KING HENRY VI    Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak.

WARWICK    Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords;
    And be you silent and attentive too,
    For he that interrupts him shall not live.

KING HENRY VI    Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne,
    Wherein my grandsire and my father sat?
    No: first shall war unpeople this my realm;
    Ay, and their colours, often borne in France,
    And now in England to our heart's great sorrow,
    Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords?
    My title's good, and better far than his.

WARWICK    Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king.

KING HENRY VI    Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.

YORK    'Twas by rebellion against his king.

KING HENRY VI    [Aside]  I know not what to say; my title's weak.--
    Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?

YORK    What then?

KING HENRY VI    An if he may, then am I lawful king;
    For Richard, in the view of many lords,
    Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth,
    Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

YORK    He rose against him, being his sovereign,
    And made him to resign his crown perforce.

WARWICK    Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
    Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?

EXETER    No; for he could not so resign his crown
    But that the next heir should succeed and reign.

KING HENRY VI    Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?

EXETER    His is the right, and therefore pardon me.

YORK    Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?

EXETER    My conscience tells me he is lawful king.

KING HENRY VI    [Aside]  All will revolt from me, and turn to him.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st,
    Think not that Henry shall be so deposed.

WARWICK    Deposed he shall be, in despite of all.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power,
    Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,
    Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,
    Can set the duke up in despite of me.

CLIFFORD    King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
    Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:
    May that ground gape and swallow me alive,
    Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!

KING HENRY VI    O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!

YORK    Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.
    What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?

WARWICK    Do right unto this princely Duke of York,
    Or I will fill the house with armed men,
    And over the chair of state, where now he sits,
    Write up his title with usurping blood.

    [He stamps with his foot and the soldiers show
    themselves]

KING HENRY VI    My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word:
    Let me for this my life-time reign as king.

YORK    Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,
    And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest.

KING HENRY VI    I am content: Richard Plantagenet,
    Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.

CLIFFORD    What wrong is this unto the prince your son!

WARWICK    What good is this to England and himself!

WESTMORELAND    Base, fearful and despairing Henry!

CLIFFORD    How hast thou injured both thyself and us!

WESTMORELAND    I cannot stay to hear these articles.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Nor I.

CLIFFORD    Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news.

WESTMORELAND    Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king,
    In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Be thou a prey unto the house of York,
    And die in bands for this unmanly deed!

CLIFFORD    In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome,
    Or live in peace abandon'd and despised!

    [Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and WESTMORELAND]

WARWICK    Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.

EXETER    They seek revenge and therefore will not yield.

KING HENRY VI    Ah, Exeter!

WARWICK              Why should you sigh, my lord?

KING HENRY VI    Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son,
    Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.
    But be it as it may: I here entail
    The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever;
    Conditionally, that here thou take an oath
    To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,
    To honour me as thy king and sovereign,
    And neither by treason nor hostility
    To seek to put me down and reign thyself.

YORK    This oath I willingly take and will perform.

WARWICK    Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him.

KING HENRY VI    And long live thou and these thy forward sons!

YORK    Now York and Lancaster are reconciled.

EXETER    Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes!

    [Sennet. Here they come down]

YORK    Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle.

WARWICK    And I'll keep London with my soldiers.

NORFOLK    And I to Norfolk with my followers.

MONTAGUE    And I unto the sea from whence I came.

    [Exeunt YORK, EDWARD, EDMUND, GEORGE, RICHARD,
    WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, their Soldiers, and
    Attendants]

KING HENRY VI    And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court.

    [Enter QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD]

EXETER    Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger:
    I'll steal away.

KING HENRY VI                      Exeter, so will I.

QUEEN MARGARET    Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee.

KING HENRY VI    Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.

QUEEN MARGARET    Who can be patient in such extremes?
    Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid
    And never seen thee, never borne thee son,
    Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father
    Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus?
    Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I,
    Or felt that pain which I did for him once,
    Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood,
    Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there,
    Rather than have that savage duke thine heir
    And disinherited thine only son.

PRINCE EDWARD    Father, you cannot disinherit me:
    If you be king, why should not I succeed?

KING HENRY VI    Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son:
    The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me.

QUEEN MARGARET    Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced?
    I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!
    Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me;
    And given unto the house of York such head
    As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.
    To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
    What is it, but to make thy sepulchre
    And creep into it far before thy time?
    Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais;
    Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas;
    The duke is made protector of the realm;
    And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds
    The trembling lamb environed with wolves.
    Had I been there, which am a silly woman,
    The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes
    Before I would have granted to that act.
    But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour:
    And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself
    Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
    Until that act of parliament be repeal'd
    Whereby my son is disinherited.
    The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours
    Will follow mine, if once they see them spread;
    And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace
    And utter ruin of the house of York.
    Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away;
    Our army is ready; come, we'll after them.

KING HENRY VI    Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

QUEEN MARGARET    Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone.

KING HENRY VI    Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

QUEEN MARGARET    Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.

PRINCE EDWARD    When I return with victory from the field
    I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her.

QUEEN MARGARET    Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.

    [Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD]

KING HENRY VI    Poor queen! how love to me and to her son
    Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
    Revenged may she be on that hateful duke,
    Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
    Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle
    Tire on the flesh of me and of my son!
    The loss of those three lords torments my heart:
    I'll write unto them and entreat them fair.
    Come, cousin you shall be the messenger.

EXETER    And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE II    Sandal Castle.


    [Enter RICHARD, EDWARD, and MONTAGUE]

RICHARD    Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.

EDWARD    No, I can better play the orator.

MONTAGUE    But I have reasons strong and forcible.

    [Enter YORK]

YORK    Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife?
    What is your quarrel? how began it first?

EDWARD    No quarrel, but a slight contention.

YORK    About what?

RICHARD    About that which concerns your grace and us;
    The crown of England, father, which is yours.

YORK    Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead.

RICHARD    Your right depends not on his life or death.

EDWARD    Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now:
    By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,
    It will outrun you, father, in the end.

YORK    I took an oath that he should quietly reign.

EDWARD    But for a kingdom any oath may be broken:
    I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.

RICHARD    No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn.

YORK    I shall be, if I claim by open war.

RICHARD    I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.

YORK    Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.

RICHARD    An oath is of no moment, being not took
    Before a true and lawful magistrate,
    That hath authority over him that swears:
    Henry had none, but did usurp the place;
    Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
    Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
    Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think
    How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
    Within whose circuit is Elysium
    And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
    Why do we finger thus? I cannot rest
    Until the white rose that I wear be dyed
    Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.

YORK    Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.
    Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
    And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.
    Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk,
    And tell him privily of our intent.
    You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham,
    With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise:
    In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
    Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.
    While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more,
    But that I seek occasion how to rise,
    And yet the king not privy to my drift,
    Nor any of the house of Lancaster?

    [Enter a Messenger]

    But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post?

Messenger    The queen with all the northern earls and lords
    Intend here to besiege you in your castle:
    She is hard by with twenty thousand men;
    And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.

YORK    Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them?
    Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;
    My brother Montague shall post to London:
    Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
    Whom we have left protectors of the king,
    With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
    And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.

MONTAGUE    Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not:
    And thus most humbly I do take my leave.

    [Exit]

    [Enter JOHN MORTIMER and HUGH MORTIMER]

    Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,
    You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
    The army of the queen mean to besiege us.

JOHN MORTIMER    She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field.

YORK    What, with five thousand men?

RICHARD    Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need:
    A woman's general; what should we fear?

    [A march afar off]

EDWARD    I hear their drums: let's set our men in order,
    And issue forth and bid them battle straight.

YORK    Five men to twenty! though the odds be great,
    I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
    Many a battle have I won in France,
    When as the enemy hath been ten to one:
    Why should I not now have the like success?

    [Alarum. Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE III    Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield.


    [Alarums. Enter RUTLAND and his Tutor]

RUTLAND    Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?
    Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!

    [Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers]

CLIFFORD    Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.
    As for the brat of this accursed duke,
    Whose father slew my father, he shall die.

Tutor    And I, my lord, will bear him company.

CLIFFORD    Soldiers, away with him!

Tutor    Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,
    Lest thou be hated both of God and man!

    [Exit, dragged off by Soldiers]

CLIFFORD    How now! is he dead already? or is it fear
    That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.

RUTLAND    So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
    That trembles under his devouring paws;
    And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,
    And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.
    Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
    And not with such a cruel threatening look.
    Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.
    I am too mean a subject for thy wrath:
    Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.

CLIFFORD    In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood
    Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.

RUTLAND    Then let my father's blood open it again:
    He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

CLIFFORD    Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine
    Were not revenge sufficient for me;
    No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves
    And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
    It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
    The sight of any of the house of York
    Is as a fury to torment my soul;
    And till I root out their accursed line
    And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
    Therefore--

    [Lifting his hand]

RUTLAND    O, let me pray before I take my death!
    To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!

CLIFFORD    Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

RUTLAND    I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me?

CLIFFORD    Thy father hath.

RUTLAND                      But 'twas ere I was born.
    Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,
    Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,
    He be as miserably slain as I.
    Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
    And when I give occasion of offence,
    Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.

CLIFFORD    No cause!
    Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.

    [Stabs him]

RUTLAND    Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae!

    [Dies]

CLIFFORD    Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
    And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade
    Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
    Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.

    [Exit]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE IV    Another part of the field.


    [Alarum. Enter YORK]

YORK    The army of the queen hath got the field:
    My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
    And all my followers to the eager foe
    Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind
    Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.
    My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them:
    But this I know, they have demean'd themselves
    Like men born to renown by life or death.
    Three times did Richard make a lane to me.
    And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!'
    And full as oft came Edward to my side,
    With purple falchion, painted to the hilt
    In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
    And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
    Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!'
    And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
    A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!'
    With this, we charged again: but, out, alas!
    We bodged again; as I have seen a swan
    With bootless labour swim against the tide
    And spend her strength with over-matching waves.

    [A short alarum within]

    Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;
    And I am faint and cannot fly their fury:
    And were I strong, I would not shun their fury:
    The sands are number'd that make up my life;
    Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

    [Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND,
    PRINCE EDWARD, and Soldiers]

    Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
    I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:
    I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

CLIFFORD    Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm,
    With downright payment, show'd unto my father.
    Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,
    And made an evening at the noontide prick.

YORK    My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
    A bird that will revenge upon you all:
    And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
    Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
    Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?

CLIFFORD    So cowards fight when they can fly no further;
    So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;
    So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
    Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

YORK    O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
    And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;
    And, if though canst for blushing, view this face,
    And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice
    Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this!

CLIFFORD    I will not bandy with thee word for word,
    But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

QUEEN MARGARET    Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes
    I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.
    Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much
    To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
    What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
    For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
    When he might spurn him with his foot away?
    It is war's prize to take all vantages;
    And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

    [They lay hands on YORK, who struggles]

CLIFFORD    Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

NORTHUMBERLAND    So doth the cony struggle in the net.

YORK    So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;
    So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd.

NORTHUMBERLAND    What would your grace have done unto him now?

QUEEN MARGARET    Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
    Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,
    That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,
    Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
    What! was it you that would be England's king?
    Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
    And made a preachment of your high descent?
    Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
    The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
    And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
    Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice
    Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
    Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
    Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood
    That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
    Made issue from the bosom of the boy;
    And if thine eyes can water for his death,
    I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
    Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
    I should lament thy miserable state.
    I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
    What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails
    That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
    Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad;
    And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
    Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
    Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:
    York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
    A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him:
    Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.

    [Putting a paper crown on his head]

    Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
    Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair,
    And this is he was his adopted heir.
    But how is it that great Plantagenet
    Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
    As I bethink me, you should not be king
    Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.
    And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
    And rob his temples of the diadem,
    Now in his life, against your holy oath?
    O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!
    Off with the crown, and with the crown his head;
    And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.

CLIFFORD    That is my office, for my father's sake.

QUEEN MARGARET    Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes.

YORK    She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,
    Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!
    How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex
    To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
    Upon their woes whom fortune captivates!
    But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging,
    Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
    I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush.
    To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived,
    Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.
    Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,
    Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem,
    Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
    Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
    It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen,
    Unless the adage must be verified,
    That beggars mounted run their horse to death.
    'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;
    But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:
    'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired;
    The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
    'Tis government that makes them seem divine;
    The want thereof makes thee abominable:
    Thou art as opposite to every good
    As the Antipodes are unto us,
    Or as the south to the septentrion.
    O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide!
    How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
    To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
    And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
    Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible;
    Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
    Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish:
    Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will:
    For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
    And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
    These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies:
    And every drop cries vengeance for his death,
    'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false
    Frenchwoman.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so
    That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears.

YORK    That face of his the hungry cannibals
    Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood:
    But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
    O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.
    See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
    This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
    And I with tears do wash the blood away.
    Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
    And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
    Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
    Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
    And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!'
    There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse;
    And in thy need such comfort come to thee
    As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
    Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world:
    My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

NORTHUMBERLAND    Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
    I should not for my life but weep with him.
    To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

QUEEN MARGARET    What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?
    Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
    And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

CLIFFORD    Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.

    [Stabbing him]


QUEEN MARGARET    And here's to right our gentle-hearted king.

    [Stabbing him]

YORK    Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
    My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.

    [Dies]

QUEEN MARGARET    Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
    So York may overlook the town of York.

    [Flourish. Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE I    A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire.


    [A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power]

EDWARD    I wonder how our princely father 'scaped,
    Or whether he be 'scaped away or no
    From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit:
    Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;
    Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
    Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard
    The happy tidings of his good escape.
    How fares my brother? why is he so sad?

RICHARD    I cannot joy, until I be resolved
    Where our right valiant father is become.
    I saw him in the battle range about;
    And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
    Methought he bore him in the thickest troop
    As doth a lion in a herd of neat;
    Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,
    Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry,
    The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
    So fared our father with his enemies;
    So fled his enemies my warlike father:
    Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.
    See how the morning opes her golden gates,
    And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
    How well resembles it the prime of youth,
    Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love!

EDWARD    Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?

RICHARD    Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
    Not separated with the racking clouds,
    But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
    See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
    As if they vow'd some league inviolable:
    Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
    In this the heaven figures some event.

EDWARD    'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.
    I think it cites us, brother, to the field,
    That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
    Each one already blazing by our meeds,
    Should notwithstanding join our lights together
    And over-shine the earth as this the world.
    Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
    Upon my target three fair-shining suns.

RICHARD    Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it,
    You love the breeder better than the male.

    [Enter a Messenger]

    But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
    Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

Messenger    Ah, one that was a woful looker-on
    When as the noble Duke of York was slain,
    Your princely father and my loving lord!

EDWARD    O, speak no more, for I have heard too much.

RICHARD    Say how he died, for I will hear it all.

Messenger    Environed he was with many foes,
    And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
    Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy.
    But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
    And many strokes, though with a little axe,
    Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
    By many hands your father was subdued;
    But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
    Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen,
    Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite,
    Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept,
    The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks
    A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
    Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain:
    And after many scorns, many foul taunts,
    They took his head, and on the gates of York
    They set the same; and there it doth remain,
    The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

EDWARD    Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
    Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
    O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain
    The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
    And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
    For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee.
    Now my soul's palace is become a prison:
    Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body
    Might in the ground be closed up in rest!
    For never henceforth shall I joy again,
    Never, O never shall I see more joy!

RICHARD     I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture
    Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
    Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen;
    For selfsame wind that I should speak withal
    Is kindling coals that fires all my breast,
    And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.
    To weep is to make less the depth of grief:
    Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me
    Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death,
    Or die renowned by attempting it.

EDWARD    His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;
    His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

RICHARD    Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,
    Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun:
    For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say;
    Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

    [March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army]

WARWICK    How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad?

RICHARD    Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount
    Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance
    Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,
    The words would add more anguish than the wounds.
    O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!

EDWARD    O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet,
    Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption,
    Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.

WARWICK    Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears;
    And now, to add more measure to your woes,
    I come to tell you things sith then befall'n.
    After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
    Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp,
    Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
    Were brought me of your loss and his depart.
    I, then in London keeper of the king,
    Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
    And very well appointed, as I thought,
    March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen,
    Bearing the king in my behalf along;
    For by my scouts I was advertised
    That she was coming with a full intent
    To dash our late decree in parliament
    Touching King Henry's oath and your succession.
    Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met
    Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought:
    But whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
    Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
    That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen;
    Or whether 'twas report of her success;
    Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
    Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
    I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth,
    Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
    Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight,
    Or like an idle thresher with a flail,
    Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
    I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
    With promise of high pay and great rewards:
    But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
    And we in them no hope to win the day;
    So that we fled; the king unto the queen;
    Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself,
    In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you:
    For in the marches here we heard you were,
    Making another head to fight again.

EDWARD    Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?
    And when came George from Burgundy to England?

WARWICK    Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers;
    And for your brother, he was lately sent
    From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,
    With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

RICHARD    'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:
    Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
    But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.

WARWICK    Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;
    For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine
    Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
    And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,
    Were he as famous and as bold in war
    As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer.

RICHARD    I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not:
    'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.
    But in this troublous time what's to be done?
    Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
    And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
    Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads?
    Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
    Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
    If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords.

WARWICK    Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out;
    And therefore comes my brother Montague.
    Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
    With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,
    And of their feather many more proud birds,
    Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
    He swore consent to your succession,
    His oath enrolled in the parliament;
    And now to London all the crew are gone,
    To frustrate both his oath and what beside
    May make against the house of Lancaster.
    Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
    Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself,
    With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,
    Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
    Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
    Why, Via! to London will we march amain,
    And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
    And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!'
    But never once again turn back and fly.

RICHARD    Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak:
    Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,
    That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay.

EDWARD    Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;
    And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!--
    Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend!

WARWICK    No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York:
    The next degree is England's royal throne;
    For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
    In every borough as we pass along;
    And he that throws not up his cap for joy
    Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
    King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
    Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown,
    But sound the trumpets, and about our task.

RICHARD    Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,
    As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,
    I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.

EDWARD    Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us!

    [Enter a Messenger]

WARWICK    How now! what news?

Messenger    The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,
    The queen is coming with a puissant host;
    And craves your company for speedy counsel.

WARWICK    Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE II    Before York.


    [Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET,
    PRINCE EDWARD, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with
    drum and trumpets]

QUEEN MARGARET    Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.
    Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy
    That sought to be encompass'd with your crown:
    Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

KING HENRY VI    Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck:
    To see this sight, it irks my very soul.
    Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,
    Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.

CLIFFORD    My gracious liege, this too much lenity
    And harmful pity must be laid aside.
    To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
    Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
    Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?
    Not his that spoils her young before her face.
    Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?
    Not he that sets his foot upon her back.
    The smallest worm will turn being trodden on,
    And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.
    Ambitious York doth level at thy crown,
    Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows:
    He, but a duke, would have his son a king,
    And raise his issue, like a loving sire;
    Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son,
    Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
    Which argued thee a most unloving father.
    Unreasonable creatures feed their young;
    And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
    Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
    Who hath not seen them, even with those wings
    Which sometime they have used with fearful flight,
    Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
    Offer their own lives in their young's defence?
    For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!
    Were it not pity that this goodly boy
    Should lose his birthright by his father's fault,
    And long hereafter say unto his child,
    'What my great-grandfather and his grandsire got
    My careless father fondly gave away'?
    Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;
    And let his manly face, which promiseth
    Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart
    To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.

KING HENRY VI    Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,
    Inferring arguments of mighty force.
    But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear
    That things ill-got had ever bad success?
    And happy always was it for that son
    Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
    I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
    And would my father had left me no more!
    For all the rest is held at such a rate
    As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep
    Than in possession and jot of pleasure.
    Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know
    How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

QUEEN MARGARET    My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes are nigh,
    And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
    You promised knighthood to our forward son:
    Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently.
    Edward, kneel down.

KING HENRY VI    Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
    And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right.

PRINCE    My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
    I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
    And in that quarrel use it to the death.

CLIFFORD    Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    Royal commanders, be in readiness:
    For with a band of thirty thousand men
    Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York;
    And in the towns, as they do march along,
    Proclaims him king, and many fly to him:
    Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.

CLIFFORD    I would your highness would depart the field:
    The queen hath best success when you are absent.

QUEEN MARGARET    Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.

KING HENRY VI    Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Be it with resolution then to fight.

PRINCE EDWARD    My royal father, cheer these noble lords
    And hearten those that fight in your defence:
    Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!'

    [March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK,
    NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers]

EDWARD    Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace,
    And set thy diadem upon my head;
    Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

QUEEN MARGARET    Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!
    Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
    Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?

EDWARD    I am his king, and he should bow his knee;
    I was adopted heir by his consent:
    Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,
    You, that are king, though he do wear the crown,
    Have caused him, by new act of parliament,
    To blot out me, and put his own son in.

CLIFFORD    And reason too:
    Who should succeed the father but the son?

RICHARD    Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!

CLIFFORD    Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,
    Or any he the proudest of thy sort.

RICHARD    'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?

CLIFFORD    Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

RICHARD    For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight.

WARWICK    What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?

QUEEN MARGARET    Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak?
    When you and I met at Saint Alban's last,
    Your legs did better service than your hands.

WARWICK    Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.

CLIFFORD    You said so much before, and yet you fled.

WARWICK    'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

NORTHUMBERLAND    No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.

RICHARD    Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.
    Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain
    The execution of my big-swoln heart
    Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

CLIFFORD    I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child?

RICHARD    Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,
    As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;
    But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed.

KING HENRY VI    Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.

QUEEN MARGARET    Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.

KING HENRY VI    I prithee, give no limits to my tongue:
    I am a king, and privileged to speak.

CLIFFORD    My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here
    Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.

RICHARD    Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword:
    By him that made us all, I am resolved
    that Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.

EDWARD    Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
    A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day,
    That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.

WARWICK    If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;
    For York in justice puts his armour on.

PRINCE EDWARD    If that be right which Warwick says is right,
    There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

RICHARD    Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;
    For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

QUEEN MARGARET    But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam;
    But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic,
    Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
    As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.

RICHARD    Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,
    Whose father bears the title of a king,--
    As if a channel should be call'd the sea,--
    Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,
    To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?

EDWARD    A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns,
    To make this shameless callet know herself.
    Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
    Although thy husband may be Menelaus;
    And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
    By that false woman, as this king by thee.
    His father revell'd in the heart of France,
    And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop;
    And had he match'd according to his state,
    He might have kept that glory to this day;
    But when he took a beggar to his bed,
    And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day,
    Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him,
    That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
    And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
    For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride?
    Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
    And we, in pity of the gentle king,
    Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

GEORGE    But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,
    And that thy summer bred us no increase,
    We set the axe to thy usurping root;
    And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
    Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,
    We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down,
    Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.

EDWARD    And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
    Not willing any longer conference,
    Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak.
    Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave!
    And either victory, or else a grave.

QUEEN MARGARET    Stay, Edward.

EDWARD    No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay:
    These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE III    A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in
    Yorkshire.


    [Alarum. Excursions. Enter WARWICK]

WARWICK    Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,
    I lay me down a little while to breathe;
    For strokes received, and many blows repaid,
    Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
    And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.

    [Enter EDWARD, running]

EDWARD    Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death!
    For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.

WARWICK    How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good?

    [Enter GEORGE]

GEORGE    Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair;
    Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us:
    What counsel give you? whither shall we fly?

EDWARD    Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
    And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit.

    [Enter RICHARD]

RICHARD    Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
    Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
    Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance;
    And in the very pangs of death he cried,
    Like to a dismal clangour heard from far,
    'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!'
    So, underneath the belly of their steeds,
    That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
    The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

WARWICK    Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:
    I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
    Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
    Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
    And look upon, as if the tragedy
    Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
    Here on my knee I vow to God above,
    I'll never pause again, never stand still,
    Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine
    Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

EDWARD    O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;
    And in this vow do chain my soul to thine!
    And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
    I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
    Thou setter up and plucker down of kings,
    Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands
    That to my foes this body must be prey,
    Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
    And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!
    Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
    Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth.

RICHARD    Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick,
    Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:
    I, that did never weep, now melt with woe
    That winter should cut off our spring-time so.

WARWICK    Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell.

GEORGE    Yet let us all together to our troops,
    And give them leave to fly that will not stay;
    And call them pillars that will stand to us;
    And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
    As victors wear at the Olympian games:
    This may plant courage in their quailing breasts;
    For yet is hope of life and victory.
    Forslow no longer, make we hence amain.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE IV    Another part of the field.


    [Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD]

RICHARD    Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone:
    Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,
    And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
    Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

CLIFFORD    Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:
    This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York;
    And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;
    And here's the heart that triumphs in their death
    And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother
    To execute the like upon thyself;
    And so, have at thee!

    [They fight. WARWICK comes; CLIFFORD flies]

RICHARD    Nay Warwick, single out some other chase;
    For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE V    Another part of the field.


    [Alarum. Enter KING HENRY VI alone]

KING HENRY VI    This battle fares like to the morning's war,
    When dying clouds contend with growing light,
    What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
    Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
    Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea
    Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;
    Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea
    Forced to retire by fury of the wind:
    Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;
    Now one the better, then another best;
    Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
    Yet neither conqueror nor conquered:
    So is the equal of this fell war.
    Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
    To whom God will, there be the victory!
    For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
    Have chid me from the battle; swearing both
    They prosper best of all when I am thence.
    Would I were dead! if God's good will were so;
    For what is in this world but grief and woe?
    O God! methinks it were a happy life,
    To be no better than a homely swain;
    To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
    To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
    Thereby to see the minutes how they run,
    How many make the hour full complete;
    How many hours bring about the day;
    How many days will finish up the year;
    How many years a mortal man may live.
    When this is known, then to divide the times:
    So many hours must I tend my flock;
    So many hours must I take my rest;
    So many hours must I contemplate;
    So many hours must I sport myself;
    So many days my ewes have been with young;
    So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean:
    So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:
    So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,
    Pass'd over to the end they were created,
    Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
    Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
    Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade
    To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,
    Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
    To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
    O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.
    And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds,
    His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle.
    His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
    All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
    Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
    His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
    His body couched in a curious bed,
    When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

    [Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father,
    dragging in the dead body]

Son    Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
    This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
    May be possessed with some store of crowns;
    And I, that haply take them from him now,
    May yet ere night yield both my life and them
    To some man else, as this dead man doth me.
    Who's this? O God! it is my father's face,
    Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.
    O heavy times, begetting such events!
    From London by the king was I press'd forth;
    My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man,
    Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
    And I, who at his hands received my life, him
    Have by my hands of life bereaved him.
    Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!
    And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!
    My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
    And no more words till they have flow'd their fill.

KING HENRY VI    O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
    Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,
    Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
    Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear;
    And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,
    Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief.

    [Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body]

Father    Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
    Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold:
    For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
    But let me see: is this our foeman's face?
    Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!
    Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
    Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise,
    Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,
    Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart!
    O, pity, God, this miserable age!
    What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
    Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural,
    This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
    O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
    And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!

KING HENRY VI    Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
    O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!
    O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!
    The red rose and the white are on his face,
    The fatal colours of our striving houses:
    The one his purple blood right well resembles;
    The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth:
    Wither one rose, and let the other flourish;
    If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.

Son    How will my mother for a father's death
    Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied!

Father    How will my wife for slaughter of my son
    Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied!

KING HENRY VI    How will the country for these woful chances
    Misthink the king and not be satisfied!

Son    Was ever son so rued a father's death?

Father    Was ever father so bemoan'd his son?

KING HENRY VI    Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe?
    Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much.

Son    I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.

    [Exit with the body]

Father    These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
    My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,
    For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go;
    My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
    And so obsequious will thy father be,
    Even for the loss of thee, having no more,
    As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
    I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
    For I have murdered where I should not kill.

    [Exit with the body]

KING HENRY VI    Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
    Here sits a king more woful than you are.

    [Alarums: excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE
    EDWARD, and EXETER]

PRINCE EDWARD    Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,
    And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
    Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

QUEEN MARGARET    Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain:
    Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
    Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
    With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,
    And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,
    Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.

EXETER    Away! for vengeance comes along with them:
    Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
    Or else come after: I'll away before.

KING HENRY VI    Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter:
    Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
    Whither the queen intends. Forward; away!

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE VI    Another part of the field.


    [A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded]

CLIFFORD    Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
    Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.
    O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow
    More than my body's parting with my soul!
    My love and fear glued many friends to thee;
    And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts.
    Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York,
    The common people swarm like summer flies;
    And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
    And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
    O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent
    That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds,
    Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!
    And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
    Or as thy father and his father did,
    Giving no ground unto the house of York,
    They never then had sprung like summer flies;
    I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
    Had left no mourning widows for our death;
    And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
    For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
    And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
    Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
    No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
    The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
    For at their hands I have deserved no pity.
    The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
    And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.
    Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;
    I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.

    [He faints]

    [Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD,
    MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers]

EDWARD    Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause,
    And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
    Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen,
    That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
    As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
    Command an argosy to stem the waves.
    But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?

WARWICK    No, 'tis impossible he should escape,
    For, though before his face I speak the words
    Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:
    And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.

    [CLIFFORD groans, and dies]

EDWARD    Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

RICHARD    A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.

EDWARD    See who it is: and, now the battle's ended,
    If friend or foe, let him be gently used.

RICHARD    Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
    Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch
    In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
    But set his murdering knife unto the root
    From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
    I mean our princely father, Duke of York.

WARWICK    From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
    Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;
    Instead whereof let this supply the room:
    Measure for measure must be answered.

EDWARD    Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
    That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
    Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
    And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.

WARWICK    I think his understanding is bereft.
    Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?
    Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
    And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.

RICHARD    O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth:
    'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,
    Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
    Which in the time of death he gave our father.

GEORGE    If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.

RICHARD    Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.

EDWARD    Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

WARWICK    Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.

GEORGE    While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.

RICHARD    Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.

EDWARD    Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee.

GEORGE    Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?

WARWICK    They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont.

RICHARD    What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard
    When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.
    I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul,
    If this right hand would buy two hour's life,
    That I in all despite might rail at him,
    This hand should chop it off, and with the
    issuing blood
    Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst
    York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

WARWICK    Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head,
    And rear it in the place your father's stands.
    And now to London with triumphant march,
    There to be crowned England's royal king:
    From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
    And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen:
    So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
    And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
    The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again;
    For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
    Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.
    First will I see the coronation;
    And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea,
    To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.

EDWARD    Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;
    For in thy shoulder do I build my seat,
    And never will I undertake the thing
    Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.
    Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,
    And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself,
    Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.

RICHARD    Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester;
    For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous.

WARWICK    Tut, that's a foolish observation:
    Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London,
    To see these honours in possession.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE I    A forest in the north of England.


    [Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands]

First Keeper    Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves;
    For through this laund anon the deer will come;
    And in this covert will we make our stand,
    Culling the principal of all the deer.

Second Keeper    I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.

First Keeper    That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow
    Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
    Here stand we both, and aim we at the best:
    And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
    I'll tell thee what befell me on a day
    In this self-place where now we mean to stand.

Second Keeper    Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past.

    [Enter KING HENRY VI, disguised, with a prayerbook]

KING HENRY VI    From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,
    To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
    No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
    Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
    Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed:
    No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,
    No humble suitors press to speak for right,
    No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
    For how can I help them, and not myself?

First Keeper    Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee:
    This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.

KING HENRY VI    Let me embrace thee, sour adversity,
    For wise men say it is the wisest course.

Second Keeper    Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

First Keeper    Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.

KING HENRY VI    My queen and son are gone to France for aid;
    And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
    Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister
    To wife for Edward: if this news be true,
    Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost;
    For Warwick is a subtle orator,
    And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.
    By this account then Margaret may win him;
    For she's a woman to be pitied much:
    Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;
    Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
    The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn;
    And Nero will be tainted with remorse,
    To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears.
    Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give;
    She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry,
    He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
    She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed;
    He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd;
    That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more;
    Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
    Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,
    And in conclusion wins the king from her,
    With promise of his sister, and what else,
    To strengthen and support King Edward's place.
    O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,
    Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn!

Second Keeper    Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?

KING HENRY VI    More than I seem, and less than I was born to:
    A man at least, for less I should not be;
    And men may talk of kings, and why not I?

Second Keeper    Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

KING HENRY VI    Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

Second Keeper    But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?

KING HENRY VI    My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
    Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,
    Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:
    A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

Second Keeper    Well, if you be a king crown'd with content,
    Your crown content and you must be contented
    To go along with us; for as we think,
    You are the king King Edward hath deposed;
    And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance
    Will apprehend you as his enemy.

KING HENRY VI    But did you never swear, and break an oath?

Second Keeper    No, never such an oath; nor will not now.

KING HENRY VI    Where did you dwell when I was King of England?

Second Keeper    Here in this country, where we now remain.

KING HENRY VI    I was anointed king at nine months old;
    My father and my grandfather were kings,
    And you were sworn true subjects unto me:
    And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?

First Keeper    No;
    For we were subjects but while you were king.

KING HENRY VI    Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man?
    Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear!
    Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
    And as the air blows it to me again,
    Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
    And yielding to another when it blows,
    Commanded always by the greater gust;
    Such is the lightness of you common men.
    But do not break your oaths; for of that sin
    My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
    Go where you will, the king shall be commanded;
    And be you kings, command, and I'll obey.

First Keeper    We are true subjects to the king, King Edward.

KING HENRY VI    So would you be again to Henry,
    If he were seated as King Edward is.

First Keeper    We charge you, in God's name, and the king's,
    To go with us unto the officers.

KING HENRY VI    In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd:
    And what God will, that let your king perform;
    And what he will, I humbly yield unto.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE II    London. The palace.


    [Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and
    LADY GREY]

KING EDWARD IV    Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field
    This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain,
    His lands then seized on by the conqueror:
    Her suit is now to repossess those lands;
    Which we in justice cannot well deny,
    Because in quarrel of the house of York
    The worthy gentleman did lose his life.

GLOUCESTER    Your highness shall do well to grant her suit;
    It were dishonour to deny it her.

KING EDWARD IV    It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CLARENCE]  Yea, is it so?
    I see the lady hath a thing to grant,
    Before the king will grant her humble suit.

CLARENCE    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]  He knows the game: how true
    he keeps the wind!

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CLARENCE]  Silence!

KING EDWARD IV    Widow, we will consider of your suit;
    And come some other time to know our mind.

LADY GREY    Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay:
    May it please your highness to resolve me now;
    And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CLARENCE]  Ay, widow? then I'll warrant
    you all your lands,
    An if what pleases him shall pleasure you.
    Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow.

CLARENCE    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]  I fear her not, unless she
    chance to fall.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that! for he'll
    take vantages.

KING EDWARD IV    How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.

CLARENCE    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]  I think he means to beg a
    child of her.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CLARENCE]  Nay, whip me then: he'll rather
    give her two.

LADY GREY    Three, my most gracious lord.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CLARENCE]  You shall have four, if you'll
    be ruled by him.

KING EDWARD IV    'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.

LADY GREY    Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.

KING EDWARD IV    Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CLARENCE]  Ay, good leave have you; for
    you will have leave,
    Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.

    [GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE retire]

KING EDWARD IV    Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?

LADY GREY    Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.

KING EDWARD IV    And would you not do much to do them good?

LADY GREY    To do them good, I would sustain some harm.

KING EDWARD IV    Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.

LADY GREY    Therefore I came unto your majesty.

KING EDWARD IV    I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.

LADY GREY    So shall you bind me to your highness' service.

KING EDWARD IV    What service wilt thou do me, if I give them?

LADY GREY    What you command, that rests in me to do.

KING EDWARD IV    But you will take exceptions to my boon.

LADY GREY    No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.

KING EDWARD IV    Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.

LADY GREY    Why, then I will do what your grace commands.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CLARENCE]  He plies her hard; and much rain
    wears the marble.

CLARENCE    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]  As red as fire! nay, then
    her wax must melt.

LADY GREY    Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task?

KING EDWARD IV    An easy task; 'tis but to love a king.

LADY GREY    That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.

KING EDWARD IV    Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.

LADY GREY    I take my leave with many thousand thanks.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CLARENCE]  The match is made; she seals it
    with a curtsy.

KING EDWARD IV    But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean.

LADY GREY    The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.

KING EDWARD IV    Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.
    What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get?

LADY GREY    My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;
    That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.

KING EDWARD IV    No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.

LADY GREY    Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.

KING EDWARD IV    But now you partly may perceive my mind.

LADY GREY    My mind will never grant what I perceive
    Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.

KING EDWARD IV    To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.

LADY GREY    To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.

KING EDWARD IV    Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.

LADY GREY    Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;
    For by that loss I will not purchase them.

KING EDWARD IV    Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.

LADY GREY    Herein your highness wrongs both them and me.
    But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
    Accords not with the sadness of my suit:
    Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.'

KING EDWARD IV    Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request;
    No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand.

LADY GREY    Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CLARENCE]  The widow likes him not, she
    knits her brows.

CLARENCE    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]  He is the bluntest wooer in
    Christendom.

KING EDWARD IV    [Aside]  Her looks do argue her replete with modesty;
    Her words do show her wit incomparable;
    All her perfections challenge sovereignty:
    One way or other, she is for a king;
    And she shall be my love, or else my queen.--
    Say that King Edward take thee for his queen?

LADY GREY    'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord:
    I am a subject fit to jest withal,
    But far unfit to be a sovereign.

KING EDWARD IV    Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee
    I speak no more than what my soul intends;
    And that is, to enjoy thee for my love.

LADY GREY    And that is more than I will yield unto:
    I know I am too mean to be your queen,
    And yet too good to be your concubine.

KING EDWARD IV    You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen.

LADY GREY    'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father.

KING EDWARD IV    No more than when my daughters call thee mother.
    Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;
    And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor,
    Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing
    To be the father unto many sons.
    Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside to CLARENCE]  The ghostly father now hath done
    his shrift.

CLARENCE    [Aside to GLOUCESTER]  When he was made a shriver,
    'twas for shift.

KING EDWARD IV    Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.

GLOUCESTER    The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.

KING EDWARD IV    You'll think it strange if I should marry her.

CLARENCE    To whom, my lord?

KING EDWARD IV                      Why, Clarence, to myself.

GLOUCESTER    That would be ten days' wonder at the least.

CLARENCE    That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.

GLOUCESTER    By so much is the wonder in extremes.

KING EDWARD IV    Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both
    Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.

    [Enter a Nobleman]

Nobleman    My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,
    And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.

KING EDWARD IV    See that he be convey'd unto the Tower:
    And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
    To question of his apprehension.
    Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably.

    [Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER    Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
    Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all,
    That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
    To cross me from the golden time I look for!
    And yet, between my soul's desire and me--
    The lustful Edward's title buried--
    Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
    And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies,
    To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:
    A cold premeditation for my purpose!
    Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty;
    Like one that stands upon a promontory,
    And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
    Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,
    And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,
    Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way:
    So do I wish the crown, being so far off;
    And so I chide the means that keeps me from it;
    And so I say, I'll cut the causes off,
    Flattering me with impossibilities.
    My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,
    Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
    Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;
    What other pleasure can the world afford?
    I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
    And deck my body in gay ornaments,
    And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
    O miserable thought! and more unlikely
    Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!
    Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb:
    And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
    She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,
    To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;
    To make an envious mountain on my back,
    Where sits deformity to mock my body;
    To shape my legs of an unequal size;
    To disproportion me in every part,
    Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp
    That carries no impression like the dam.
    And am I then a man to be beloved?
    O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
    Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,
    But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such
    As are of better person than myself,
    I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,
    And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell,
    Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head
    Be round impaled with a glorious crown.
    And yet I know not how to get the crown,
    For many lives stand between me and home:
    And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood,
    That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns,
    Seeking a way and straying from the way;
    Not knowing how to find the open air,
    But toiling desperately to find it out,--
    Torment myself to catch the English crown:
    And from that torment I will free myself,
    Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.
    Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile,
    And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart,
    And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
    And frame my face to all occasions.
    I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;
    I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;
    I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,
    Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,
    And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.
    I can add colours to the chameleon,
    Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,
    And set the murderous Machiavel to school.
    Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
    Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.

    [Exit]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE III    France. KING LEWIS XI's palace.


    [Flourish. Enter KING LEWIS XI, his sister BONA,
    his Admiral, called BOURBON, PRINCE EDWARD, QUEEN
    MARGARET, and OXFORD. KING LEWIS XI sits, and
    riseth up again]

KING LEWIS XI    Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,
    Sit down with us: it ill befits thy state
    And birth, that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit.

QUEEN MARGARET    No, mighty King of France: now Margaret
    Must strike her sail and learn awhile to serve
    Where kings command. I was, I must confess,
    Great Albion's queen in former golden days:
    But now mischance hath trod my title down,
    And with dishonour laid me on the ground;
    Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,
    And to my humble seat conform myself.

KING LEWIS XI    Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair?

QUEEN MARGARET    From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears
    And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.

KING LEWIS XI    Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,
    And sit thee by our side:

    [Seats her by him]

            Yield not thy neck
    To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind
    Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
    Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
    It shall be eased, if France can yield relief.

QUEEN MARGARET    Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts
    And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.
    Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis,
    That Henry, sole possessor of my love,
    Is of a king become a banish'd man,
    And forced to live in Scotland a forlorn;
    While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York
    Usurps the regal title and the seat
    Of England's true-anointed lawful king.
    This is the cause that I, poor Margaret,
    With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir,
    Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid;
    And if thou fail us, all our hope is done:
    Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help;
    Our people and our peers are both misled,
    Our treasures seized, our soldiers put to flight,
    And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.

KING LEWIS XI    Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm,
    While we bethink a means to break it off.

QUEEN MARGARET    The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.

KING LEWIS XI    The more I stay, the more I'll succor thee.

QUEEN MARGARET    O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.
    And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow!

    [Enter WARWICK]

KING LEWIS XI    What's he approacheth boldly to our presence?

QUEEN MARGARET    Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.

KING LEWIS XI    Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France?

    [He descends. She ariseth]

QUEEN MARGARET    Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;
    For this is he that moves both wind and tide.

WARWICK    From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
    My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,
    I come, in kindness and unfeigned love,
    First, to do greetings to thy royal person;
    And then to crave a league of amity;
    And lastly, to confirm that amity
    With a nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant
    That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,
    To England's king in lawful marriage.

QUEEN MARGARET    [Aside]  If that go forward, Henry's hope is done.

WARWICK    [To BONA]  And, gracious madam, in our king's behalf,
    I am commanded, with your leave and favour,
    Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue
    To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart;
    Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears,
    Hath placed thy beauty's image and thy virtue.

QUEEN MARGARET    King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak,
    Before you answer Warwick. His demand
    Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,
    But from deceit bred by necessity;
    For how can tyrants safely govern home,
    Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?
    To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice,
    That Henry liveth still: but were he dead,
    Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son.
    Look, therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage
    Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour;
    For though usurpers sway the rule awhile,
    Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.

WARWICK    Injurious Margaret!

PRINCE EDWARD    And why not queen?

WARWICK    Because thy father Henry did usurp;
    And thou no more are prince than she is queen.

OXFORD    Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt,
    Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain;
    And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,
    Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest;
    And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth,
    Who by his prowess conquered all France:
    From these our Henry lineally descends.

WARWICK    Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse,
    You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost
    All that which Henry Fifth had gotten?
    Methinks these peers of France should smile at that.
    But for the rest, you tell a pedigree
    Of threescore and two years; a silly time
    To make prescription for a kingdom's worth.

OXFORD    Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege,
    Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years,
    And not bewray thy treason with a blush?

WARWICK    Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right,
    Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree?
    For shame! leave Henry, and call Edward king.

OXFORD    Call him my king by whose injurious doom
    My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere,
    Was done to death? and more than so, my father,
    Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years,
    When nature brought him to the door of death?
    No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm,
    This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.

WARWICK    And I the house of York.

KING LEWIS XI    Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford,
    Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside,
    While I use further conference with Warwick.

    [They stand aloof]

QUEEN MARGARET    Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not!

KING LEWIS XI    Now Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience,
    Is Edward your true king? for I were loath
    To link with him that were not lawful chosen.

WARWICK    Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.

KING LEWIS XI    But is he gracious in the people's eye?

WARWICK    The more that Henry was unfortunate.

KING LEWIS XI    Then further, all dissembling set aside,
    Tell me for truth the measure of his love
    Unto our sister Bona.

WARWICK    Such it seems
    As may beseem a monarch like himself.
    Myself have often heard him say and swear
    That this his love was an eternal plant,
    Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground,
    The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun,
    Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,
    Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.

KING LEWIS XI    Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.

BONA    Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine:

    [To WARWICK]

    Yet I confess that often ere this day,
    When I have heard your king's desert recounted,
    Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.

KING LEWIS XI    Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward's;
    And now forthwith shall articles be drawn
    Touching the jointure that your king must make,
    Which with her dowry shall be counterpoised.
    Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness
    That Bona shall be wife to the English king.

PRINCE EDWARD    To Edward, but not to the English king.

QUEEN MARGARET    Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device
    By this alliance to make void my suit:
    Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend.

KING LEWIS XI    And still is friend to him and Margaret:
    But if your title to the crown be weak,
    As may appear by Edward's good success,
    Then 'tis but reason that I be released
    From giving aid which late I promised.
    Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand
    That your estate requires and mine can yield.

WARWICK    Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease,
    Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.
    And as for you yourself, our quondam queen,
    You have a father able to maintain you;
    And better 'twere you troubled him than France.

QUEEN MARGARET    Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, peace,
    Proud setter up and puller down of kings!
    I will not hence, till, with my talk and tears,
    Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold
    Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love;
    For both of you are birds of selfsame feather.

    [Post blows a horn within]

KING LEWIS XI    Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.

    [Enter a Post]

Post    [To WARWICK]  My lord ambassador, these letters are for you,
    Sent from your brother, Marquess Montague:

    [To KING LEWIS XI]

    These from our king unto your majesty:

    [To QUEEN MARGARET]

    And, madam, these for you; from whom I know not.

    [They all read their letters]

OXFORD    I like it well that our fair queen and mistress
    Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.

PRINCE EDWARD    Nay, mark how Lewis stamps, as he were nettled:
    I hope all's for the best.

KING LEWIS XI    Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, fair queen?

QUEEN MARGARET    Mine, such as fill my heart with unhoped joys.

WARWICK    Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent.

KING LEWIS XI    What! has your king married the Lady Grey!
    And now, to soothe your forgery and his,
    Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?
    Is this the alliance that he seeks with France?
    Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?

QUEEN MARGARET    I told your majesty as much before:
    This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty.

WARWICK    King Lewis, I here protest, in sight of heaven,
    And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss,
    That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's,
    No more my king, for he dishonours me,
    But most himself, if he could see his shame.
    Did I forget that by the house of York
    My father came untimely to his death?
    Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece?
    Did I impale him with the regal crown?
    Did I put Henry from his native right?
    And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame?
    Shame on himself! for my desert is honour:
    And to repair my honour lost for him,
    I here renounce him and return to Henry.
    My noble queen, let former grudges pass,
    And henceforth I am thy true servitor:
    I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona,
    And replant Henry in his former state.

QUEEN MARGARET    Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love;
    And I forgive and quite forget old faults,
    And joy that thou becomest King Henry's friend.

WARWICK    So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,
    That, if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us
    With some few bands of chosen soldiers,
    I'll undertake to land them on our coast
    And force the tyrant from his seat by war.
    'Tis not his new-made bride shall succor him:
    And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me,
    He's very likely now to fall from him,
    For matching more for wanton lust than honour,
    Or than for strength and safety of our country.

BONA    Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged
    But by thy help to this distressed queen?

QUEEN MARGARET    Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live,
    Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?

BONA    My quarrel and this English queen's are one.

WARWICK    And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours.

KING LEWIS XI    And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's.
    Therefore at last I firmly am resolved
    You shall have aid.

QUEEN MARGARET    Let me give humble thanks for all at once.

KING LEWIS XI    Then, England's messenger, return in post,
    And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,
    That Lewis of France is sending over masquers
    To revel it with him and his new bride:
    Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal.

BONA    Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
    I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.

QUEEN MARGARET    Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside,
    And I am ready to put armour on.

WARWICK    Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,
    And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.
    There's thy reward: be gone.

    [Exit Post]

KING LEWIS XI    But, Warwick,
    Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men,
    Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle;
    And, as occasion serves, this noble queen
    And prince shall follow with a fresh supply.
    Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt,
    What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?

WARWICK    This shall assure my constant loyalty,
    That if our queen and this young prince agree,
    I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy
    To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.

QUEEN MARGARET    Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion.
    Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous,
    Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick;
    And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable,
    That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.

PRINCE EDWARD    Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it;
    And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand.

    [He gives his hand to WARWICK]

KING LEWIS XI    Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied,
    And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high admiral,
    Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet.
    I long till Edward fall by war's mischance,
    For mocking marriage with a dame of France.

    [Exeunt all but WARWICK]

WARWICK    I came from Edward as ambassador,
    But I return his sworn and mortal foe:
    Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,
    But dreadful war shall answer his demand.
    Had he none else to make a stale but me?
    Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.
    I was the chief that raised him to the crown,
    And I'll be chief to bring him down again:
    Not that I pity Henry's misery,
    But seek revenge on Edward's mockery.

    [Exit]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE I    London. The palace.


    [Enter GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, and MONTAGUE]

GLOUCESTER    Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you
    Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey?
    Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?

CLARENCE    Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France;
    How could he stay till Warwick made return?

SOMERSET    My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the king.

GLOUCESTER    And his well-chosen bride.

CLARENCE    I mind to tell him plainly what I think.

    [Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, attended; QUEEN
    ELIZABETH, PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, HASTINGS, and others]

KING EDWARD IV    Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice,
    That you stand pensive, as half malcontent?

CLARENCE    As well as Lewis of France, or the Earl of Warwick,
    Which are so weak of courage and in judgment
    That they'll take no offence at our abuse.

KING EDWARD IV    Suppose they take offence without a cause,
    They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward,
    Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will.

GLOUCESTER    And shall have your will, because our king:
    Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

KING EDWARD IV    Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?

GLOUCESTER    Not I:
    No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd
    Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 'twere pity
    To sunder them that yoke so well together.

KING EDWARD IV    Setting your scorns and your mislike aside,
    Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey
    Should not become my wife and England's queen.
    And you too, Somerset and Montague,
    Speak freely what you think.

CLARENCE    Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis
    Becomes your enemy, for mocking him
    About the marriage of the Lady Bona.

GLOUCESTER    And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,
    Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.

KING EDWARD IV    What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeased
    By such invention as I can devise?

MONTAGUE    Yet, to have join'd with France in such alliance
    Would more have strengthen'd this our commonwealth
    'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage.

HASTINGS    Why, knows not Montague that of itself
    England is safe, if true within itself?

MONTAGUE    But the safer when 'tis back'd with France.

HASTINGS    'Tis better using France than trusting France:
    Let us be back'd with God and with the seas
    Which He hath given for fence impregnable,
    And with their helps only defend ourselves;
    In them and in ourselves our safety lies.

CLARENCE    For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves
    To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.

KING EDWARD IV    Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant;
    And for this once my will shall stand for law.

GLOUCESTER    And yet methinks your grace hath not done well,
    To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales
    Unto the brother of your loving bride;
    She better would have fitted me or Clarence:
    But in your bride you bury brotherhood.

CLARENCE    Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir
    Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son,
    And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.

KING EDWARD IV    Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife
    That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.

CLARENCE    In choosing for yourself, you show'd your judgment,
    Which being shallow, you give me leave
    To play the broker in mine own behalf;
    And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.

KING EDWARD IV    Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king,
    And not be tied unto his brother's will.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    My lords, before it pleased his majesty
    To raise my state to title of a queen,
    Do me but right, and you must all confess
    That I was not ignoble of descent;
    And meaner than myself have had like fortune.
    But as this title honours me and mine,
    So your dislike, to whom I would be pleasing,
    Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.

KING EDWARD IV    My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns:
    What danger or what sorrow can befall thee,
    So long as Edward is thy constant friend,
    And their true sovereign, whom they must obey?
    Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too,
    Unless they seek for hatred at my hands;
    Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe,
    And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside]  I hear, yet say not much, but think the more.

    [Enter a Post]

KING EDWARD IV    Now, messenger, what letters or what news
    From France?

Post    My sovereign liege, no letters; and few words,
    But such as I, without your special pardon,
    Dare not relate.

KING EDWARD IV    Go to, we pardon thee: therefore, in brief,
    Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them.
    What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters?

Post    At my depart, these were his very words:
    'Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king,
    That Lewis of France is sending over masquers
    To revel it with him and his new bride.'

KING EDWARD IV    Is Lewis so brave? belike he thinks me Henry.
    But what said Lady Bona to my marriage?

Post    These were her words, utter'd with mad disdain:
    'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
    I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.'

KING EDWARD IV    I blame not her, she could say little less;
    She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen?
    For I have heard that she was there in place.

Post    'Tell him,' quoth she, 'my mourning weeds are done,
    And I am ready to put armour on.'

KING EDWARD IV    Belike she minds to play the Amazon.
    But what said Warwick to these injuries?

Post    He, more incensed against your majesty
    Than all the rest, discharged me with these words:
    'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,
    And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.'

KING EDWARD IV    Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?
    Well I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd:
    They shall have wars and pay for their presumption.
    But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?

Post    Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in
    friendship
    That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter.

CLARENCE    Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger.
    Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast,
    For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter;
    That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage
    I may not prove inferior to yourself.
    You that love me and Warwick, follow me.

    [Exit CLARENCE, and SOMERSET follows]

GLOUCESTER    [Aside]  Not I:
    My thoughts aim at a further matter; I
    Stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown.

KING EDWARD IV    Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!
    Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen;
    And haste is needful in this desperate case.
    Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf
    Go levy men, and make prepare for war;
    They are already, or quickly will be landed:
    Myself in person will straight follow you.

    [Exeunt PEMBROKE and STAFFORD]

    But, ere I go, Hastings and Montague,
    Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest,
    Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance:
    Tell me if you love Warwick more than me?
    If it be so, then both depart to him;
    I rather wish you foes than hollow friends:
    But if you mind to hold your true obedience,
    Give me assurance with some friendly vow,
    That I may never have you in suspect.

MONTAGUE    So God help Montague as he proves true!

HASTINGS    And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause!

KING EDWARD IV    Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?

GLOUCESTER    Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.

KING EDWARD IV    Why, so! then am I sure of victory.
    Now therefore let us hence; and lose no hour,
    Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE II    A plain in Warwickshire.


    [Enter WARWICK and OXFORD, with French soldiers]

WARWICK    Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;
    The common people by numbers swarm to us.

    [Enter CLARENCE and SOMERSET]

    But see where Somerset and Clarence come!
    Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?

CLARENCE    Fear not that, my lord.

WARWICK    Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;
    And welcome, Somerset: I hold it cowardice
    To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
    Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love;
    Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother,
    Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings:
    But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine.
    And now what rests but, in night's coverture,
    Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd,
    His soldiers lurking in the towns about,
    And but attended by a simple guard,
    We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?
    Our scouts have found the adventure very easy:
    That as Ulysses and stout Diomede
    With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents,
    And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,
    So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,
    At unawares may beat down Edward's guard
    And seize himself; I say not, slaughter him,
    For I intend but only to surprise him.
    You that will follow me to this attempt,
    Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.

    [They all cry, 'Henry!']

    Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort:
    For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George!

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE III    Edward's camp, near Warwick.


    [Enter three Watchmen, to guard KING EDWARD IV's tent]

First Watchman    Come on, my masters, each man take his stand:
    The king by this is set him down to sleep.

Second Watchman    What, will he not to bed?

First Watchman    Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow
    Never to lie and take his natural rest
    Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd.

Second Watchman    To-morrow then belike shall be the day,
    If Warwick be so near as men report.

Third Watchman    But say, I pray, what nobleman is that
    That with the king here resteth in his tent?

First Watchman    'Tis the Lord Hastings, the king's chiefest friend.

Third Watchman    O, is it so? But why commands the king
    That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,
    While he himself keeps in the cold field?

Second Watchman    'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous.

Third Watchman    Ay, but give me worship and quietness;
    I like it better than a dangerous honour.
    If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,
    'Tis to be doubted he would waken him.

First Watchman    Unless our halberds did shut up his passage.

Second Watchman    Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent,
    But to defend his person from night-foes?

    [Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, SOMERSET, and
    French soldiers, silent all]

WARWICK    This is his tent; and see where stand his guard.
    Courage, my masters! honour now or never!
    But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.

First Watchman    Who goes there?

Second Watchman    Stay, or thou diest!

    [WARWICK and the rest cry all, 'Warwick! Warwick!'
    and set upon the Guard, who fly, crying, 'Arm!
    arm!' WARWICK and the rest following them]

    [The drum playing and trumpet sounding, reenter
    WARWICK, SOMERSET, and the rest, bringing KING
    EDWARD IV out in his gown, sitting in a chair.
    RICHARD and HASTINGS fly over the stage]

SOMERSET    What are they that fly there?

WARWICK    Richard and Hastings: let them go; here is The duke.

KING EDWARD IV            The duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted,
    Thou call'dst me king.

WARWICK    Ay, but the case is alter'd:
    When you disgraced me in my embassade,
    Then I degraded you from being king,
    And come now to create you Duke of York.
    Alas! how should you govern any kingdom,
    That know not how to use ambassadors,
    Nor how to be contented with one wife,
    Nor how to use your brothers brotherly,
    Nor how to study for the people's welfare,
    Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies?

KING EDWARD IV    Yea, brother of Clarence, are thou here too?
    Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down.
    Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance,
    Of thee thyself and all thy complices,
    Edward will always bear himself as king:
    Though fortune's malice overthrow my state,
    My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.

WARWICK    Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king:

    [Takes off his crown]

    But Henry now shall wear the English crown,
    And be true king indeed, thou but the shadow.
    My Lord of Somerset, at my request,
    See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd
    Unto my brother, Archbishop of York.
    When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows,
    I'll follow you, and tell what answer
    Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him.
    Now, for a while farewell, good Duke of York.

    [They lead him out forcibly]

KING EDWARD IV    What fates impose, that men must needs abide;
    It boots not to resist both wind and tide.

    [Exit, guarded]

OXFORD    What now remains, my lords, for us to do
    But march to London with our soldiers?

WARWICK    Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do;
    To free King Henry from imprisonment
    And see him seated in the regal throne.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE IV    London. The palace.


    [Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and RIVERS]

RIVERS    Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Why brother Rivers, are you yet to learn
    What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward?

RIVERS    What! loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    No, but the loss of his own royal person.

RIVERS    Then is my sovereign slain?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner,
    Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard
    Or by his foe surprised at unawares:
    And, as I further have to understand,
    Is new committed to the Bishop of York,
    Fell Warwick's brother and by that our foe.

RIVERS    These news I must confess are full of grief;
    Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may:
    Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Till then fair hope must hinder life's decay.
    And I the rather wean me from despair
    For love of Edward's offspring in my womb:
    This is it that makes me bridle passion
    And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross;
    Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear
    And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs,
    Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown
    King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown.

RIVERS    But, madam, where is Warwick then become?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    I am inform'd that he comes towards London,
    To set the crown once more on Henry's head:
    Guess thou the rest; King Edward's friends must down,
    But, to prevent the tyrant's violence,--
    For trust not him that hath once broken faith,--
    I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary,
    To save at least the heir of Edward's right:
    There shall I rest secure from force and fraud.
    Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly:
    If Warwick take us we are sure to die.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE V    A park near Middleham Castle In Yorkshire.


    [Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and STANLEY]

GLOUCESTER    Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley,
    Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither,
    Into this chiefest thicket of the park.
    Thus stands the case: you know our king, my brother,
    Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands
    He hath good usage and great liberty,
    And, often but attended with weak guard,
    Comes hunting this way to disport himself.
    I have advertised him by secret means
    That if about this hour he make his way
    Under the colour of his usual game,
    He shall here find his friends with horse and men
    To set him free from his captivity.

    [Enter KING EDWARD IV and a Huntsman with him]

Huntsman    This way, my lord; for this way lies the game.

KING EDWARD IV    Nay, this way, man: see where the huntsmen stand.
    Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest,
    Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer?

GLOUCESTER    Brother, the time and case requireth haste:
    Your horse stands ready at the park-corner.

KING EDWARD IV    But whither shall we then?

HASTINGS    To Lynn, my lord,
    And ship from thence to Flanders.

GLOUCESTER    Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning.

KING EDWARD IV    Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.

GLOUCESTER    But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to talk.

KING EDWARD IV    Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou go along?

Huntsman    Better do so than tarry and be hang'd.

GLOUCESTER    Come then, away; let's ha' no more ado.

KING EDWARD IV    Bishop, farewell: shield thee from Warwick's frown;
    And pray that I may repossess the crown.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VI    London. The Tower.


    [Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLARENCE, WARWICK,
    SOMERSET, HENRY OF RICHMOND, OXFORD, MONTAGUE, and
    Lieutenant of the Tower]

KING HENRY VI    Master lieutenant, now that God and friends
    Have shaken Edward from the regal seat,
    And turn'd my captive state to liberty,
    My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys,
    At our enlargement what are thy due fees?

Lieutenant    Subjects may challenge nothing of their sovereigns;
    But if an humble prayer may prevail,
    I then crave pardon of your majesty.

KING HENRY VI    For what, lieutenant? for well using me?
    Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness,
    For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure;
    Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds
    Conceive when after many moody thoughts
    At last by notes of household harmony
    They quite forget their loss of liberty.
    But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free,
    And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee;
    He was the author, thou the instrument.
    Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite
    By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me,
    And that the people of this blessed land
    May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars,
    Warwick, although my head still wear the crown,
    I here resign my government to thee,
    For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.

WARWICK    Your grace hath still been famed for virtuous;
    And now may seem as wise as virtuous,
    By spying and avoiding fortune's malice,
    For few men rightly temper with the stars:
    Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace,
    For choosing me when Clarence is in place.

CLARENCE    No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway,
    To whom the heavens in thy nativity
    Adjudged an olive branch and laurel crown,
    As likely to be blest in peace and war;
    And therefore I yield thee my free consent.

WARWICK    And I choose Clarence only for protector.

KING HENRY VI    Warwick and Clarence give me both your hands:
    Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts,
    That no dissension hinder government:
    I make you both protectors of this land,
    While I myself will lead a private life
    And in devotion spend my latter days,
    To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise.

WARWICK    What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will?

CLARENCE    That he consents, if Warwick yield consent;
    For on thy fortune I repose myself.

WARWICK    Why, then, though loath, yet must I be content:
    We'll yoke together, like a double shadow
    To Henry's body, and supply his place;
    I mean, in bearing weight of government,
    While he enjoys the honour and his ease.
    And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful
    Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a traitor,
    And all his lands and goods be confiscate.

CLARENCE    What else? and that succession be determined.

WARWICK    Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.

KING HENRY VI    But, with the first of all your chief affairs,
    Let me entreat, for I command no more,
    That Margaret your queen and my son Edward
    Be sent for, to return from France with speed;
    For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear
    My joy of liberty is half eclipsed.

CLARENCE    It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed.

KING HENRY VI    My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that,
    Of whom you seem to have so tender care?

SOMERSET    My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Richmond.

KING HENRY VI    Come hither, England's hope.

    [Lays his hand on his head]

               If secret powers
    Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,
    This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss.
    His looks are full of peaceful majesty,
    His head by nature framed to wear a crown,
    His hand to wield a sceptre, and himself
    Likely in time to bless a regal throne.
    Make much of him, my lords, for this is he
    Must help you more than you are hurt by me.

    [Enter a Post]

WARWICK    What news, my friend?

Post    That Edward is escaped from your brother,
    And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.

WARWICK    Unsavoury news! but how made he escape?

Post    He was convey'd by Richard Duke of Gloucester
    And the Lord Hastings, who attended him
    In secret ambush on the forest side
    And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him;
    For hunting was his daily exercise.

WARWICK    My brother was too careless of his charge.
    But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide
    A salve for any sore that may betide.

    [Exeunt all but SOMERSET, HENRY OF RICHMOND, and OXFORD]

SOMERSET    My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's;
    For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help,
    And we shall have more wars before 't be long.
    As Henry's late presaging prophecy
    Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond,
    So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts
    What may befall him, to his harm and ours:
    Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst,
    Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany,
    Till storms be past of civil enmity.

OXFORD    Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown,
    'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down.

SOMERSET    It shall be so; he shall to Brittany.
    Come, therefore, let's about it speedily.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VII    Before York.


    [Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER,
    HASTINGS, and Soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV    Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest,
    Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,
    And says that once more I shall interchange
    My waned state for Henry's regal crown.
    Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the seas
    And brought desired help from Burgundy:
    What then remains, we being thus arrived
    From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York,
    But that we enter, as into our dukedom?

GLOUCESTER    The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this;
    For many men that stumble at the threshold
    Are well foretold that danger lurks within.

KING EDWARD IV    Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us:
    By fair or foul means we must enter in,
    For hither will our friends repair to us.

HASTINGS    My liege, I'll knock once more to summon them.

    [Enter, on the walls, the Mayor of York, and his Brethren]

Mayor    My lords, we were forewarned of your coming,
    And shut the gates for safety of ourselves;
    For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.

KING EDWARD IV    But, master mayor, if Henry be your king,
    Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York.

Mayor    True, my good lord; I know you for no less.

KING EDWARD IV    Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom,
    As being well content with that alone.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside]  But when the fox hath once got in his nose,
    He'll soon find means to make the body follow.

HASTINGS    Why, master mayor, why stand you in a doubt?
    Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends.

Mayor    Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be open'd.

    [They descend]

GLOUCESTER    A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded!

HASTINGS    The good old man would fain that all were well,
    So 'twere not 'long of him; but being enter'd,
    I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade
    Both him and all his brothers unto reason.

    [Enter the Mayor and two Aldermen, below]

KING EDWARD IV    So, master mayor: these gates must not be shut
    But in the night or in the time of war.
    What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys;

    [Takes his keys]

    For Edward will defend the town and thee,
    And all those friends that deign to follow me.

    [March. Enter MONTGOMERY, with drum and soldiers]

GLOUCESTER    Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery,
    Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived.

KING EDWARD IV    Welcome, Sir John! But why come you in arms?

MONTAGUE    To help King Edward in his time of storm,
    As every loyal subject ought to do.

KING EDWARD IV    Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget
    Our title to the crown and only claim
    Our dukedom till God please to send the rest.

MONTAGUE    Then fare you well, for I will hence again:
    I came to serve a king and not a duke.
    Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.

    [The drum begins to march]

KING EDWARD IV    Nay, stay, Sir John, awhile, and we'll debate
    By what safe means the crown may be recover'd.

MONTAGUE    What talk you of debating? in few words,
    If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king,
    I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone
    To keep them back that come to succor you:
    Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title?

GLOUCESTER    Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?

KING EDWARD IV    When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim:
    Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.

HASTINGS    Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule.

GLOUCESTER    And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
    Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand:
    The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.

KING EDWARD IV    Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right,
    And Henry but usurps the diadem.

MONTAGUE    Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself;
    And now will I be Edward's champion.

HASTINGS    Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd:
    Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation.

    [Flourish]

Soldier    Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, king of
    England and France, and lord of Ireland, &c.

MONTAGUE    And whosoe'er gainsays King Edward's right,
    By this I challenge him to single fight.

    [Throws down his gauntlet]

All    Long live Edward the Fourth!

KING EDWARD IV    Thanks, brave Montgomery; and thanks unto you all:
    If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness.
    Now, for this night, let's harbour here in York;
    And when the morning sun shall raise his car
    Above the border of this horizon,
    We'll forward towards Warwick and his mates;
    For well I wot that Henry is no soldier.
    Ah, froward Clarence! how evil it beseems thee
    To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother!
    Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick.
    Come on, brave soldiers: doubt not of the day,
    And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VIII    London. The palace.


    [Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, WARWICK, MONTAGUE,
    CLARENCE, EXETER, and OXFORD]

WARWICK    What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia,
    With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders,
    Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas,
    And with his troops doth march amain to London;
    And many giddy people flock to him.

KING HENRY VI    Let's levy men, and beat him back again.

CLARENCE    A little fire is quickly trodden out;
    Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.

WARWICK    In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends,
    Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war;
    Those will I muster up: and thou, son Clarence,
    Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,
    The knights and gentlemen to come with thee:
    Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,
    Northampton and in Leicestershire, shalt find
    Men well inclined to hear what thou command'st:
    And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well beloved,
    In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends.
    My sovereign, with the loving citizens,
    Like to his island girt in with the ocean,
    Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs,
    Shall rest in London till we come to him.
    Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply.
    Farewell, my sovereign.

KING HENRY VI    Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope.

CLARENCE    In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand.

KING HENRY VI    Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!

MONTAGUE    Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave.

OXFORD    And thus I seal my truth, and bid adieu.

KING HENRY VI    Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,
    And all at once, once more a happy farewell.

WARWICK    Farewell, sweet lords: let's meet at Coventry.

    [Exeunt all but KING HENRY VI and EXETER]

KING HENRY VI    Here at the palace I will rest awhile.
    Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship?
    Methinks the power that Edward hath in field
    Should not be able to encounter mine.

EXETER    The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.

KING HENRY VI    That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame:
    I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,
    Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;
    My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
    My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,
    My mercy dried their water-flowing tears;
    I have not been desirous of their wealth,
    Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies.
    Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd:
    Then why should they love Edward more than me?
    No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace:
    And when the lion fawns upon the lamb,
    The lamb will never cease to follow him.

    [Shout within. 'A Lancaster! A Lancaster!']

EXETER    Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these?

    [Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV    Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear him hence;
    And once again proclaim us King of England.
    You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow:
    Now stops thy spring; my sea sha$l suck them dry,
    And swell so much the higher by their ebb.
    Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak.

    [Exeunt some with KING HENRY VI]

    And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course
    Where peremptory Warwick now remains:
    The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay,
    Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay.

GLOUCESTER    Away betimes, before his forces join,
    And take the great-grown traitor unawares:
    Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE I    Coventry.


    [Enter WARWICK, the Mayor of Coventry, two Messengers,
    and others upon the walls]

WARWICK    Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford?
    How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?

First Messenger    By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.

WARWICK    How far off is our brother Montague?
    Where is the post that came from Montague?

Second Messenger    By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.

    [Enter SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE]

WARWICK    Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?
    And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now?

SOMERSET    At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
    And do expect him here some two hours hence.

    [Drum heard]

WARWICK    Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.

SOMERSET    It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies:
    The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick.

WARWICK    Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends.

SOMERSET    They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.

    [March: flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER,
    and soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV    Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle.

GLOUCESTER    See how the surly Warwick mans the wall!

WARWICK    O unbid spite! is sportful Edward come?
    Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced,
    That we could hear no news of his repair?

KING EDWARD IV    Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates,
    Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy knee,
    Call Edward king and at his hands beg mercy?
    And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

WARWICK    Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
    Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee own,
    Call Warwick patron and be penitent?
    And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.

GLOUCESTER    I thought, at least, he would have said the king;
    Or did he make the jest against his will?

WARWICK    Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?

GLOUCESTER    Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give:
    I'll do thee service for so good a gift.

WARWICK    'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.

KING EDWARD IV    Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.

WARWICK    Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight:
    And weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
    And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject.

KING EDWARD IV    But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner:
    And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this:
    What is the body when the head is off?

GLOUCESTER    Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,
    But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,
    The king was slily finger'd from the deck!
    You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
    And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.

EDWARD    'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.

GLOUCESTER    Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down:
    Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools.

WARWICK    I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
    And with the other fling it at thy face,
    Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.

KING EDWARD IV    Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend,
    This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair
    Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off,
    Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,
    'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.'

    [Enter OXFORD, with drum and colours]

WARWICK    O cheerful colours! see where Oxford comes!

OXFORD    Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!

    [He and his forces enter the city]

GLOUCESTER    The gates are open, let us enter too.

KING EDWARD IV    So other foes may set upon our backs.
    Stand we in good array; for they no doubt
    Will issue out again and bid us battle:
    If not, the city being but of small defence,
    We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same.

WARWICK    O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.

    [Enter MONTAGUE with drum and colours]

MONTAGUE    Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!

    [He and his forces enter the city]

GLOUCESTER    Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason
    Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.

KING EDWARD IV    The harder match'd, the greater victory:
    My mind presageth happy gain and conquest.

    [Enter SOMERSET, with drum and colours]

SOMERSET    Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!

    [He and his forces enter the city]

GLOUCESTER    Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
    Have sold their lives unto the house of York;
    And thou shalt be the third if this sword hold.

    [Enter CLARENCE, with drum and colours]

WARWICK    And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along,
    Of force enough to bid his brother battle;
    With whom an upright zeal to right prevails
    More than the nature of a brother's love!
    Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call.

CLARENCE    Father of Warwick, know you what this means?

    [Taking his red rose out of his hat]

    Look here, I throw my infamy at thee
    I will not ruinate my father's house,
    Who gave his blood to lime the stones together,
    And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick,
    That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural,
    To bend the fatal instruments of war
    Against his brother and his lawful king?
    Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath:
    To keep that oath were more impiety
    Than Jephthah's, when he sacrificed his daughter.
    I am so sorry for my trespass made
    That, to deserve well at my brother's hands,
    I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe,
    With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee--
    As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad--
    To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.
    And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,
    And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.
    Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends:
    And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
    For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.

KING EDWARD IV    Now welcome more, and ten times more beloved,
    Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.

GLOUCESTER    Welcome, good Clarence; this is brotherlike.

WARWICK    O passing traitor, perjured and unjust!

KING EDWARD IV    What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight?
    Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?

WARWICK    Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence!
    I will away towards Barnet presently,
    And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest.

KING EDWARD IV    Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way.
    Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory!

    [Exeunt King Edward and his company. March. Warwick
    and his company follow]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE II    A field of battle near Barnet.


    [Alarum and excursions. Enter KING EDWARD IV, bringing
    forth WARWICK wounded]

KING EDWARD IV    So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear;
    For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all.
    Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,
    That Warwick's bones may keep thine company.

    [Exit]

WARWICK    Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe,
    And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?
    Why ask I that? my mangled body shows,
    My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows.
    That I must yield my body to the earth
    And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
    Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
    Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
    Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
    Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree
    And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind.
    These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,
    Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun,
    To search the secret treasons of the world:
    The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood,
    Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres;
    For who lived king, but I could dig his grave?
    And who durst mine when Warwick bent his brow?
    Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood!
    My parks, my walks, my manors that I had.
    Even now forsake me, and of all my lands
    Is nothing left me but my body's length.
    Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
    And, live we how we can, yet die we must.

    [Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET]

SOMERSET    Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are.
    We might recover all our loss again;
    The queen from France hath brought a puissant power:
    Even now we heard the news: ah, could'st thou fly!

WARWICK    Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague,
    If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand.
    And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile!
    Thou lovest me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
    Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood
    That glues my lips and will not let me speak.
    Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.

SOMERSET    Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breathed his last;
    And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick,
    And said 'Commend me to my valiant brother.'
    And more he would have said, and more he spoke,
    Which sounded like a clamour in a vault,
    That mought not be distinguished; but at last
    I well might hear, delivered with a groan,
    'O, farewell, Warwick!'

WARWICK    Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves;
    For Warwick bids you all farewell to meet in heaven.

    [Dies]

OXFORD    Away, away, to meet the queen's great power!

    [Here they bear away his body. Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE III    Another part of the field.


    [Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV in triumph; with
    GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest]

KING EDWARD IV    Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course,
    And we are graced with wreaths of victory.
    But, in the midst of this bright-shining day,
    I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud,
    That will encounter with our glorious sun,
    Ere he attain his easeful western bed:
    I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen
    Hath raised in Gallia have arrived our coast
    And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.

CLARENCE    A little gale will soon disperse that cloud
    And blow it to the source from whence it came:
    The very beams will dry those vapours up,
    For every cloud engenders not a storm.

GLOUCESTER    The queen is valued thirty thousand strong,
    And Somerset, with Oxford fled to her:
    If she have time to breathe be well assured
    Her faction will be full as strong as ours.

KING EDWARD IV    We are advertised by our loving friends
    That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury:
    We, having now the best at Barnet field,
    Will thither straight, for willingness rids way;
    And, as we march, our strength will be augmented
    In every county as we go along.
    Strike up the drum; cry 'Courage!' and away.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE IV    Plains near Tewksbury.


    [March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD,
    SOMERSET, OXFORD, and soldiers]

QUEEN MARGARET    Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,
    But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
    What though the mast be now blown overboard,
    The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,
    And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood?
    Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he
    Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad
    With tearful eyes add water to the sea
    And give more strength to that which hath too much,
    Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
    Which industry and courage might have saved?
    Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!
    Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that?
    And Montague our topmost; what of him?
    Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of these?
    Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?
    And Somerset another goodly mast?
    The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?
    And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
    For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?
    We will not from the helm to sit and weep,
    But keep our course, though the rough wind say no,
    From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck.
    As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.
    And what is Edward but ruthless sea?
    What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit?
    And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?
    All these the enemies to our poor bark.
    Say you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while!
    Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink:
    Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,
    Or else you famish; that's a threefold death.
    This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
    If case some one of you would fly from us,
    That there's no hoped-for mercy with the brothers
    More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks.
    Why, courage then! what cannot be avoided
    'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.

PRINCE EDWARD    Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit
    Should, if a coward heard her speak these words,
    Infuse his breast with magnanimity
    And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.
    I speak not this as doubting any here
    For did I but suspect a fearful man
    He should have leave to go away betimes,
    Lest in our need he might infect another
    And make him of like spirit to himself.
    If any such be here--as God forbid!--
    Let him depart before we need his help.

OXFORD    Women and children of so high a courage,
    And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame.
    O brave young prince! thy famous grandfather
    Doth live again in thee: long mayst thou live
    To bear his image and renew his glories!

SOMERSET    And he that will not fight for such a hope.
    Go home to bed, and like the owl by day,
    If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at.

QUEEN MARGARET    Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks.

PRINCE EDWARD    And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand.
    Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.

OXFORD     I thought no less: it is his policy
    To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.

SOMERSET    But he's deceived; we are in readiness.

QUEEN MARGARET    This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.

OXFORD    Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.

    [Flourish and march. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER,
    CLARENCE, and soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV    Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood,
    Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength,
    Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
    I need not add more fuel to your fire,
    For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out
    Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords!

QUEEN MARGARET    Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say
    My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,
    Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes.
    Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,
    Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,
    His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,
    His statutes cancell'd and his treasure spent;
    And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.
    You fight in justice: then, in God's name, lords,
    Be valiant and give signal to the fight.

    [Alarum. Retreat. Excursions. Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE V    Another part of the field.


    [Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE,
    and soldiers; with QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and
    SOMERSET, prisoners]

KING EDWARD IV    Now here a period of tumultuous broils.
    Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight:
    For Somerset, off with his guilty head.
    Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.

OXFORD    For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.

SOMERSET    Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.

    [Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded]

QUEEN MARGARET    So part we sadly in this troublous world,
    To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

KING EDWARD IV    Is proclamation made, that who finds Edward
    Shall have a high reward, and he his life?

GLOUCESTER    It is: and lo, where youthful Edward comes!

    [Enter soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD]

KING EDWARD IV    Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him speak.
    What! can so young a thorn begin to prick?
    Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make
    For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,
    And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?

PRINCE EDWARD    Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York!
    Suppose that I am now my father's mouth;
    Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou,
    Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee,
    Which traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.

QUEEN MARGARET    Ah, that thy father had been so resolved!

GLOUCESTER    That you might still have worn the petticoat,
    And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.

PRINCE EDWARD    Let AEsop fable in a winter's night;
    His currish riddles sort not with this place.

GLOUCESTER    By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for that word.

QUEEN MARGARET    Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.

GLOUCESTER    For God's sake, take away this captive scold.

PRINCE EDWARD    Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.

KING EDWARD IV    Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.

CLARENCE    Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.

PRINCE EDWARD    I know my duty; you are all undutiful:
    Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George,
    And thou mis-shapen Dick, I tell ye all
    I am your better, traitors as ye are:
    And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.

KING EDWARD IV    Take that, thou likeness of this railer here.

    [Stabs him]

GLOUCESTER    Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony.

    [Stabs him]

CLARENCE    And there's for twitting me with perjury.

    [Stabs him]

QUEEN MARGARET    O, kill me too!

GLOUCESTER    Marry, and shall.

    [Offers to kill her]

KING EDWARD IV    Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done too much.

GLOUCESTER    Why should she live, to fill the world with words?

KING EDWARD IV    What, doth she swoon? use means for her recovery.

GLOUCESTER    Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother;
    I'll hence to London on a serious matter:
    Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.

CLARENCE    What? what?

GLOUCESTER    The Tower, the Tower.

    [Exit]

QUEEN MARGARET    O Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy!
    Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers!
    They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all,
    Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,
    If this foul deed were by to equal it:
    He was a man; this, in respect, a child:
    And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
    What's worse than murderer, that I may name it?
    No, no, my heart will burst, and if I speak:
    And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.
    Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals!
    How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!
    You have no children, butchers! if you had,
    The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse:
    But if you ever chance to have a child,
    Look in his youth to have him so cut off
    As, deathmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!

KING EDWARD IV    Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.

QUEEN MARGARET    Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here,
    Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death:
    What, wilt thou not? then, Clarence, do it thou.

CLARENCE    By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.

QUEEN MARGARET    Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.

CLARENCE    Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?

QUEEN MARGARET    Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself:
    'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.
    What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher,
    Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?
    Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed;
    Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.

KING EDWARD IV    Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence.

QUEEN MARGARET    So come to you and yours, as to this Prince!

    [Exit, led out forcibly]

KING EDWARD IV    Where's Richard gone?

CLARENCE    To London, all in post; and, as I guess,
    To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

KING EDWARD IV    He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.
    Now march we hence: discharge the common sort
    With pay and thanks, and let's away to London
    And see our gentle queen how well she fares:
    By this, I hope, she hath a son for me.

    [Exeunt]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE VI    London. The Tower.


    [Enter KING HENRY VI and GLOUCESTER, with the
    Lieutenant, on the walls]

GLOUCESTER    Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?

KING HENRY VI    Ay, my good lord:--my lord, I should say rather;
    'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better:
    'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike,
    And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.'

GLOUCESTER    Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer.

    [Exit Lieutenant]

KING HENRY VI    So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf;
    So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece
    And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.
    What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?

GLOUCESTER    Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
    The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

KING HENRY VI    The bird that hath been limed in a bush,
    With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;
    And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,
    Have now the fatal object in my eye
    Where my poor young was limed, was caught and kill'd.

GLOUCESTER    Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
    That taught his son the office of a fowl!
    An yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.

KING HENRY VI    I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
    Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
    The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy
    Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea
    Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
    Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
    My breast can better brook thy dagger's point
    Than can my ears that tragic history.
    But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life?

GLOUCESTER    Think'st thou I am an executioner?

KING HENRY VI    A persecutor, I am sure, thou art:
    If murdering innocents be executing,
    Why, then thou art an executioner.

GLOUCESTER    Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.

KING HENRY VI    Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou didst presume,
    Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine.
    And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand,
    Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,
    And many an old man's sigh and many a widow's,
    And many an orphan's water-standing eye--
    Men for their sons, wives for their husbands,
    And orphans for their parents timeless death--
    Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
    The owl shriek'd at thy birth,--an evil sign;
    The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
    Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees;
    The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,
    And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
    Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
    And, yet brought forth less than a mother's hope,
    To wit, an indigested and deformed lump,
    Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
    Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
    To signify thou camest to bite the world:
    And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
    Thou camest--

GLOUCESTER    I'll hear no more: die, prophet in thy speech:

    [Stabs him]

    For this amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.

KING HENRY VI    Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
    God forgive my sins, and pardon thee!

    [Dies]

GLOUCESTER    What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
    Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
    See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death!
    O, may such purple tears be alway shed
    From those that wish the downfall of our house!
    If any spark of life be yet remaining,
    Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither:

    [Stabs him again]

    I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.
    Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of;
    For I have often heard my mother say
    I came into the world with my legs forward:
    Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
    And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
    The midwife wonder'd and the women cried
    'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!'
    And so I was; which plainly signified
    That I should snarl and bite and play the dog.
    Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so,
    Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
    I have no brother, I am like no brother;
    And this word 'love,' which graybeards call divine,
    Be resident in men like one another
    And not in me: I am myself alone.
    Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light:
    But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;
    For I will buz abroad such prophecies
    That Edward shall be fearful of his life,
    And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
    King Henry and the prince his son are gone:
    Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest,
    Counting myself but bad till I be best.
    I'll throw thy body in another room
    And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.

    [Exit, with the body]




    3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE VII    London. The palace.


    [Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, QUEEN ELIZABETH,
    CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, a Nurse with the
    young Prince, and Attendants]

KING EDWARD IV    Once more we sit in England's royal throne,
    Re-purchased with the blood of enemies.
    What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,
    Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride!
    Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd
    For hardy and undoubted champions;
    Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
    And two Northumberlands; two braver men
    Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound;
    With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,
    That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion
    And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
    Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat
    And made our footstool of security.
    Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.
    Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself
    Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night,
    Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat,
    That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace;
    And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside]  I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid;
    For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
    This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave;
    And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:
    Work thou the way,--and thou shalt execute.

KING EDWARD IV    Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen;
    And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.

CLARENCE    The duty that I owe unto your majesty
    I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.

GLOUCESTER    And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,
    Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.
    [Aside]  To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master,
    And cried 'all hail!' when as he meant all harm.

KING EDWARD IV    Now am I seated as my soul delights,
    Having my country's peace and brothers' loves.

CLARENCE    What will your grace have done with Margaret?
    Reignier, her father, to the king of France
    Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
    And hither have they sent it for her ransom.

KING EDWARD IV    Away with her, and waft her hence to France.
    And now what rests but that we spend the time
    With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,
    Such as befits the pleasure of the court?
    Sound drums and trumpets! farewell sour annoy!
    For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING
HENRY THE SIXTH    (KING HENRY VI:)

DUKE OF GLOUCESTER    uncle to the King, and Protector. (GLOUCESTER:)

DUKE OF BEDFORD    uncle to the King, and Regent of France. (BEDFORD:)

THOMAS BEAUFORT    Duke of Exeter, great-uncle to the King. (EXETER:)

HENRY BEAUFORT    great-uncle to the King, Bishop of Winchester, and
    afterwards Cardinal. (BISHOP OF WINCHESTER:)

JOHN BEAUFORT    Earl, afterwards Duke, of Somerset. (SOMERSET:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge, (RICHARD
    PLANTAGENET:)  afterwards Duke of York.
    (YORK:)

EARL OF WARWICK    (WARWICK:)

EARL OF SALISBURY    (SALISBURY:)

EARL OF SUFFOLK    (SUFFOLK:)

LORD TALBOT    afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury. (TALBOT:)

JOHN TALBOT    Lord Talbot's son.

EDMUND MORTIMER    Earl of March. (MORTIMER:)

SIR JOHN FASTOLFE    (FASTOLFE:)

SIR WILLIAM LUCY    (LUCY:)

SIR
WILLIAM GLANSDALE    (GLANDSDALE:)

SIR
THOMAS GARGRAVE    (GARGRAVE:)

Mayor of London    (Mayor:)

WOODVILE    Lieutenant of the Tower.

VERNON    of the White-Rose or York faction.

BASSET    of the Red-Rose or Lancaster faction.

    A Lawyer. (Lawyer:)

    Mortimer's Keepers. (First Gaoler:)

CHARLES    Dauphin, and afterwards King, of France.

REIGNIER    Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples.

DUKE OF BURGUNDY    (BURGUNDY:)

DUKE OF ALENCON    (ALENCON:)

BASTARD OF ORLEANS:

    Governor of Paris.

    Master-Gunner of Orleans, (Master-Gunner:)
    and his Son. (Boy:)

    General of the French forces in Bourdeaux. (General:)

    A French Sergeant. (Sargeant:)

    A Porter.

    An old Shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle. (Shepherd:)

MARGARET    daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to King Henry.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE:

JOAN LA PUCELLE    commonly called Joan of Arc.

    Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers,
    Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants.
    (First Warder:)
    (Second Warder:)
    (Captain:)
    (Officer:)
    (Soldier:)
    (First Soldier:)
    (Watch:)
    (Scout:)
    (First Sentinel:)
    (Servant:)
    (First Serving-Man:)
    (Second Serving-Man:)
    (Third Serving-Man:)

    Fiends appearing to La Pucelle.


SCENE    Partly in England, and partly in France.




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE I    Westminster Abbey.


    [Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the
    Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of
    France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of
    WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, &c]

BEDFORD    Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!
    Comets, importing change of times and states,
    Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,
    And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
    That have consented unto Henry's death!
    King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
    England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

GLOUCESTER    England ne'er had a king until his time.
    Virtue he had, deserving to command:
    His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams:
    His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
    His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire,
    More dazzled and drove back his enemies
    Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.
    What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:
    He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.

EXETER    We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood?
    Henry is dead and never shall revive:
    Upon a wooden coffin we attend,
    And death's dishonourable victory
    We with our stately presence glorify,
    Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
    What! shall we curse the planets of mishap
    That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
    Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
    Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him
    By magic verses have contrived his end?

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.
    Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day
    So dreadful will not be as was his sight.
    The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:
    The church's prayers made him so prosperous.

GLOUCESTER    The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd,
    His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:
    None do you like but an effeminate prince,
    Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector
    And lookest to command the prince and realm.
    Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,
    More than God or religious churchmen may.

GLOUCESTER    Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh,
    And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st
    Except it be to pray against thy foes.

BEDFORD    Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace:
    Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us:
    Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms:
    Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead.
    Posterity, await for wretched years,
    When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck,
    Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,
    And none but women left to wail the dead.
    Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate:
    Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,
    Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
    A far more glorious star thy soul will make
    Than Julius Caesar or bright--

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    My honourable lords, health to you all!
    Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
    Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture:
    Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,
    Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.

BEDFORD    What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
    Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns
    Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.

GLOUCESTER    Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?
    If Henry were recall'd to life again,
    These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.

EXETER    How were they lost? what treachery was used?

Messenger    No treachery; but want of men and money.
    Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,
    That here you maintain several factions,
    And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
    You are disputing of your generals:
    One would have lingering wars with little cost;
    Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
    A third thinks, without expense at all,
    By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
    Awake, awake, English nobility!
    Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot:
    Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
    Of England's coat one half is cut away.

EXETER    Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
    These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.

BEDFORD    Me they concern; Regent I am of France.
    Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France.
    Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
    Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,
    To weep their intermissive miseries.

    [Enter to them another Messenger]

Messenger    Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance.
    France is revolted from the English quite,
    Except some petty towns of no import:
    The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims;
    The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
    Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
    The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.

EXETER    The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
    O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

GLOUCESTER    We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats.
    Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.

BEDFORD    Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
    An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
    Wherewith already France is overrun.

    [Enter another Messenger]

Messenger    My gracious lords, to add to your laments,
    Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse,
    I must inform you of a dismal fight
    Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?

Messenger    O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown:
    The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
    The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,
    Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
    Having full scarce six thousand in his troop.
    By three and twenty thousand of the French
    Was round encompassed and set upon.
    No leisure had he to enrank his men;
    He wanted pikes to set before his archers;
    Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges
    They pitched in the ground confusedly,
    To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
    More than three hours the fight continued;
    Where valiant Talbot above human thought
    Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:
    Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;
    Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew:
    The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms;
    All the whole army stood agazed on him:
    His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit
    A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain
    And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
    Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up,
    If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward:
    He, being in the vaward, placed behind
    With purpose to relieve and follow them,
    Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
    Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;
    Enclosed were they with their enemies:
    A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,
    Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back,
    Whom all France with their chief assembled strength
    Durst not presume to look once in the face.

BEDFORD    Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself,
    For living idly here in pomp and ease,
    Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
    Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.

Messenger    O no, he lives; but is took prisoner,
    And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford:
    Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.

BEDFORD    His ransom there is none but I shall pay:
    I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne:
    His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;
    Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.
    Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;
    Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,
    To keep our great Saint George's feast withal:
    Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
    Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.

Messenger    So you had need; for Orleans is besieged;
    The English army is grown weak and faint:
    The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply,
    And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
    Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.

EXETER    Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,
    Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,
    Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.

BEDFORD    I do remember it; and here take my leave,
    To go about my preparation.

    [Exit]

GLOUCESTER    I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,
    To view the artillery and munition;
    And then I will proclaim young Henry king.

    [Exit]

EXETER    To Eltham will I, where the young king is,
    Being ordain'd his special governor,
    And for his safety there I'll best devise.

    [Exit]

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Each hath his place and function to attend:
    I am left out; for me nothing remains.
    But long I will not be Jack out of office:
    The king from Eltham I intend to steal
    And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE II    France. Before Orleans.


    [Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and
    REIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers]

CHARLES    Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens
    So in the earth, to this day is not known:
    Late did he shine upon the English side;
    Now we are victors; upon us he smiles.
    What towns of any moment but we have?
    At pleasure here we lie near Orleans;
    Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
    Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

ALENCON    They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves:
    Either they must be dieted like mules
    And have their provender tied to their mouths
    Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.

REIGNIER    Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here?
    Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear:
    Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury;
    And he may well in fretting spend his gall,
    Nor men nor money hath he to make war.

CHARLES    Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them.
    Now for the honour of the forlorn French!
    Him I forgive my death that killeth me
    When he sees me go back one foot or fly.

    [Exeunt]

    [Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English
    with great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER]

CHARLES    Who ever saw the like? what men have I!
    Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled,
    But that they left me 'midst my enemies.

REIGNIER    Salisbury is a desperate homicide;
    He fighteth as one weary of his life.
    The other lords, like lions wanting food,
    Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.

ALENCON    Froissart, a countryman of ours, records,
    England all Olivers and Rowlands bred,
    During the time Edward the Third did reign.
    More truly now may this be verified;
    For none but Samsons and Goliases
    It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!
    Lean, raw-boned rascals! who would e'er suppose
    They had such courage and audacity?

CHARLES    Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves,
    And hunger will enforce them to be more eager:
    Of old I know them; rather with their teeth
    The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege.

REIGNIER    I think, by some odd gimmors or device
    Their arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on;
    Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.
    By my consent, we'll even let them alone.

ALENCON    Be it so.

    [Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS]

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.

CHARLES    Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd:
    Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?
    Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand:
    A holy maid hither with me I bring,
    Which by a vision sent to her from heaven
    Ordained is to raise this tedious siege
    And drive the English forth the bounds of France.
    The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,
    Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome:
    What's past and what's to come she can descry.
    Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,
    For they are certain and unfallible.

CHARLES    Go, call her in.

    [Exit BASTARD OF ORLEANS]

    But first, to try her skill,
    Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place:
    Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern:
    By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.

    [Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with JOAN LA PUCELLE]

REIGNIER    Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?
    Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;
    I know thee well, though never seen before.
    Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me:
    In private will I talk with thee apart.
    Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.

REIGNIER    She takes upon her bravely at first dash.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
    My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.
    Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased
    To shine on my contemptible estate:
    Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,
    And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,
    God's mother deigned to appear to me
    And in a vision full of majesty
    Will'd me to leave my base vocation
    And free my country from calamity:
    Her aid she promised and assured success:
    In complete glory she reveal'd herself;
    And, whereas I was black and swart before,
    With those clear rays which she infused on me
    That beauty am I bless'd with which you see.
    Ask me what question thou canst possible,
    And I will answer unpremeditated:
    My courage try by combat, if thou darest,
    And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
    Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate,
    If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.

CHARLES    Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms:
    Only this proof I'll of thy valour make,
    In single combat thou shalt buckle with me,
    And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
    Otherwise I renounce all confidence.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword,
    Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side;
    The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's
    churchyard,
    Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.

CHARLES    Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.

    [Here they fight, and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes]

CHARLES    Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon
    And fightest with the sword of Deborah.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak.

CHARLES    Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me:
    Impatiently I burn with thy desire;
    My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued.
    Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,
    Let me thy servant and not sovereign be:
    'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    I must not yield to any rites of love,
    For my profession's sacred from above:
    When I have chased all thy foes from hence,
    Then will I think upon a recompense.

CHARLES    Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.

REIGNIER    My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.

ALENCON    Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;
    Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.

REIGNIER    Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?

ALENCON    He may mean more than we poor men do know:
    These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.

REIGNIER    My lord, where are you? what devise you on?
    Shall we give over Orleans, or no?

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants!
    Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.

CHARLES    What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.
    This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
    Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days,
    Since I have entered into these wars.
    Glory is like a circle in the water,
    Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
    Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
    With Henry's death the English circle ends;
    Dispersed are the glories it included.
    Now am I like that proud insulting ship
    Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.

CHARLES    Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?
    Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
    Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
    Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee.
    Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
    How may I reverently worship thee enough?

ALENCON    Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.

REIGNIER    Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;
    Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized.

CHARLES    Presently we'll try: come, let's away about it:
    No prophet will I trust, if she prove false.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE III    London. Before the Tower.


    [Enter GLOUCESTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats]

GLOUCESTER    I am come to survey the Tower this day:
    Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.
    Where be these warders, that they wait not here?
    Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.

First Warder    [Within]  Who's there that knocks so imperiously?

First Serving-Man    It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.

Second Warder    [Within]  Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in.

First Serving-Man    Villains, answer you so the lord protector?

First Warder    [Within]  The Lord protect him! so we answer him:
    We do no otherwise than we are will'd.

GLOUCESTER    Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine?
    There's none protector of the realm but I.
    Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize.
    Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?

    [Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and
    WOODVILE the Lieutenant speaks within]

WOODVILE    What noise is this? what traitors have we here?

GLOUCESTER    Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?
    Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter.

WOODVILE    Have patience, noble duke; I may not open;
    The Cardinal of Winchester forbids:
    From him I have express commandment
    That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.

GLOUCESTER    Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me?
    Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate,
    Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook?
    Thou art no friend to God or to the king:
    Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.

Serving-Men    Open the gates unto the lord protector,
    Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.

    [Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates BISHOP
    OF WINCHESTER and his men in tawny coats]

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this?

GLOUCESTER    Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out?

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    I do, thou most usurping proditor,
    And not protector, of the king or realm.

GLOUCESTER    Stand back, thou manifest conspirator,
    Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord;
    Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin:
    I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat,
    If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot:
    This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,
    To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.

GLOUCESTER    I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back:
    Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth
    I'll use to carry thee out of this place.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Do what thou darest; I beard thee to thy face.

GLOUCESTER    What! am I dared and bearded to my face?
    Draw, men, for all this privileged place;
    Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard,
    I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly:
    Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat:
    In spite of pope or dignities of church,
    Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope.

GLOUCESTER    Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope!
    Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay?
    Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.
    Out, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite!

    [Here GLOUCESTER's men beat out BISHOP OF
    WINCHESTER's men, and enter in the hurly-
    burly the Mayor of London and his Officers]

Mayor    Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,
    Thus contumeliously should break the peace!

GLOUCESTER    Peace, mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs:
    Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king,
    Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens,
    One that still motions war and never peace,
    O'ercharging your free purses with large fines,
    That seeks to overthrow religion,
    Because he is protector of the realm,
    And would have armour here out of the Tower,
    To crown himself king and suppress the prince.

GLOUCESTER    I will not answer thee with words, but blows.

    [Here they skirmish again]

Mayor    Naught rests for me in this tumultuous strife
    But to make open proclamation:
    Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst,
    Cry.

Officer    All manner of men assembled here in arms this day
    against God's peace and the king's, we charge and
    command you, in his highness' name, to repair to
    your several dwelling-places; and not to wear,
    handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger,
    henceforward, upon pain of death.

GLOUCESTER    Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law:
    But we shall meet, and break our minds at large.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure:
    Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.

Mayor    I'll call for clubs, if you will not away.
    This cardinal's more haughty than the devil.

GLOUCESTER    Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou mayst.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head;
    For I intend to have it ere long.

    [Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and BISHOP OF
    WINCHESTER with their Serving-men]

Mayor    See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.
    Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear!
    I myself fight not once in forty year.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE IV    Orleans.


    [Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy]

Master-Gunner    Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieged,
    And how the English have the suburbs won.

Boy    Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,
    Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.

Master-Gunner    But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me:
    Chief master-gunner am I of this town;
    Something I must do to procure me grace.
    The prince's espials have informed me
    How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd,
    Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars
    In yonder tower, to overpeer the city,
    And thence discover how with most advantage
    They may vex us with shot, or with assault.
    To intercept this inconvenience,
    A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed;
    And even these three days have I watch'd,
    If I could see them.
    Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer.
    If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;
    And thou shalt find me at the governor's.

    [Exit]

Boy    Father, I warrant you; take you no care;
    I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.

    [Exit]

    [Enter, on the turrets, SALISBURY and TALBOT,
    GLANSDALE, GARGRAVE, and others]

SALISBURY    Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!
    How wert thou handled being prisoner?
    Or by what means got'st thou to be released?
    Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.

TALBOT    The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner
    Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;
    For him was I exchanged and ransomed.
    But with a baser man of arms by far
    Once in contempt they would have barter'd me:
    Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death,
    Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd.
    In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired.
    But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart,
    Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
    If I now had him brought into my power.

SALISBURY    Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd.

TALBOT    With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts.
    In open market-place produced they me,
    To be a public spectacle to all:
    Here, said they, is the terror of the French,
    The scarecrow that affrights our children so.
    Then broke I from the officers that led me,
    And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground,
    To hurl at the beholders of my shame:
    My grisly countenance made others fly;
    None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
    In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;
    So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread,
    That they supposed I could rend bars of steel,
    And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:
    Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,
    That walked about me every minute-while;
    And if I did but stir out of my bed,
    Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.

    [Enter the Boy with a linstock]

SALISBURY    I grieve to hear what torments you endured,
    But we will be revenged sufficiently
    Now it is supper-time in Orleans:
    Here, through this grate, I count each one
    and view the Frenchmen how they fortify:
    Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.
    Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale,
    Let me have your express opinions
    Where is best place to make our battery next.

GARGRAVE    I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords.

GLANSDALE    And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.

TALBOT    For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,
    Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.

    [Here they shoot. SALISBURY and GARGRAVE fall]

SALISBURY    O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

GARGRAVE    O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man!

TALBOT    What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?
    Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak:
    How farest thou, mirror of all martial men?
    One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!
    Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand
    That hath contrived this woful tragedy!
    In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;
    Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars;
    Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,
    His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.
    Yet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,
    One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace:
    The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
    Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,
    If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!
    Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.
    Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?
    Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.
    Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;
    Thou shalt not die whiles--
    He beckons with his hand and smiles on me.
    As who should say 'When I am dead and gone,
    Remember to avenge me on the French.'
    Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,
    Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
    Wretched shall France be only in my name.

    [Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens]

    What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens?
    Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    My lord, my lord, the French have gathered head:
    The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,
    A holy prophetess new risen up,
    Is come with a great power to raise the siege.

    [Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans]

TALBOT    Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan!
    It irks his heart he cannot be revenged.
    Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you:
    Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,
    Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels,
    And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
    Convey me Salisbury into his tent,
    And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.

    [Alarum. Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE V    The same.


    [Here an alarum again: and TALBOT pursueth the
    DAUPHIN, and driveth him: then enter JOAN LA
    PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit
    after them then re-enter TALBOT]

TALBOT    Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?
    Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them:
    A woman clad in armour chaseth them.

    [Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE]

    Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee;
    Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:
    Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch,
    And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.

    [Here they fight]

TALBOT    Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?
    My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage
    And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder.
    But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.

    [They fight again]

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:
    I must go victual Orleans forthwith.

    [A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers]

    O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
    Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men;
    Help Salisbury to make his testament:
    This day is ours, as many more shall be.

    [Exit]

TALBOT    My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;
    I know not where I am, nor what I do;
    A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,
    Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists:
    So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench
    Are from their hives and houses driven away.
    They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs;
    Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.

    [A short alarum]

    Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight,
    Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
    Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:
    Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,
    Or horse or oxen from the leopard,
    As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.

    [Alarum. Here another skirmish]

    It will not be: retire into your trenches:
    You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
    For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.
    Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,
    In spite of us or aught that we could do.
    O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
    The shame hereof will make me hide my head.

    [Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat; flourish]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE VI    The same.


    [Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES,
    REIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers]

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Advance our waving colours on the walls;
    Rescued is Orleans from the English
    Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

CHARLES    Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter,
    How shall I honour thee for this success?
    Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens
    That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next.
    France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!
    Recover'd is the town of Orleans:
    More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.

REIGNIER    Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town?
    Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires
    And feast and banquet in the open streets,
    To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.

ALENCON    All France will be replete with mirth and joy,
    When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.

CHARLES    'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;
    For which I will divide my crown with her,
    And all the priests and friars in my realm
    Shall in procession sing her endless praise.
    A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear
    Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was:
    In memory of her when she is dead,
    Her ashes, in an urn more precious
    Than the rich-jewel'd of Darius,
    Transported shall be at high festivals
    Before the kings and queens of France.
    No longer on Saint Denis will we cry,
    But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.
    Come in, and let us banquet royally,
    After this golden day of victory.

    [Flourish. Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE I    Before Orleans.


    [Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels]

Sergeant    Sirs, take your places and be vigilant:
    If any noise or soldier you perceive
    Near to the walls, by some apparent sign
    Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.

First Sentinel    Sergeant, you shall.

    [Exit Sergeant]

        Thus are poor servitors,
    When others sleep upon their quiet beds,
    Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold.

    [Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with
    scaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march]

TALBOT    Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,
    By whose approach the regions of Artois,
    Wallon and Picardy are friends to us,
    This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,
    Having all day caroused and banqueted:
    Embrace we then this opportunity
    As fitting best to quittance their deceit
    Contrived by art and baleful sorcery.

BEDFORD    Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame,
    Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
    To join with witches and the help of hell!

BURGUNDY    Traitors have never other company.
    But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?

TALBOT    A maid, they say.

BEDFORD                      A maid! and be so martial!

BURGUNDY    Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,
    If underneath the standard of the French
    She carry armour as she hath begun.

TALBOT    Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:
    God is our fortress, in whose conquering name
    Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

BEDFORD    Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.

TALBOT    Not all together: better far, I guess,
    That we do make our entrance several ways;
    That, if it chance the one of us do fail,
    The other yet may rise against their force.

BEDFORD    Agreed: I'll to yond corner.

BURGUNDY    And I to this.

TALBOT    And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.
    Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right
    Of English Henry, shall this night appear
    How much in duty I am bound to both.

Sentinels    Arm! arm! the enemy doth make assault!

    [Cry: 'St. George,' 'A Talbot.']

    [The French leap over the walls in their shirts.
    Enter, several ways, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS,
    ALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready]

ALENCON    How now, my lords! what, all unready so?

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well.

REIGNIER    'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,
    Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors.

ALENCON    Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms,
    Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise
    More venturous or desperate than this.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.

REIGNIER    If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.

ALENCON    Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard.

    [Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE]

CHARLES    Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?
    Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,
    Make us partakers of a little gain,
    That now our loss might be ten times so much?

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend!
    At all times will you have my power alike?
    Sleeping or waking must I still prevail,
    Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?
    Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,
    This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.

CHARLES    Duke of Alencon, this was your default,
    That, being captain of the watch to-night,
    Did look no better to that weighty charge.

ALENCON    Had all your quarters been as safely kept
    As that whereof I had the government,
    We had not been thus shamefully surprised.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    Mine was secure.

REIGNIER                      And so was mine, my lord.

CHARLES    And, for myself, most part of all this night,
    Within her quarter and mine own precinct
    I was employ'd in passing to and fro,
    About relieving of the sentinels:
    Then how or which way should they first break in?

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Question, my lords, no further of the case,
    How or which way: 'tis sure they found some place
    But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
    And now there rests no other shift but this;
    To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed,
    And lay new platforms to endamage them.

    [Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A
    Talbot! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their
    clothes behind]

Soldier    I'll be so bold to take what they have left.
    The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;
    For I have loaden me with many spoils,
    Using no other weapon but his name.

    [Exit]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE II    Orleans. Within the town.


    [Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and others]

BEDFORD    The day begins to break, and night is fled,
    Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.
    Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.

    [Retreat sounded]

TALBOT    Bring forth the body of old Salisbury,
    And here advance it in the market-place,
    The middle centre of this cursed town.
    Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;
    For every drop of blood was drawn from him,
    There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight.
    And that hereafter ages may behold
    What ruin happen'd in revenge of him,
    Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
    A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd:
    Upon the which, that every one may read,
    Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans,
    The treacherous manner of his mournful death
    And what a terror he had been to France.
    But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,
    I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace,
    His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,
    Nor any of his false confederates.

BEDFORD    'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,
    Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds,
    They did amongst the troops of armed men
    Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.

BURGUNDY    Myself, as far as I could well discern
    For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,
    Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull,
    When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,
    Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves
    That could not live asunder day or night.
    After that things are set in order here,
    We'll follow them with all the power we have.

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    All hail, my lords! which of this princely train
    Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
    So much applauded through the realm of France?

TALBOT    Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him?

Messenger    The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,
    With modesty admiring thy renown,
    By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe
    To visit her poor castle where she lies,
    That she may boast she hath beheld the man
    Whose glory fills the world with loud report.

BURGUNDY    Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars
    Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport,
    When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.
    You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.

TALBOT    Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men
    Could not prevail with all their oratory,
    Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled:
    And therefore tell her I return great thanks,
    And in submission will attend on her.
    Will not your honours bear me company?

BEDFORD    No, truly; it is more than manners will:
    And I have heard it said, unbidden guests
    Are often welcomest when they are gone.

TALBOT    Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,
    I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.
    Come hither, captain.

    [Whispers]

        You perceive my mind?

Captain    I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE III    Auvergne. The COUNTESS's castle.


    [Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter]

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    Porter, remember what I gave in charge;
    And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.

Porter    Madam, I will.

    [Exit]

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    The plot is laid: if all things fall out right,
    I shall as famous be by this exploit
    As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.
    Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight,
    And his achievements of no less account:
    Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
    To give their censure of these rare reports.

    [Enter Messenger and TALBOT]

Messenger    Madam,
    According as your ladyship desired,
    By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    And he is welcome. What! is this the man?

Messenger    Madam, it is.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE                      Is this the scourge of France?
    Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad
    That with his name the mothers still their babes?
    I see report is fabulous and false:
    I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
    A second Hector, for his grim aspect,
    And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
    Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!
    It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp
    Should strike such terror to his enemies.

TALBOT    Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;
    But since your ladyship is not at leisure,
    I'll sort some other time to visit you.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes.

Messenger    Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves
    To know the cause of your abrupt departure.

TALBOT    Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
    I go to certify her Talbot's here.

    [Re-enter Porter with keys]

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.

TALBOT    Prisoner! to whom?

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    To me, blood-thirsty lord;
    And for that cause I trained thee to my house.
    Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
    For in my gallery thy picture hangs:
    But now the substance shall endure the like,
    And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,
    That hast by tyranny these many years
    Wasted our country, slain our citizens
    And sent our sons and husbands captivate.

TALBOT    Ha, ha, ha!

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn to moan.

TALBOT    I laugh to see your ladyship so fond
    To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow
    Whereon to practise your severity.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    Why, art not thou the man?

TALBOT    I am indeed.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    Then have I substance too.

TALBOT    No, no, I am but shadow of myself:
    You are deceived, my substance is not here;
    For what you see is but the smallest part
    And least proportion of humanity:
    I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
    It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,
    Your roof were not sufficient to contain't.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;
    He will be here, and yet he is not here:
    How can these contrarieties agree?

TALBOT    That will I show you presently.

    [Winds his horn. Drums strike up: a peal of
    ordnance. Enter soldiers]

    How say you, madam? are you now persuaded
    That Talbot is but shadow of himself?
    These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength,
    With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,
    Razeth your cities and subverts your towns
    And in a moment makes them desolate.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse:
    I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited
    And more than may be gather'd by thy shape.
    Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath;
    For I am sorry that with reverence
    I did not entertain thee as thou art.

TALBOT    Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue
    The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
    The outward composition of his body.
    What you have done hath not offended me;
    Nor other satisfaction do I crave,
    But only, with your patience, that we may
    Taste of your wine and see what cates you have;
    For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE    With all my heart, and think me honoured
    To feast so great a warrior in my house.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II


SCENE IV    London. The Temple-garden.


    [Enter the Earls of SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK;
    RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another Lawyer]

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Great lords and gentlemen, what means this silence?
    Dare no man answer in a case of truth?

SUFFOLK    Within the Temple-hall we were too loud;
    The garden here is more convenient.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth;
    Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error?

SUFFOLK    Faith, I have been a truant in the law,
    And never yet could frame my will to it;
    And therefore frame the law unto my will.

SOMERSET    Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.

WARWICK    Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;
    Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;
    Between two blades, which bears the better temper:
    Between two horses, which doth bear him best;
    Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye;
    I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgement;
    But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
    Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:
    The truth appears so naked on my side
    That any purblind eye may find it out.

SOMERSET    And on my side it is so well apparell'd,
    So clear, so shining and so evident
    That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,
    In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:
    Let him that is a true-born gentleman
    And stands upon the honour of his birth,
    If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
    From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.

SOMERSET    Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,
    But dare maintain the party of the truth,
    Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.

WARWICK    I love no colours, and without all colour
    Of base insinuating flattery
    I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.

SUFFOLK    I pluck this red rose with young Somerset
    And say withal I think he held the right.

VERNON    Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more,
    Till you conclude that he upon whose side
    The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree
    Shall yield the other in the right opinion.

SOMERSET    Good Master Vernon, it is well objected:
    If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    And I.

VERNON    Then for the truth and plainness of the case.
    I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
    Giving my verdict on the white rose side.

SOMERSET    Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,
    Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red
    And fall on my side so, against your will.

VERNON    If I my lord, for my opinion bleed,
    Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt
    And keep me on the side where still I am.

SOMERSET    Well, well, come on: who else?

Lawyer    Unless my study and my books be false,
    The argument you held was wrong in you:

    [To SOMERSET]

    In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

SOMERSET    Here in my scabbard, meditating that
    Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;
    For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
    The truth on our side.

SOMERSET    No, Plantagenet,
    'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks
    Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,
    And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

SOMERSET    Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;
    Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.

SOMERSET    Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,
    That shall maintain what I have said is true,
    Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
    I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.

SUFFOLK    Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and thee.

SUFFOLK    I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.

SOMERSET    Away, away, good William de la Pole!
    We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.

WARWICK    Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;
    His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,
    Third son to the third Edward King of England:
    Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    He bears him on the place's privilege,
    Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.

SOMERSET    By him that made me, I'll maintain my words
    On any plot of ground in Christendom.
    Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,
    For treason executed in our late king's days?
    And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted,
    Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?
    His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
    And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    My father was attached, not attainted,
    Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;
    And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,
    Were growing time once ripen'd to my will.
    For your partaker Pole and you yourself,
    I'll note you in my book of memory,
    To scourge you for this apprehension:
    Look to it well and say you are well warn'd.

SOMERSET    Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;
    And know us by these colours for thy foes,
    For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,
    As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
    Will I for ever and my faction wear,
    Until it wither with me to my grave
    Or flourish to the height of my degree.

SUFFOLK    Go forward and be choked with thy ambition!
    And so farewell until I meet thee next.

    [Exit]

SOMERSET    Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious Richard.

    [Exit]

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    How I am braved and must perforce endure it!

WARWICK    This blot that they object against your house
    Shall be wiped out in the next parliament
    Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;
    And if thou be not then created York,
    I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
    Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,
    Against proud Somerset and William Pole,
    Will I upon thy party wear this rose:
    And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,
    Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden,
    Shall send between the red rose and the white
    A thousand souls to death and deadly night.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you,
    That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.

VERNON    In your behalf still will I wear the same.

Lawyer    And so will I.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Thanks, gentle sir.
    Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say
    This quarrel will drink blood another day.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


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,
    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.

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 honour and inheritance.
    But now the arbitrator of despairs,
    Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
    With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence:
    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.
    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.
    Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,
    In honour 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.

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
    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 laboured to plant the rightful heir,
    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
    And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
    In whom the tide rested, were suppress'd.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Of which, my lord, your honour 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.

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.
    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
    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 honour 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]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE I    London. The Parliament-house.


    [Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, EXETER, GLOUCESTER,
    WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF
    WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others.
    GLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; BISHOP OF
    WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears it]

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Comest thou with deep premeditated lines,
    With written pamphlets studiously devised,
    Humphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse,
    Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,
    Do it without invention, suddenly;
    As I with sudden and extemporal speech
    Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

GLOUCESTER    Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience,
    Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.
    Think not, although in writing I preferr'd
    The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
    That therefore I have forged, or am not able
    Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:
    No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
    Thy lewd, pestiferous and dissentious pranks,
    As very infants prattle of thy pride.
    Thou art a most pernicious usurer,
    Forward by nature, enemy to peace;
    Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
    A man of thy profession and degree;
    And for thy treachery, what's more manifest?
    In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
    As well at London bridge as at the Tower.
    Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
    The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
    From envious malice of thy swelling heart.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe
    To give me hearing what I shall reply.
    If I were covetous, ambitious or perverse,
    As he will have me, how am I so poor?
    Or how haps it I seek not to advance
    Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
    And for dissension, who preferreth peace
    More than I do?--except I be provoked.
    No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
    It is not that that hath incensed the duke:
    It is, because no one should sway but he;
    No one but he should be about the king;
    And that engenders thunder in his breast
    And makes him roar these accusations forth.
    But he shall know I am as good--

GLOUCESTER    As good!
    Thou bastard of my grandfather!

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,
    But one imperious in another's throne?

GLOUCESTER    Am I not protector, saucy priest?

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    And am not I a prelate of the church?

GLOUCESTER    Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps
    And useth it to patronage his theft.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Unreverent Gloster!

GLOUCESTER    Thou art reverent
    Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Rome shall remedy this.

WARWICK    Roam thither, then.

SOMERSET    My lord, it were your duty to forbear.

WARWICK    Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.

SOMERSET    Methinks my lord should be religious
    And know the office that belongs to such.

WARWICK    Methinks his lordship should be humbler;
    it fitteth not a prelate so to plead.

SOMERSET    Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.

WARWICK    State holy or unhallow'd, what of that?
    Is not his grace protector to the king?

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    [Aside]  Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue,
    Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should;
    Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?'
    Else would I have a fling at Winchester.

KING HENRY VI    Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,
    The special watchmen of our English weal,
    I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,
    To join your hearts in love and amity.
    O, what a scandal is it to our crown,
    That two such noble peers as ye should jar!
    Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell
    Civil dissension is a viperous worm
    That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.

    [A noise within, 'Down with the tawny-coats!']

    What tumult's this?

WARWICK    An uproar, I dare warrant,
    Begun through malice of the bishop's men.

    [A noise again, 'Stones! stones!' Enter Mayor]

Mayor    O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,
    Pity the city of London, pity us!
    The bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men,
    Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
    Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones
    And banding themselves in contrary parts
    Do pelt so fast at one another's pate
    That many have their giddy brains knock'd out:
    Our windows are broke down in every street
    And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops.

    [Enter Serving-men, in skirmish, with bloody pates]

KING HENRY VI    We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
    To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace.
    Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.

First Serving-man    Nay, if we be forbidden stones,
    We'll fall to it with our teeth.

Second Serving-man    Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.

    [Skirmish again]

GLOUCESTER    You of my household, leave this peevish broil
    And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.

Third Serving-man    My lord, we know your grace to be a man
    Just and upright; and, for your royal birth,
    Inferior to none but to his majesty:
    And ere that we will suffer such a prince,
    So kind a father of the commonweal,
    To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,
    We and our wives and children all will fight
    And have our bodies slaughtered by thy foes.

First Serving-man    Ay, and the very parings of our nails
    Shall pitch a field when we are dead.

    [Begin again]

GLOUCESTER    Stay, stay, I say!
    And if you love me, as you say you do,
    Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.

KING HENRY VI    O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!
    Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold
    My sighs and tears and will not once relent?
    Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
    Or who should study to prefer a peace.
    If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

WARWICK    Yield, my lord protector; yield, Winchester;
    Except you mean with obstinate repulse
    To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.
    You see what mischief and what murder too
    Hath been enacted through your enmity;
    Then be at peace except ye thirst for blood.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    He shall submit, or I will never yield.

GLOUCESTER    Compassion on the king commands me stoop;
    Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest
    Should ever get that privilege of me.

WARWICK    Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the duke
    Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
    As by his smoothed brows it doth appear:
    Why look you still so stern and tragical?

GLOUCESTER    Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.

KING HENRY VI    Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach
    That malice was a great and grievous sin;
    And will not you maintain the thing you teach,
    But prove a chief offender in the same?

WARWICK    Sweet king! the bishop hath a kindly gird.
    For shame, my lord of Winchester, relent!
    What, shall a child instruct you what to do?

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee;
    Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside]  Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.--
    See here, my friends and loving countrymen,
    This token serveth for a flag of truce
    Betwixt ourselves and all our followers:
    So help me God, as I dissemble not!

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    [Aside]  So help me God, as I intend it not!

KING HENRY VI    O, loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,
    How joyful am I made by this contract!
    Away, my masters! trouble us no more;
    But join in friendship, as your lords have done.

First Serving-man    Content: I'll to the surgeon's.

Second Serving-man    And so will I.

Third Serving-man    And I will see what physic the tavern affords.

    [Exeunt Serving-men, Mayor, &c]

WARWICK    Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,
    Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet
    We do exhibit to your majesty.

GLOUCESTER    Well urged, my Lord of Warwick: or sweet prince,
    And if your grace mark every circumstance,
    You have great reason to do Richard right;
    Especially for those occasions
    At Eltham Place I told your majesty.

KING HENRY VI    And those occasions, uncle, were of force:
    Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is
    That Richard be restored to his blood.

WARWICK    Let Richard be restored to his blood;
    So shall his father's wrongs be recompensed.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.

KING HENRY VI    If Richard will be true, not that alone
    But all the whole inheritance I give
    That doth belong unto the house of York,
    From whence you spring by lineal descent.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    Thy humble servant vows obedience
    And humble service till the point of death.

KING HENRY VI    Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;
    And, in reguerdon of that duty done,
    I gird thee with the valiant sword of York:
    Rise Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
    And rise created princely Duke of York.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET    And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!
    And as my duty springs, so perish they
    That grudge one thought against your majesty!

ALL    Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke of York!

SOMERSET    [Aside]  Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York!

GLOUCESTER    Now will it best avail your majesty
    To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France:
    The presence of a king engenders love
    Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,
    As it disanimates his enemies.

KING HENRY VI    When Gloucester says the word, King Henry goes;
    For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.

GLOUCESTER    Your ships already are in readiness.

    [Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER]

EXETER    Ay, we may march in England or in France,
    Not seeing what is likely to ensue.
    This late dissension grown betwixt the peers
    Burns under feigned ashes of forged love
    And will at last break out into a flame:
    As fester'd members rot but by degree,
    Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,
    So will this base and envious discord breed.
    And now I fear that fatal prophecy
    Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth
    Was in the mouth of every sucking babe;
    That Henry born at Monmouth should win all
    And Henry born at Windsor lose all:
    Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish
    His days may finish ere that hapless time.

    [Exit]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE II    France. Before Rouen.


    [Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE disguised, with four Soldiers
    with sacks upon their backs]

JOAN LA PUCELLE    These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,
    Through which our policy must make a breach:
    Take heed, be wary how you place your words;
    Talk like the vulgar sort of market men
    That come to gather money for their corn.
    If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,
    And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
    I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,
    That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.

First Soldier    Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,
    And we be lords and rulers over Rouen;
    Therefore we'll knock.

    [Knocks]

Watch    [Within]  Qui est la?

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Paysans, pauvres gens de France;
    Poor market folks that come to sell their corn.

Watch    Enter, go in; the market bell is rung.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground.

    [Exeunt]

    [Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON,
    REIGNIER, and forces]

CHARLES    Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem!
    And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    Here enter'd Pucelle and her practisants;
    Now she is there, how will she specify
    Where is the best and safest passage in?

REIGNIER    By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;
    Which, once discern'd, shows that her meaning is,
    No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd.

    [Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE on the top, thrusting out a
    torch burning]

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Behold, this is the happy wedding torch
    That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,
    But burning fatal to the Talbotites!

    [Exit]

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend;
    The burning torch in yonder turret stands.

CHARLES    Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
    A prophet to the fall of all our foes!

REIGNIER    Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;
    Enter, and cry 'The Dauphin!' presently,
    And then do execution on the watch.

    [Alarum. Exeunt]

    [An alarum. Enter TALBOT in an excursion]

TALBOT    France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,
    If Talbot but survive thy treachery.
    Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress,
    Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,
    That hardly we escaped the pride of France.

    [Exit]

    [An alarum: excursions. BEDFORD, brought in sick
    in a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without:
    within JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD OF ORLEANS,
    ALENCON, and REIGNIER, on the walls]

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?
    I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast
    Before he'll buy again at such a rate:
    'Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste?

BURGUNDY    Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan!
    I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own
    And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.

CHARLES    Your grace may starve perhaps before that time.

BEDFORD    O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!

JOAN LA PUCELLE    What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance,
    And run a tilt at death within a chair?

TALBOT    Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
    Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours!
    Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age
    And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
    Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
    Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Are ye so hot, sir? yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;
    If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.

    [The English whisper together in council]

    God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker?

TALBOT    Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,
    To try if that our own be ours or no.

TALBOT    I speak not to that railing Hecate,
    But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest;
    Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?

ALENCON    Signior, no.

TALBOT    Signior, hang! base muleters of France!
    Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls
    And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Away, captains! let's get us from the walls;
    For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.
    God be wi' you, my lord! we came but to tell you
    That we are here.

    [Exeunt from the walls]

TALBOT    And there will we be too, ere it be long,
    Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!
    Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,
    Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France,
    Either to get the town again or die:
    And I, as sure as English Henry lives
    And as his father here was conqueror,
    As sure as in this late-betrayed town
    Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried,
    So sure I swear to get the town or die.

BURGUNDY    My vows are equal partners with thy vows.

TALBOT    But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,
    The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,
    We will bestow you in some better place,
    Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.

BEDFORD    Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me:
    Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen
    And will be partner of your weal or woe.

BURGUNDY    Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.

BEDFORD    Not to be gone from hence; for once I read
    That stout Pendragon in his litter sick
    Came to the field and vanquished his foes:
    Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts,
    Because I ever found them as myself.

TALBOT    Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!
    Then be it so: heavens keep old Bedford safe!
    And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
    But gather we our forces out of hand
    And set upon our boasting enemy.

    [Exeunt all but BEDFORD and Attendants]

    [An alarum: excursions. Enter FASTOLFE and
    a Captain]

Captain    Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?

FASTOLFE    Whither away! to save myself by flight:
    We are like to have the overthrow again.

Captain    What! will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot?

FASTOLFE    Ay,
    All the Talbots in the world, to save my life!

    [Exit]

Captain    Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!

    [Exit]

    [Retreat: excursions. JOAN LA PUCELLE, ALENCON,
    and CHARLES fly]

BEDFORD    Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,
    For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
    What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
    They that of late were daring with their scoffs
    Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.

    [BEDFORD dies, and is carried in by two in his chair]

    [An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest]

TALBOT    Lost, and recover'd in a day again!
    This is a double honour, Burgundy:
    Yet heavens have glory for this victory!

BURGUNDY    Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
    Enshrines thee in his heart and there erects
    Thy noble deeds as valour's monuments.

TALBOT    Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle now?
    I think her old familiar is asleep:
    Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks?
    What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief
    That such a valiant company are fled.
    Now will we take some order in the town,
    Placing therein some expert officers,
    And then depart to Paris to the king,
    For there young Henry with his nobles lie.

BURGUNDY    What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.

TALBOT    But yet, before we go, let's not forget
    The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased,
    But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen:
    A braver soldier never couched lance,
    A gentler heart did never sway in court;
    But kings and mightiest potentates must die,
    For that's the end of human misery.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE III    The plains near Rouen.


    [Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, JOAN
    LA PUCELLE, and forces]

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
    Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered:
    Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
    For things that are not to be remedied.
    Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while
    And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
    We'll pull his plumes and take away his train,
    If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.

CHARLES    We have been guided by thee hitherto,
    And of thy cunning had no diffidence:
    One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    Search out thy wit for secret policies,
    And we will make thee famous through the world.

ALENCON    We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
    And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint:
    Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
    By fair persuasions mix'd with sugar'd words
    We will entice the Duke of Burgundy
    To leave the Talbot and to follow us.

CHARLES    Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
    France were no place for Henry's warriors;
    Nor should that nation boast it so with us,
    But be extirped from our provinces.

ALENCON    For ever should they be expulsed from France
    And not have title of an earldom here.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Your honours shall perceive how I will work
    To bring this matter to the wished end.

    [Drum sounds afar off]

    Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive
    Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.

    [Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over
    at a distance, TALBOT and his forces]

    There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,
    And all the troops of English after him.

    [French march. Enter BURGUNDY and forces]

    Now in the rearward comes the duke and his:
    Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
    Summon a parley; we will talk with him.

    [Trumpets sound a parley]

CHARLES    A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!

BURGUNDY    Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?

JOAN LA PUCELLE    The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.

BURGUNDY    What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.

CHARLES    Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
    Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.

BURGUNDY    Speak on; but be not over-tedious.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
    And see the cities and the towns defaced
    By wasting ruin of the cruel foe.
    As looks the mother on her lowly babe
    When death doth close his tender dying eyes,
    See, see the pining malady of France;
    Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
    Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast.
    O, turn thy edged sword another way;
    Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help.
    One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom
    Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore:
    Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,
    And wash away thy country's stained spots.

BURGUNDY    Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,
    Or nature makes me suddenly relent.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,
    Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
    Who joint'st thou with but with a lordly nation
    That will not trust thee but for profit's sake?
    When Talbot hath set footing once in France
    And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill,
    Who then but English Henry will be lord
    And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?
    Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof,
    Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?
    And was he not in England prisoner?
    But when they heard he was thine enemy,
    They set him free without his ransom paid,
    In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.
    See, then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen
    And joint'st with them will be thy slaughtermen.
    Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord:
    Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.

BURGUNDY    I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers
    Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot,
    And made me almost yield upon my knees.
    Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen,
    And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace:
    My forces and my power of men are yours:
    So farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    [Aside]  Done like a Frenchman: turn, and turn again!

CHARLES    Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    And doth beget new courage in our breasts.

ALENCON    Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,
    And doth deserve a coronet of gold.

CHARLES    Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,
    And seek how we may prejudice the foe.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE IV    Paris. The palace.


    [Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF
    WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK,
    EXETER, VERNON    BASSET, and others. To them
    with his Soldiers, TALBOT]

TALBOT    My gracious prince, and honourable peers,
    Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
    I have awhile given truce unto my wars,
    To do my duty to my sovereign:
    In sign, whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd
    To your obedience fifty fortresses,
    Twelve cities and seven walled towns of strength,
    Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,
    Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet,
    And with submissive loyalty of heart
    Ascribes the glory of his conquest got
    First to my God and next unto your grace.

    [Kneels]

KING HENRY VI    Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester,
    That hath so long been resident in France?

GLOUCESTER    Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.

KING HENRY VI    Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord!
    When I was young, as yet I am not old,
    I do remember how my father said
    A stouter champion never handled sword.
    Long since we were resolved of your truth,
    Your faithful service and your toil in war;
    Yet never have you tasted our reward,
    Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks,
    Because till now we never saw your face:
    Therefore, stand up; and, for these good deserts,
    We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury;
    And in our coronation take your place.

    [Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but VERNON and BASSET]

VERNON    Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea,
    Disgracing of these colours that I wear
    In honour of my noble Lord of York:
    Darest thou maintain the former words thou spakest?

BASSET    Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage
    The envious barking of your saucy tongue
    Against my lord the Duke of Somerset.

VERNON    Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.

BASSET    Why, what is he? as good a man as York.

VERNON    Hark ye; not so: in witness, take ye that.

    [Strikes him]

BASSET    Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is such
    That whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death,
    Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
    But I'll unto his majesty, and crave
    I may have liberty to venge this wrong;
    When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost.

VERNON    Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;
    And, after, meet you sooner than you would.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE I    Paris. A hall of state.


    [Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF
    WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK,
    TALBOT, EXETER, the Governor, of Paris, and others]

GLOUCESTER    Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER    God save King Henry, of that name the sixth!

GLOUCESTER    Now, governor of Paris, take your oath,
    That you elect no other king but him;
    Esteem none friends but such as are his friends,
    And none your foes but such as shall pretend
    Malicious practises against his state:
    This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!

    [Enter FASTOLFE]

FASTOLFE    My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,
    To haste unto your coronation,
    A letter was deliver'd to my hands,
    Writ to your grace from the Duke of Burgundy.

TALBOT    Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee!
    I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next,
    To tear the garter from thy craven's leg,

    [Plucking it off]

    Which I have done, because unworthily
    Thou wast installed in that high degree.
    Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest
    This dastard, at the battle of Patay,
    When but in all I was six thousand strong
    And that the French were almost ten to one,
    Before we met or that a stroke was given,
    Like to a trusty squire did run away:
    In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;
    Myself and divers gentlemen beside
    Were there surprised and taken prisoners.
    Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss;
    Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
    This ornament of knighthood, yea or no.

GLOUCESTER    To say the truth, this fact was infamous
    And ill beseeming any common man,
    Much more a knight, a captain and a leader.

TALBOT    When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,
    Knights of the garter were of noble birth,
    Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage,
    Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
    Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,
    But always resolute in most extremes.
    He then that is not furnish'd in this sort
    Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,
    Profaning this most honourable order,
    And should, if I were worthy to be judge,
    Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain
    That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.

KING HENRY VI    Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy doom!
    Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight:
    Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.

    [Exit FASTOLFE]

    And now, my lord protector, view the letter
    Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.

GLOUCESTER    What means his grace, that he hath changed his style?
    No more but, plain and bluntly, 'To the king!'
    Hath he forgot he is his sovereign?
    Or doth this churlish superscription
    Pretend some alteration in good will?
    What's here?

    [Reads]

    'I have, upon especial cause,
    Moved with compassion of my country's wreck,
    Together with the pitiful complaints
    Of such as your oppression feeds upon,
    Forsaken your pernicious faction
    And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France.'
    O monstrous treachery! can this be so,
    That in alliance, amity and oaths,
    There should be found such false dissembling guile?

KING HENRY VI    What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?

GLOUCESTER    He doth, my lord, and is become your foe.

KING HENRY VI    Is that the worst this letter doth contain?

GLOUCESTER    It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.

KING HENRY VI    Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall talk with him
    And give him chastisement for this abuse.
    How say you, my lord? are you not content?

TALBOT    Content, my liege! yes, but that I am prevented,
    I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.

KING HENRY VI    Then gather strength and march unto him straight:
    Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason
    And what offence it is to flout his friends.

TALBOT    I go, my lord, in heart desiring still
    You may behold confusion of your foes.

    [Exit]

    [Enter VERNON and BASSET]

VERNON    Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign.

BASSET    And me, my lord, grant me the combat too.

YORK    This is my servant: hear him, noble prince.

SOMERSET    And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him.

KING HENRY VI    Be patient, lords; and give them leave to speak.
    Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim?
    And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom?

VERNON    With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.

BASSET    And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.

KING HENRY VI    What is that wrong whereof you both complain?
    First let me know, and then I'll answer you.

BASSET    Crossing the sea from England into France,
    This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,
    Upbraided me about the rose I wear;
    Saying, the sanguine colour of the leaves
    Did represent my master's blushing cheeks,
    When stubbornly he did repugn the truth
    About a certain question in the law
    Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him;
    With other vile and ignominious terms:
    In confutation of which rude reproach
    And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
    I crave the benefit of law of arms.

VERNON    And that is my petition, noble lord:
    For though he seem with forged quaint conceit
    To set a gloss upon his bold intent,
    Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him;
    And he first took exceptions at this badge,
    Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower
    Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.

YORK    Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?

SOMERSET    Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out,
    Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.

KING HENRY VI    Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick men,
    When for so slight and frivolous a cause
    Such factious emulations shall arise!
    Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
    Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.

YORK    Let this dissension first be tried by fight,
    And then your highness shall command a peace.

SOMERSET    The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;
    Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.

YORK    There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.

VERNON    Nay, let it rest where it began at first.

BASSET    Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.

GLOUCESTER    Confirm it so! Confounded be your strife!
    And perish ye, with your audacious prate!
    Presumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed
    With this immodest clamorous outrage
    To trouble and disturb the king and us?
    And you, my lords, methinks you do not well
    To bear with their perverse objections;
    Much less to take occasion from their mouths
    To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves:
    Let me persuade you take a better course.

EXETER    It grieves his highness: good my lords, be friends.

KING HENRY VI    Come hither, you that would be combatants:
    Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour,
    Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.
    And you, my lords, remember where we are,
    In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation:
    If they perceive dissension in our looks
    And that within ourselves we disagree,
    How will their grudging stomachs be provoked
    To wilful disobedience, and rebel!
    Beside, what infamy will there arise,
    When foreign princes shall be certified
    That for a toy, a thing of no regard,
    King Henry's peers and chief nobility
    Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France!
    O, think upon the conquest of my father,
    My tender years, and let us not forego
    That for a trifle that was bought with blood
    Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
    I see no reason, if I wear this rose,

    [Putting on a red rose]

    That any one should therefore be suspicious
    I more incline to Somerset than York:
    Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both:
    As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
    Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.
    But your discretions better can persuade
    Than I am able to instruct or teach:
    And therefore, as we hither came in peace,
    So let us still continue peace and love.
    Cousin of York, we institute your grace
    To be our regent in these parts of France:
    And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite
    Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;
    And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
    Go cheerfully together and digest.
    Your angry choler on your enemies.
    Ourself, my lord protector and the rest
    After some respite will return to Calais;
    From thence to England; where I hope ere long
    To be presented, by your victories,
    With Charles, Alencon and that traitorous rout.

    [Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK, EXETER
    and VERNON]

WARWICK    My Lord of York, I promise you, the king
    Prettily, methought, did play the orator.

YORK    And so he did; but yet I like it not,
    In that he wears the badge of Somerset.

WARWICK    Tush, that was but his fancy, blame him not;
    I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.

YORK    An if I wist he did,--but let it rest;
    Other affairs must now be managed.

    [Exeunt all but EXETER]

EXETER    Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice;
    For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,
    I fear we should have seen decipher'd there
    More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,
    Than yet can be imagined or supposed.
    But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
    This jarring discord of nobility,
    This shouldering of each other in the court,
    This factious bandying of their favourites,
    But that it doth presage some ill event.
    'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands;
    But more when envy breeds unkind division;
    There comes the rain, there begins confusion.

    [Exit]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE II    Before Bourdeaux.


    [Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum]

TALBOT    Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter:
    Summon their general unto the wall.

    [Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others, aloft]

    English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,
    Servant in arms to Harry King of England;
    And thus he would: Open your city gates;
    Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours,
    And do him homage as obedient subjects;
    And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power:
    But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,
    You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
    Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;
    Who in a moment even with the earth
    Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,
    If you forsake the offer of their love.

General    Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
    Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge!
    The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
    On us thou canst not enter but by death;
    For, I protest, we are well fortified
    And strong enough to issue out and fight:
    If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,
    Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee:
    On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd,
    To wall thee from the liberty of flight;
    And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,
    But death doth front thee with apparent spoil
    And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
    Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament
    To rive their dangerous artillery
    Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
    Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,
    Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!
    This is the latest glory of thy praise
    That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;
    For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
    Finish the process of his sandy hour,
    These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
    Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead.

    [Drum afar off]

    Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
    Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;
    And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.

    [Exeunt General, &c]

TALBOT    He fables not; I hear the enemy:
    Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.
    O, negligent and heedless discipline!
    How are we park'd and bounded in a pale,
    A little herd of England's timorous deer,
    Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs!
    If we be English deer, be then in blood;
    Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch,
    But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,
    Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel
    And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:
    Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
    And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.
    God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right,
    Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE III    Plains in Gascony.


    [Enter a Messenger that meets YORK. Enter YORK
    with trumpet and many Soldiers]

YORK    Are not the speedy scouts return'd again,
    That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?

Messenger    They are return'd, my lord, and give it out
    That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,
    To fight with Talbot: as he march'd along,
    By your espials were discovered
    Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,
    Which join'd with him and made their march for Bourdeaux.

YORK    A plague upon that villain Somerset,
    That thus delays my promised supply
    Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!
    Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,
    And I am lowted by a traitor villain
    And cannot help the noble chevalier:
    God comfort him in this necessity!
    If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.

    [Enter Sir William LUCY]

LUCY    Thou princely leader of our English strength,
    Never so needful on the earth of France,
    Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,
    Who now is girdled with a waist of iron
    And hemm'd about with grim destruction:
    To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York!
    Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.

YORK    O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart
    Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!
    So should we save a valiant gentleman
    By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
    Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep,
    That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.

LUCY    O, send some succor to the distress'd lord!

YORK    He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word;
    We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get;
    All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.

LUCY    Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul;
    And on his son young John, who two hours since
    I met in travel toward his warlike father!
    This seven years did not Talbot see his son;
    And now they meet where both their lives are done.

YORK    Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have
    To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
    Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
    That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.
    Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can,
    But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.
    Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away,
    'Long all of Somerset and his delay.

    [Exit, with his soldiers]

LUCY    Thus, while the vulture of sedition
    Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
    Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
    The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,
    That ever living man of memory,
    Henry the Fifth: whiles they each other cross,
    Lives, honours, lands and all hurry to loss.

    [Exit]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE IV    Other plains in Gascony.


    [Enter SOMERSET, with his army; a Captain of
    TALBOT's with him]

SOMERSET    It is too late; I cannot send them now:
    This expedition was by York and Talbot
    Too rashly plotted: all our general force
    Might with a sally of the very town
    Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot
    Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour
    By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure:
    York set him on to fight and die in shame,
    That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.

Captain    Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me
    Set from our o'ermatch'd forces forth for aid.

    [Enter Sir William LUCY]

SOMERSET    How now, Sir William! whither were you sent?

LUCY    Whither, my lord? from bought and sold Lord Talbot;
    Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,
    Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
    To beat assailing death from his weak legions:
    And whiles the honourable captain there
    Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
    And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue,
    You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,
    Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
    Let not your private discord keep away
    The levied succors that should lend him aid,
    While he, renowned noble gentleman,
    Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
    Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,
    Alencon, Reignier, compass him about,
    And Talbot perisheth by your default.

SOMERSET    York set him on; York should have sent him aid.

LUCY    And York as fast upon your grace exclaims;
    Swearing that you withhold his levied host,
    Collected for this expedition.

SOMERSET    York lies; he might have sent and had the horse;
    I owe him little duty, and less love;
    And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.

LUCY    The fraud of England, not the force of France,
    Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot:
    Never to England shall he bear his life;
    But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.

SOMERSET    Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight:
    Within six hours they will be at his aid.

LUCY    Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en or slain;
    For fly he could not, if he would have fled;
    And fly would Talbot never, though he might.

SOMERSET    If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu!

LUCY    His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE V    The English camp near Bourdeaux.


    [Enter TALBOT and JOHN his son]

TALBOT    O young John Talbot! I did send for thee
    To tutor thee in stratagems of war,
    That Talbot's name might be in thee revived
    When sapless age and weak unable limbs
    Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
    But, O malignant and ill-boding stars!
    Now thou art come unto a feast of death,
    A terrible and unavoided danger:
    Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;
    And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
    By sudden flight: come, dally not, be gone.

JOHN TALBOT    Is my name Talbot? and am I your son?
    And shall I fly? O if you love my mother,
    Dishonour not her honourable name,
    To make a bastard and a slave of me!
    The world will say, he is not Talbot's blood,
    That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.

TALBOT    Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.

JOHN TALBOT    He that flies so will ne'er return again.

TALBOT    If we both stay, we both are sure to die.

JOHN TALBOT    Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly:
    Your loss is great, so your regard should be;
    My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
    Upon my death the French can little boast;
    In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
    Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;
    But mine it will, that no exploit have done:
    You fled for vantage, everyone will swear;
    But, if I bow, they'll say it was for fear.
    There is no hope that ever I will stay,
    If the first hour I shrink and run away.
    Here on my knee I beg mortality,
    Rather than life preserved with infamy.

TALBOT    Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?

JOHN TALBOT    Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.

TALBOT    Upon my blessing, I command thee go.

JOHN TALBOT    To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.

TALBOT    Part of thy father may be saved in thee.

JOHN TALBOT    No part of him but will be shame in me.

TALBOT    Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.

JOHN TALBOT    Yes, your renowned name: shall flight abuse it?

TALBOT    Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.

JOHN TALBOT    You cannot witness for me, being slain.
    If death be so apparent, then both fly.

TALBOT    And leave my followers here to fight and die?
    My age was never tainted with such shame.

JOHN TALBOT    And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?
    No more can I be sever'd from your side,
    Than can yourself yourself in twain divide:
    Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;
    For live I will not, if my father die.

TALBOT    Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,
    Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.
    Come, side by side together live and die.
    And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VI    A field of battle.


    [Alarum: excursions, wherein JOHN TALBOT is
    hemmed about, and TALBOT rescues him]

TALBOT    Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, fight.
    The regent hath with Talbot broke his word
    And left us to the rage of France his sword.
    Where is John Talbot? Pause, and take thy breath;
    I gave thee life and rescued thee from death.

JOHN TALBOT    O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!
    The life thou gavest me first was lost and done,
    Till with thy warlike sword, despite of late,
    To my determined time thou gavest new date.

TALBOT    When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire,
    It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
    Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age,
    Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage,
    Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,
    And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.
    The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood
    From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood
    Of thy first fight, I soon encountered,
    And interchanging blows I quickly shed
    Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace
    Bespoke him thus; 'Contaminated, base
    And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,
    Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine
    Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy:'
    Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy,
    Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care,
    Art thou not weary, John? how dost thou fare?
    Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
    Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?
    Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead:
    The help of one stands me in little stead.
    O, too much folly is it, well I wot,
    To hazard all our lives in one small boat!
    If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
    To-morrow I shall die with mickle age:
    By me they nothing gain an if I stay;
    'Tis but the shortening of my life one day:
    In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,
    My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame:
    All these and more we hazard by thy stay;
    All these are saved if thou wilt fly away.

JOHN TALBOT    The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart;
    These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart:
    On that advantage, bought with such a shame,
    To save a paltry life and slay bright fame,
    Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
    The coward horse that bears me fail and die!
    And like me to the peasant boys of France,
    To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance!
    Surely, by all the glory you have won,
    An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son:
    Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
    If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.

TALBOT    Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,
    Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet:
    If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;
    And, commendable proved, let's die in pride.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VII    Another part of the field.


    [Alarum: excursions. Enter TALBOT led by a Servant]

TALBOT    Where is my other life? mine own is gone;
    O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?
    Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity,
    Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee:
    When he perceived me shrink and on my knee,
    His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,
    And, like a hungry lion, did commence
    Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;
    But when my angry guardant stood alone,
    Tendering my ruin and assail'd of none,
    Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart
    Suddenly made him from my side to start
    Into the clustering battle of the French;
    And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
    His over-mounting spirit, and there died,
    My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

Servant    O, my dear lord, lo, where your son is borne!

    [Enter Soldiers, with the body of JOHN TALBOT]

TALBOT    Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,
    Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
    Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,
    Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,
    In thy despite shall 'scape mortality.
    O, thou, whose wounds become hard-favour'd death,
    Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!
    Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no;
    Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.
    Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say,
    Had death been French, then death had died to-day.
    Come, come and lay him in his father's arms:
    My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
    Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,
    Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.

    [Dies]

    [Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD OF
    ORLEANS, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces]

CHARLES    Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
    We should have found a bloody day of this.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging-wood,
    Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said:
    'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid:'
    But, with a proud majestical high scorn,
    He answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born
    To be the pillage of a giglot wench:'
    So, rushing in the bowels of the French,
    He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

BURGUNDY    Doubtless he would have made a noble knight;
    See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms
    Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!

BASTARD OF ORLEANS    Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder
    Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.

CHARLES    O, no, forbear! for that which we have fled
    During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

    [Enter Sir William LUCY, attended; Herald of the
    French preceding]

LUCY    Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,
    To know who hath obtained the glory of the day.

CHARLES    On what submissive message art thou sent?

LUCY    Submission, Dauphin! 'tis a mere French word;
    We English warriors wot not what it means.
    I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en
    And to survey the bodies of the dead.

CHARLES    For prisoners ask'st thou? hell our prison is.
    But tell me whom thou seek'st.

LUCY    But where's the great Alcides of the field,
    Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,
    Created, for his rare success in arms,
    Great Earl of Washford, Waterford and Valence;
    Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
    Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,
    Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,
    The thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge;
    Knight of the noble order of Saint George,
    Worthy Saint Michael and the Golden Fleece;
    Great marshal to Henry the Sixth
    Of all his wars within the realm of France?

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Here is a silly stately style indeed!
    The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
    Writes not so tedious a style as this.
    Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles
    Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.

LUCY    Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen's only scourge,
    Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?
    O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn'd,
    That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!
    O, that I could but call these dead to life!
    It were enough to fright the realm of France:
    Were but his picture left amongst you here,
    It would amaze the proudest of you all.
    Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence
    And give them burial as beseems their worth.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,
    He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
    For God's sake let him have 'em; to keep them here,
    They would but stink, and putrefy the air.

CHARLES    Go, take their bodies hence.

LUCY    I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be rear'd
    A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.

CHARLES    So we be rid of them, do with 'em what thou wilt.
    And now to Paris, in this conquering vein:
    All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE I    London. The palace.


    [Sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER]

KING HENRY VI    Have you perused the letters from the pope,
    The emperor and the Earl of Armagnac?

GLOUCESTER    I have, my lord: and their intent is this:
    They humbly sue unto your excellence
    To have a godly peace concluded of
    Between the realms of England and of France.

KING HENRY VI    How doth your grace affect their motion?

GLOUCESTER    Well, my good lord; and as the only means
    To stop effusion of our Christian blood
    And 'stablish quietness on every side.

KING HENRY VI    Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought
    It was both impious and unnatural
    That such immanity and bloody strife
    Should reign among professors of one faith.

GLOUCESTER    Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect
    And surer bind this knot of amity,
    The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles,
    A man of great authority in France,
    Proffers his only daughter to your grace
    In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.

KING HENRY VI    Marriage, uncle! alas, my years are young!
    And fitter is my study and my books
    Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
    Yet call the ambassador; and, as you please,
    So let them have their answers every one:
    I shall be well content with any choice
    Tends to God's glory and my country's weal.

    [Enter CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER in Cardinal's habit,
    a Legate and two Ambassadors]

EXETER    What! is my Lord of Winchester install'd,
    And call'd unto a cardinal's degree?
    Then I perceive that will be verified
    Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy,
    'If once he come to be a cardinal,
    He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.'

KING HENRY VI    My lords ambassadors, your several suits
    Have been consider'd and debated on.
    And therefore are we certainly resolved
    To draw conditions of a friendly peace;
    Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean
    Shall be transported presently to France.

GLOUCESTER    And for the proffer of my lord your master,
    I have inform'd his highness so at large
    As liking of the lady's virtuous gifts,
    Her beauty and the value of her dower,
    He doth intend she shall be England's queen.

KING HENRY VI    In argument and proof of which contract,
    Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.
    And so, my lord protector, see them guarded
    And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd
    Commit them to the fortune of the sea.

    [Exeunt all but CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER and Legate]

CARDINAL
OF WINCHESTER    Stay, my lord legate: you shall first receive
    The sum of money which I promised
    Should be deliver'd to his holiness
    For clothing me in these grave ornaments.

Legate    I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.

CARDINAL
OF WINCHESTER    [Aside]  Now Winchester will not submit, I trow,
    Or be inferior to the proudest peer.
    Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive
    That, neither in birth or for authority,
    The bishop will be overborne by thee:
    I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee,
    Or sack this country with a mutiny.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE II    France. Plains in Anjou.


    [Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD OF
    ORLEANS, REIGNIER, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces]

CHARLES    These news, my lord, may cheer our drooping spirits:
    'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt
    And turn again unto the warlike French.

ALENCON    Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,
    And keep not back your powers in dalliance.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;
    Else, ruin combat with their palaces!

    [Enter Scout]

Scout    Success unto our valiant general,
    And happiness to his accomplices!

CHARLES    What tidings send our scouts? I prithee, speak.

Scout    The English army, that divided was
    Into two parties, is now conjoined in one,
    And means to give you battle presently.

CHARLES    Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;
    But we will presently provide for them.

BURGUNDY    I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there:
    Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Of all base passions, fear is most accursed.
    Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine,
    Let Henry fret and all the world repine.

CHARLES    Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE III    Before Angiers.


    [Alarum. Excursions. Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE]

JOAN LA PUCELLE    The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.
    Now help, ye charming spells and periapts;
    And ye choice spirits that admonish me
    And give me signs of future accidents.

    [Thunder]

    You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
    Under the lordly monarch of the north,
    Appear and aid me in this enterprise.

    [Enter Fiends]

    This speedy and quick appearance argues proof
    Of your accustom'd diligence to me.
    Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd
    Out of the powerful regions under earth,
    Help me this once, that France may get the field.

    [They walk, and speak not]

    O, hold me not with silence over-long!
    Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,
    I'll lop a member off and give it you
    In earnest of further benefit,
    So you do condescend to help me now.

    [They hang their heads]

    No hope to have redress? My body shall
    Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.

    [They shake their heads]

    Cannot my body nor blood-sacrifice
    Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?
    Then take my soul, my body, soul and all,
    Before that England give the French the foil.

    [They depart]

    See, they forsake me! Now the time is come
    That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest
    And let her head fall into England's lap.
    My ancient incantations are too weak,
    And hell too strong for me to buckle with:
    Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.

    [Exit]

    [Excursions. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE fighting hand
    to hand with YORK    JOAN LA PUCELLE is taken. The
    French fly]

YORK    Damsel of France, I think I have you fast:
    Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms
    And try if they can gain your liberty.
    A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!
    See, how the ugly wench doth bend her brows,
    As if with Circe she would change my shape!

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Changed to a worser shape thou canst not be.

YORK    O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man;
    No shape but his can please your dainty eye.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee!
    And may ye both be suddenly surprised
    By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!

YORK    Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue!

JOAN LA PUCELLE    I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile.

YORK    Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.

    [Exeunt]

    [Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK with MARGARET in his hand]

SUFFOLK    Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.

    [Gazes on her]

    O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly!
    For I will touch thee but with reverent hands;
    I kiss these fingers for eternal peace,
    And lay them gently on thy tender side.
    Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee.

MARGARET    Margaret my name, and daughter to a king,
    The King of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.

SUFFOLK    An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.
    Be not offended, nature's miracle,
    Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me:
    So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,
    Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings.
    Yet, if this servile usage once offend.
    Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend.

    [She is going]

    O, stay! I have no power to let her pass;
    My hand would free her, but my heart says no
    As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,
    Twinkling another counterfeited beam,
    So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.
    Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak:
    I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind.
    Fie, de la Pole! disable not thyself;
    Hast not a tongue? is she not here?
    Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?
    Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such,
    Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.

MARGARET    Say, Earl of Suffolk--if thy name be so--
    What ransom must I pay before I pass?
    For I perceive I am thy prisoner.

SUFFOLK    How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit,
    Before thou make a trial of her love?

MARGARET    Why speak'st thou not? what ransom must I pay?

SUFFOLK    She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd;
    She is a woman, therefore to be won.

MARGARET    Wilt thou accept of ransom? yea, or no.

SUFFOLK    Fond man, remember that thou hast a wife;
    Then how can Margaret be thy paramour?

MARGARET    I were best to leave him, for he will not hear.

SUFFOLK    There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card.

MARGARET    He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.

SUFFOLK    And yet a dispensation may be had.

MARGARET    And yet I would that you would answer me.

SUFFOLK    I'll win this Lady Margaret. For whom?
    Why, for my king: tush, that's a wooden thing!

MARGARET    He talks of wood: it is some carpenter.

SUFFOLK    Yet so my fancy may be satisfied,
    And peace established between these realms
    But there remains a scruple in that too;
    For though her father be the King of Naples,
    Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor,
    And our nobility will scorn the match.

MARGARET    Hear ye, captain, are you not at leisure?

SUFFOLK    It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much.
    Henry is youthful and will quickly yield.
    Madam, I have a secret to reveal.

MARGARET    What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a knight,
    And will not any way dishonour me.

SUFFOLK    Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.

MARGARET    Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French;
    And then I need not crave his courtesy.

SUFFOLK    Sweet madam, give me a hearing in a cause--

MARGARET    Tush, women have been captivate ere now.

SUFFOLK    Lady, wherefore talk you so?

MARGARET    I cry you mercy, 'tis but Quid for Quo.

SUFFOLK    Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose
    Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?

MARGARET    To be a queen in bondage is more vile
    Than is a slave in base servility;
    For princes should be free.

SUFFOLK    And so shall you,
    If happy England's royal king be free.

MARGARET    Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?

SUFFOLK    I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen,
    To put a golden sceptre in thy hand
    And set a precious crown upon thy head,
    If thou wilt condescend to be my--

MARGARET    What?

SUFFOLK    His love.

MARGARET    I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.

SUFFOLK    No, gentle madam; I unworthy am
    To woo so fair a dame to be his wife,
    And have no portion in the choice myself.
    How say you, madam, are ye so content?

MARGARET    An if my father please, I am content.

SUFFOLK    Then call our captains and our colours forth.
    And, madam, at your father's castle walls
    We'll crave a parley, to confer with him.

    [A parley sounded. Enter REIGNIER on the walls]

    See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner!

REIGNIER    To whom?

SUFFOLK           To me.

REIGNIER                      Suffolk, what remedy?
    I am a soldier, and unapt to weep,
    Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.

SUFFOLK    Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord:
    Consent, and for thy honour give consent,
    Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king;
    Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto;
    And this her easy-held imprisonment
    Hath gained thy daughter princely liberty.

REIGNIER    Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?

SUFFOLK    Fair Margaret knows
    That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.

REIGNIER    Upon thy princely warrant, I descend
    To give thee answer of thy just demand.

    [Exit from the walls]

SUFFOLK    And here I will expect thy coming.

    [Trumpets sound. Enter REIGNIER, below]

REIGNIER    Welcome, brave earl, into our territories:
    Command in Anjou what your honour pleases.

SUFFOLK    Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child,
    Fit to be made companion with a king:
    What answer makes your grace unto my suit?

REIGNIER    Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth
    To be the princely bride of such a lord;
    Upon condition I may quietly
    Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou,
    Free from oppression or the stroke of war,
    My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please.

SUFFOLK    That is her ransom; I deliver her;
    And those two counties I will undertake
    Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy.

REIGNIER    And I again, in Henry's royal name,
    As deputy unto that gracious king,
    Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith.

SUFFOLK    Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,
    Because this is in traffic of a king.

    [Aside]

    And yet, methinks, I could be well content
    To be mine own attorney in this case.
    I'll over then to England with this news,
    And make this marriage to be solemnized.
    So farewell, Reignier: set this diamond safe
    In golden palaces, as it becomes.

REIGNIER    I do embrace thee, as I would embrace
    The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here.

MARGARET    Farewell, my lord: good wishes, praise and prayers
    Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret.

    [Going]

SUFFOLK    Farewell, sweet madam: but hark you, Margaret;
    No princely commendations to my king?

MARGARET    Such commendations as becomes a maid,
    A virgin and his servant, say to him.

SUFFOLK    Words sweetly placed and modestly directed.
    But madam, I must trouble you again;
    No loving token to his majesty?

MARGARET    Yes, my good lord, a pure unspotted heart,
    Never yet taint with love, I send the king.

SUFFOLK    And this withal.

    [Kisses her]

MARGARET    That for thyself: I will not so presume
    To send such peevish tokens to a king.

    [Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET]

SUFFOLK    O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay;
    Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth;
    There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk.
    Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise:
    Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount,
    And natural graces that extinguish art;
    Repeat their semblance often on the seas,
    That, when thou comest to kneel at Henry's feet,
    Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.

    [Exit]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE IV    Camp of the YORK in Anjou.


    [Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others]

YORK    Bring forth that sorceress condemn'd to burn.

    [Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a Shepherd]

Shepherd    Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart outright!
    Have I sought every country far and near,
    And, now it is my chance to find thee out,
    Must I behold thy timeless cruel death?
    Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee!

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!
    I am descended of a gentler blood:
    Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.

Shepherd    Out, out! My lords, an please you, 'tis not so;
    I did beget her, all the parish knows:
    Her mother liveth yet, can testify
    She was the first fruit of my bachelorship.

WARWICK    Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage?

YORK    This argues what her kind of life hath been,
    Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.

Shepherd    Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle!
    God knows thou art a collop of my flesh;
    And for thy sake have I shed many a tear:
    Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man,
    Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.

Shepherd    'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest
    The morn that I was wedded to her mother.
    Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.
    Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time
    Of thy nativity! I would the milk
    Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her breast,
    Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake!
    Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field,
    I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee!
    Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?
    O, burn her, burn her! hanging is too good.

    [Exit]

YORK    Take her away; for she hath lived too long,
    To fill the world with vicious qualities.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd:
    Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,
    But issued from the progeny of kings;
    Virtuous and holy; chosen from above,
    By inspiration of celestial grace,
    To work exceeding miracles on earth.
    I never had to do with wicked spirits:
    But you, that are polluted with your lusts,
    Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,
    Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,
    Because you want the grace that others have,
    You judge it straight a thing impossible
    To compass wonders but by help of devils.
    No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been
    A virgin from her tender infancy,
    Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
    Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused,
    Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.

YORK    Ay, ay: away with her to execution!

WARWICK    And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,
    Spare for no faggots, let there be enow:
    Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,
    That so her torture may be shortened.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?
    Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity,
    That warranteth by law to be thy privilege.
    I am with child, ye bloody homicides:
    Murder not then the fruit within my womb,
    Although ye hale me to a violent death.

YORK    Now heaven forfend! the holy maid with child!

WARWICK    The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought:
    Is all your strict preciseness come to this?

YORK    She and the Dauphin have been juggling:
    I did imagine what would be her refuge.

WARWICK    Well, go to; we'll have no bastards live;
    Especially since Charles must father it.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    You are deceived; my child is none of his:
    It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love.

YORK    Alencon! that notorious Machiavel!
    It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    O, give me leave, I have deluded you:
    'Twas neither Charles nor yet the duke I named,
    But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd.

WARWICK    A married man! that's most intolerable.

YORK    Why, here's a girl! I think she knows not well,
    There were so many, whom she may accuse.

WARWICK    It's sign she hath been liberal and free.

YORK    And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.
    Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee:
    Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.

JOAN LA PUCELLE    Then lead me hence; with whom I leave my curse:
    May never glorious sun reflex his beams
    Upon the country where you make abode;
    But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
    Environ you, till mischief and despair
    Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!

    [Exit, guarded]

YORK    Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes,
    Thou foul accursed minister of hell!

    [Enter CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER, attended]

CARDINAL
OF WINCHESTER    Lord regent, I do greet your excellence
    With letters of commission from the king.
    For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,
    Moved with remorse of these outrageous broils,
    Have earnestly implored a general peace
    Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French;
    And here at hand the Dauphin and his train
    Approacheth, to confer about some matter.

YORK     Is all our travail turn'd to this effect?
    After the slaughter of so many peers,
    So many captains, gentlemen and soldiers,
    That in this quarrel have been overthrown
    And sold their bodies for their country's benefit,
    Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace?
    Have we not lost most part of all the towns,
    By treason, falsehood and by treachery,
    Our great progenitors had conquered?
    O Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief
    The utter loss of all the realm of France.

WARWICK    Be patient, York: if we conclude a peace,
    It shall be with such strict and severe covenants
    As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.

    [Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BASTARD OF ORLEANS,
    REIGNIER, and others]

CHARLES    Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed
    That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France,
    We come to be informed by yourselves
    What the conditions of that league must be.

YORK    Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes
    The hollow passage of my poison'd voice,
    By sight of these our baleful enemies.

CARDINAL
OF WINCHESTER    Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:
    That, in regard King Henry gives consent,
    Of mere compassion and of lenity,
    To ease your country of distressful war,
    And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,
    You shall become true liegemen to his crown:
    And Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear
    To pay him tribute, submit thyself,
    Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him,
    And still enjoy thy regal dignity.

ALENCON    Must he be then as shadow of himself?
    Adorn his temples with a coronet,
    And yet, in substance and authority,
    Retain but privilege of a private man?
    This proffer is absurd and reasonless.

CHARLES    'Tis known already that I am possess'd
    With more than half the Gallian territories,
    And therein reverenced for their lawful king:
    Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd,
    Detract so much from that prerogative,
    As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole?
    No, lord ambassador, I'll rather keep
    That which I have than, coveting for more,
    Be cast from possibility of all.

YORK    Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means
    Used intercession to obtain a league,
    And, now the matter grows to compromise,
    Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison?
    Either accept the title thou usurp'st,
    Of benefit proceeding from our king
    And not of any challenge of desert,
    Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.

REIGNIER    My lord, you do not well in obstinacy
    To cavil in the course of this contract:
    If once it be neglected, ten to one
    We shall not find like opportunity.

ALENCON    To say the truth, it is your policy
    To save your subjects from such massacre
    And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen
    By our proceeding in hostility;
    And therefore take this compact of a truce,
    Although you break it when your pleasure serves.

WARWICK    How say'st thou, Charles? shall our condition stand?

CHARLES    It shall;
    Only reserved, you claim no interest
    In any of our towns of garrison.

YORK    Then swear allegiance to his majesty,
    As thou art knight, never to disobey
    Nor be rebellious to the crown of England,
    Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.
    So, now dismiss your army when ye please:
    Hang up your ensign, let your drums be still,
    For here we entertain a solemn peace.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE V    London. The palace.


    [Enter SUFFOLK in conference with KING HENRY VI,
    GLOUCESTER and EXETER]

KING HENRY VI    Your wondrous rare description, noble earl,
    Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me:
    Her virtues graced with external gifts
    Do breed love's settled passions in my heart:
    And like as rigor of tempestuous gusts
    Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide,
    So am I driven by breath of her renown
    Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive
    Where I may have fruition of her love.

SUFFOLK    Tush, my good lord, this superficial tale
    Is but a preface of her worthy praise;
    The chief perfections of that lovely dame
    Had I sufficient skill to utter them,
    Would make a volume of enticing lines,
    Able to ravish any dull conceit:
    And, which is more, she is not so divine,
    So full-replete with choice of all delights,
    But with as humble lowliness of mind
    She is content to be at your command;
    Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents,
    To love and honour Henry as her lord.

KING HENRY VI    And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume.
    Therefore, my lord protector, give consent
    That Margaret may be England's royal queen.

GLOUCESTER    So should I give consent to flatter sin.
    You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd
    Unto another lady of esteem:
    How shall we then dispense with that contract,
    And not deface your honour with reproach?

SUFFOLK    As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths;
    Or one that, at a triumph having vow'd
    To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists
    By reason of his adversary's odds:
    A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds,
    And therefore may be broke without offence.

GLOUCESTER    Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than that?
    Her father is no better than an earl,
    Although in glorious titles he excel.

SUFFOLK    Yes, lord, her father is a king,
    The King of Naples and Jerusalem;
    And of such great authority in France
    As his alliance will confirm our peace
    And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.

GLOUCESTER    And so the Earl of Armagnac may do,
    Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.

EXETER    Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower,
    Where Reignier sooner will receive than give.

SUFFOLK    A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king,
    That he should be so abject, base and poor,
    To choose for wealth and not for perfect love.
    Henry is able to enrich his queen
    And not seek a queen to make him rich:
    So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,
    As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.
    Marriage is a matter of more worth
    Than to be dealt in by attorneyship;
    Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects,
    Must be companion of his nuptial bed:
    And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,
    It most of all these reasons bindeth us,
    In our opinions she should be preferr'd.
    For what is wedlock forced but a hell,
    An age of discord and continual strife?
    Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss,
    And is a pattern of celestial peace.
    Whom should we match with Henry, being a king,
    But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?
    Her peerless feature, joined with her birth,
    Approves her fit for none but for a king:
    Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit,
    More than in women commonly is seen,
    Will answer our hope in issue of a king;
    For Henry, son unto a conqueror,
    Is likely to beget more conquerors,
    If with a lady of so high resolve
    As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love.
    Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me
    That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.

KING HENRY VI    Whether it be through force of your report,
    My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that
    My tender youth was never yet attaint
    With any passion of inflaming love,
    I cannot tell; but this I am assured,
    I feel such sharp dissension in my breast,
    Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear,
    As I am sick with working of my thoughts.
    Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France;
    Agree to any covenants, and procure
    That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come
    To cross the seas to England and be crown'd
    King Henry's faithful and anointed queen:
    For your expenses and sufficient charge,
    Among the people gather up a tenth.
    Be gone, I say; for, till you do return,
    I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.
    And you, good uncle, banish all offence:
    If you do censure me by what you were,
    Not what you are, I know it will excuse
    This sudden execution of my will.
    And so, conduct me where, from company,
    I may revolve and ruminate my grief.

    [Exit]

GLOUCESTER    Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.

    [Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EXETER]

SUFFOLK    Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd; and thus he goes,
    As did the youthful Paris once to Greece,
    With hope to find the like event in love,
    But prosper better than the Trojan did.
    Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king;
    But I will rule both her, the king and realm.

    [Exit]




    KING RICHARD III


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING EDWARD
The Fourth    (KING EDWARD IV:)


EDWARD    Prince of Wales, (PRINCE EDWARD:)    |
    afterwards King Edward V.,    |  sons to
            |  the King.
RICHARD    Duke of York, (YORK:)    |


GEORGE    Duke of Clarence, (CLARENCE:)    |
            |
RICHARD    Duke of Gloucester, (GLOUCESTER:)      |  Brothers to
    afterwards King Richard III.,    |  the King.
    (KING RICHARD III:)        |


    A young son of Clarence. (Boy:)

HENRY    Earl of Richmond, (RICHMOND:)
    afterwards King Henry VII.

CARDINAL BOURCHIER    Archbishop of Canterbury. (CARDINAL:)

THOMAS ROTHERHAM    Archbishop of York. (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)

JOHN MORTON    Bishop of Ely. (BISHOP OF ELY:)

DUKE of BUCKINGHAM    (BUCKINGHAM:)

DUKE of NORFOLK    (NORFOLK:)

EARL of SURREY    His son. (SURREY:)

EARL RIVERS    Brother to Elizabeth. (RIVERS:)


MARQUIS OF DORSET    (DORSET:)    |
        |  Sons to Elizabeth.
LORD GREY    (GREY:)    |


EARL of OXFORD    (OXFORD:)

LORD HASTINGS    (HASTINGS:)

LORD STANLEY    (STANLEY:)  Called also EARL of DERBY. (DERBY:)

LORD LOVEL    (LOVEL:)

SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN    (VAUGHAN:)

SIR RICHARD
RATCLIFF    (RATCLIFF:)

SIR WILLIAM
CATESBY    (CATESBY:)

SIR JAMES TYRREL    (TYRREL:)

SIR JAMES BLOUNT    (BLOUNT:)

SIR WALTER HERBERT    (HERBERT:)

SIR ROBERT
BRAKENBURY    Lieutenant of the Tower. (BRAKENBURY:)

CHRISTOPHER
URSWICK    A priest. (CHRISTOPHER:)

    Another Priest. (Priest:)


TRESSEL    |
    |  Gentlemen attending on the Lady Anne.
BERKELEY    |  (Gentleman:)


    Lord Mayor of London. (Lord Mayor:)

    Sheriff of Wiltshire. (Sheriff:)

ELIZABETH    Queen to King Edward IV. (QUEEN ELIZABETH:)

MARGARET    Widow of King Henry VI. (QUEEN MARGARET:)

DUCHESS of YORK    Mother to King Edward IV.

LADY ANNE    Widow of Edward Prince of Wales, son to King Henry VI.;
    afterwards married to Richard.

    A young Daughter of Clarence [MARGARET PLANTAGENET] (Girl:)

    Ghosts of those murdered by Richard III.,
    Lords and other Attendants; a Pursuivant
    Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers
    Soldiers, &c.
    (Ghost of Prince Edward:)
    (Ghost of King Henry VI:)
    (Ghost of CLARENCE:)
    (Ghost of RIVERS:)
    (Ghost of GREY:)
    (Ghost of VAUGHAN:)
    (Ghost of HASTING:)
    (Ghosts of young Princes:)
    (Ghost of LADY ANNE:)
    (Ghost of BUCKINGHAM:)
    (Pursuivant:)
    (Scrivener:)
    (First Citizen:)
    (Second Citizen:)
    (Third Citizen:)
    (First Murderer:)
    (Second Murderer:)
    (Messenger:)
    (Second Messenger:)
    (Third Messenger:)
    (Fourth Messenger:)


SCENE    England.




    KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE I    London. A street.

    [Enter GLOUCESTER, solus]

GLOUCESTER    Now is the winter of our discontent
    Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
    And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
    In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
    Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
    Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
    Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
    Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
    Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
    And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
    To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
    He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
    To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
    But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
    Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
    I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
    To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
    I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
    Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
    Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
    Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
    And that so lamely and unfashionable
    That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
    Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
    Have no delight to pass away the time,
    Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
    And descant on mine own deformity:
    And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
    To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
    I am determined to prove a villain
    And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
    Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
    By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
    To set my brother Clarence and the king
    In deadly hate the one against the other:
    And if King Edward be as true and just
    As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
    This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
    About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
    Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
    Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
    Clarence comes.

    [Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY]

    Brother, good day; what means this armed guard
    That waits upon your grace?

CLARENCE    His majesty
    Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
    This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

GLOUCESTER    Upon what cause?

CLARENCE                      Because my name is George.

GLOUCESTER    Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;
    He should, for that, commit your godfathers:
    O, belike his majesty hath some intent
    That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower.
    But what's the matter, Clarence?  may I know?

CLARENCE    Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest
    As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,
    He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;
    And from the cross-row plucks the letter G.
    And says a wizard told him that by G
    His issue disinherited should be;
    And, for my name of George begins with G,
    It follows in his thought that I am he.
    These, as I learn, and such like toys as these
    Have moved his highness to commit me now.

GLOUCESTER    Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women:
    'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower:
    My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she
    That tempers him to this extremity.
    Was it not she and that good man of worship,
    Anthony Woodville, her brother there,
    That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,
    From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
    We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

CLARENCE    By heaven, I think there's no man is secure
    But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds
    That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore.
    Heard ye not what an humble suppliant
    Lord hastings was to her for his delivery?

GLOUCESTER    Humbly complaining to her deity
    Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
    I'll tell you what; I think it is our way,
    If we will keep in favour with the king,
    To be her men and wear her livery:
    The jealous o'erworn widow and herself,
    Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen.
    Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

BRAKENBURY    I beseech your graces both to pardon me;
    His majesty hath straitly given in charge
    That no man shall have private conference,
    Of what degree soever, with his brother.

GLOUCESTER    Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury,
    You may partake of any thing we say:
    We speak no treason, man: we say the king
    Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
    Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;
    We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
    A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
    And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks:
    How say you sir? Can you deny all this?

BRAKENBURY    With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

GLOUCESTER    Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,
    He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
    Were best he do it secretly, alone.

BRAKENBURY    What one, my lord?

GLOUCESTER    Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me?

BRAKENBURY    I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal
    Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

CLARENCE    We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

GLOUCESTER    We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.
    Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;
    And whatsoever you will employ me in,
    Were it to call King Edward's widow sister,
    I will perform it to enfranchise you.
    Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
    Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

CLARENCE    I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

GLOUCESTER    Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
    Meantime, have patience.

CLARENCE    I must perforce. Farewell.

    [Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard]

GLOUCESTER    Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.
    Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so,
    That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
    If heaven will take the present at our hands.
    But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?

    [Enter HASTINGS]

HASTINGS    Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

GLOUCESTER    As much unto my good lord chamberlain!
    Well are you welcome to the open air.
    How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

HASTINGS    With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:
    But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
    That were the cause of my imprisonment.

GLOUCESTER    No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;
    For they that were your enemies are his,
    And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

HASTINGS    More pity that the eagle should be mew'd,
    While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

GLOUCESTER    What news abroad?

HASTINGS    No news so bad abroad as this at home;
    The King is sickly, weak and melancholy,
    And his physicians fear him mightily.

GLOUCESTER    Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
    O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
    And overmuch consumed his royal person:
    'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
    What, is he in his bed?

HASTINGS    He is.

GLOUCESTER    Go you before, and I will follow you.

    [Exit HASTINGS]

    He cannot live, I hope; and must not die
    Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.
    I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
    With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
    And, if I fall not in my deep intent,
    Clarence hath not another day to live:
    Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,
    And leave the world for me to bustle in!
    For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.
    What though I kill'd her husband and her father?
    The readiest way to make the wench amends
    Is to become her husband and her father:
    The which will I; not all so much for love
    As for another secret close intent,
    By marrying her which I must reach unto.
    But yet I run before my horse to market:
    Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns:
    When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

    [Exit]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE II    The same. Another street.

    [Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen
    with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner]

LADY ANNE    Set down, set down your honourable load,
    If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,
    Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
    The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
    Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
    Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
    Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
    Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
    To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne,
    Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,
    Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds!
    Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
    I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
    Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!
    Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!
    Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
    More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
    That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
    Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
    Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
    If ever he have child, abortive be it,
    Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
    Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
    May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
    And that be heir to his unhappiness!
    If ever he have wife, let her he made
    A miserable by the death of him
    As I am made by my poor lord and thee!
    Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,
    Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
    And still, as you are weary of the weight,
    Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.

    [Enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER    Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

LADY ANNE    What black magician conjures up this fiend,
    To stop devoted charitable deeds?

GLOUCESTER    Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,
    I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

Gentleman    My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

GLOUCESTER    Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command:
    Advance thy halbert higher than my breast,
    Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
    And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

LADY ANNE    What, do you tremble? are you all afraid?
    Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal,
    And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.
    Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!
    Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
    His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.

GLOUCESTER    Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

LADY ANNE    Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not;
    For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
    Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.
    If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
    Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.
    O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
    Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh!
    Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
    For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
    From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells;
    Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
    Provokes this deluge most unnatural.
    O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death!
    O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death!
    Either heaven with lightning strike the
    murderer dead,
    Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,
    As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood
    Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!

GLOUCESTER    Lady, you know no rules of charity,
    Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

LADY ANNE    Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man:
    No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

GLOUCESTER    But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

LADY ANNE    O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

GLOUCESTER    More wonderful, when angels are so angry.
    Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
    Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave,
    By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

LADY ANNE    Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man,
    For these known evils, but to give me leave,
    By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

GLOUCESTER    Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have
    Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

LADY ANNE    Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make
    No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

GLOUCESTER    By such despair, I should accuse myself.

LADY ANNE    And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused;
    For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
    Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

GLOUCESTER    Say that I slew them not?

LADY ANNE    Why, then they are not dead:
    But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee.

GLOUCESTER    I did not kill your husband.

LADY ANNE    Why, then he is alive.

GLOUCESTER    Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

LADY ANNE    In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw
    Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood;
    The which thou once didst bend against her breast,
    But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

GLOUCESTER    I was provoked by her slanderous tongue,
    which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

LADY ANNE    Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind.
    Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries:
    Didst thou not kill this king?

GLOUCESTER    I grant ye.

LADY ANNE    Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too
    Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!
    O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!

GLOUCESTER    The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.

LADY ANNE    He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

GLOUCESTER    Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither;
    For he was fitter for that place than earth.

LADY ANNE    And thou unfit for any place but hell.

GLOUCESTER    Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

LADY ANNE    Some dungeon.

GLOUCESTER                                 Your bed-chamber.

LADY ANNE    I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

GLOUCESTER    So will it, madam till I lie with you.

LADY ANNE    I hope so.

GLOUCESTER    I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,
    To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
    And fall somewhat into a slower method,
    Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
    Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
    As blameful as the executioner?

LADY ANNE    Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect.

GLOUCESTER    Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
    Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep
    To undertake the death of all the world,
    So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

LADY ANNE    If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
    These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

GLOUCESTER    These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck;
    You should not blemish it, if I stood by:
    As all the world is cheered by the sun,
    So I by that; it is my day, my life.

LADY ANNE    Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life!

GLOUCESTER    Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both.

LADY ANNE    I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

GLOUCESTER    It is a quarrel most unnatural,
    To be revenged on him that loveth you.

LADY ANNE    It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
    To be revenged on him that slew my husband.

GLOUCESTER    He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,
    Did it to help thee to a better husband.

LADY ANNE    His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

GLOUCESTER    He lives that loves thee better than he could.

LADY ANNE    Name him.

GLOUCESTER            Plantagenet.

LADY ANNE    Why, that was he.

GLOUCESTER    The selfsame name, but one of better nature.

LADY ANNE    Where is he?

GLOUCESTER                     Here.

    [She spitteth at him]

    Why dost thou spit at me?

LADY ANNE    Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!

GLOUCESTER    Never came poison from so sweet a place.

LADY ANNE    Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
    Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes.

GLOUCESTER    Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

LADY ANNE    Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!

GLOUCESTER    I would they were, that I might die at once;
    For now they kill me with a living death.
    Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
    Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops:
    These eyes that never shed remorseful tear,
    No, when my father York and Edward wept,
    To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made
    When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him;
    Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
    Told the sad story of my father's death,
    And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,
    That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks
    Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time
    My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
    And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,
    Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
    I never sued to friend nor enemy;
    My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word;
    But now thy beauty is proposed my fee,
    My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

    [She looks scornfully at him]

    Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made
    For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
    If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
    Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
    Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom.
    And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
    I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
    And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

    [He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword]

    Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry,
    But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
    Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward,
    But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

    [Here she lets fall the sword]

    Take up the sword again, or take up me.

LADY ANNE    Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death,
    I will not be the executioner.

GLOUCESTER    Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

LADY ANNE    I have already.

GLOUCESTER                      Tush, that was in thy rage:
    Speak it again, and, even with the word,
    That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love,
    Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love;
    To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary.

LADY ANNE    I would I knew thy heart.

GLOUCESTER    'Tis figured in my tongue.

LADY ANNE    I fear me both are false.

GLOUCESTER    Then never man was true.

LADY ANNE    Well, well, put up your sword.

GLOUCESTER    Say, then, my peace is made.

LADY ANNE    That shall you know hereafter.

GLOUCESTER    But shall I live in hope?

LADY ANNE    All men, I hope, live so.

GLOUCESTER    Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

LADY ANNE    To take is not to give.

GLOUCESTER    Look, how this ring encompasseth finger.
    Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
    Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
    And if thy poor devoted suppliant may
    But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
    Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

LADY ANNE    What is it?

GLOUCESTER    That it would please thee leave these sad designs
    To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
    And presently repair to Crosby Place;
    Where, after I have solemnly interr'd
    At Chertsey monastery this noble king,
    And wet his grave with my repentant tears,
    I will with all expedient duty see you:
    For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you,
    Grant me this boon.

LADY ANNE    With all my heart; and much it joys me too,
    To see you are become so penitent.
    Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.

GLOUCESTER    Bid me farewell.

LADY ANNE    'Tis more than you deserve;
    But since you teach me how to flatter you,
    Imagine I have said farewell already.

    [Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKELEY]

GLOUCESTER    Sirs, take up the corse.

GENTLEMEN    Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

GLOUCESTER    No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining.

    [Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

    Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
    Was ever woman in this humour won?
    I'll have her; but I will not keep her long.
    What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father,
    To take her in her heart's extremest hate,
    With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
    The bleeding witness of her hatred by;
    Having God, her conscience, and these bars
    against me,
    And I nothing to back my suit at all,
    But the plain devil and dissembling looks,
    And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!
    Ha!
    Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
    Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
    Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
    A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
    Framed in the prodigality of nature,
    Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,
    The spacious world cannot again afford
    And will she yet debase her eyes on me,
    That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,
    And made her widow to a woful bed?
    On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
    On me, that halt and am unshapen thus?
    My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
    I do mistake my person all this while:
    Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
    Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
    I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,
    And entertain some score or two of tailors,
    To study fashions to adorn my body:
    Since I am crept in favour with myself,
    Will maintain it with some little cost.
    But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave;
    And then return lamenting to my love.
    Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
    That I may see my shadow as I pass.

    [Exit]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE III    The palace.


    [Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, RIVERS, and GREY]

RIVERS    Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty
    Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

GREY    In that you brook it in, it makes him worse:
    Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,
    And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    If he were dead, what would betide of me?

RIVERS    No other harm but loss of such a lord.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    The loss of such a lord includes all harm.

GREY    The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son,
    To be your comforter when he is gone.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Oh, he is young and his minority
    Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,
    A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

RIVERS    Is it concluded that he shall be protector?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    It is determined, not concluded yet:
    But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

    [Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY]

GREY    Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby.

BUCKINGHAM    Good time of day unto your royal grace!

DERBY    God make your majesty joyful as you have been!

QUEEN ELIZABETH    The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby.
    To your good prayers will scarcely say amen.
    Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife,
    And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured
    I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

DERBY    I do beseech you, either not believe
    The envious slanders of her false accusers;
    Or, if she be accused in true report,
    Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds
    From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice.

RIVERS    Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby?

DERBY    But now the Duke of Buckingham and I
    Are come from visiting his majesty.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

BUCKINGHAM    Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    God grant him health! Did you confer with him?

BUCKINGHAM    Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement
    Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,
    And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain;
    And sent to warn them to his royal presence.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Would all were well! but that will never be
    I fear our happiness is at the highest.

    [Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET]

GLOUCESTER    They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:
    Who are they that complain unto the king,
    That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not?
    By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly
    That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.
    Because I cannot flatter and speak fair,
    Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog,
    Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
    I must be held a rancorous enemy.
    Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,
    But thus his simple truth must be abused
    By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

RIVERS    To whom in all this presence speaks your grace?

GLOUCESTER    To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.
    When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong?
    Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction?
    A plague upon you all! His royal person,--
    Whom God preserve better than you would wish!--
    Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,
    But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter.
    The king, of his own royal disposition,
    And not provoked by any suitor else;
    Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
    Which in your outward actions shows itself
    Against my kindred, brothers, and myself,
    Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather
    The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it.

GLOUCESTER    I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad,
    That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch:
    Since every Jack became a gentleman
    There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Come, come, we know your meaning, brother
    Gloucester;
    You envy my advancement and my friends':
    God grant we never may have need of you!

GLOUCESTER    Meantime, God grants that we have need of you:
    Your brother is imprison'd by your means,
    Myself disgraced, and the nobility
    Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions
    Are daily given to ennoble those
    That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    By Him that raised me to this careful height
    From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,
    I never did incense his majesty
    Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been
    An earnest advocate to plead for him.
    My lord, you do me shameful injury,
    Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.

GLOUCESTER    You may deny that you were not the cause
    Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment.

RIVERS    She may, my lord, for--

GLOUCESTER    She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so?
    She may do more, sir, than denying that:
    She may help you to many fair preferments,
    And then deny her aiding hand therein,
    And lay those honours on your high deserts.
    What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she--

RIVERS    What, marry, may she?

GLOUCESTER    What, marry, may she! marry with a king,
    A bachelor, a handsome stripling too:
    I wis your grandam had a worser match.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne
    Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs:
    By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty
    With those gross taunts I often have endured.
    I had rather be a country servant-maid
    Than a great queen, with this condition,
    To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at:

    [Enter QUEEN MARGARET, behind]

    Small joy have I in being England's queen.

QUEEN MARGARET    And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech thee!
    Thy honour, state and seat is due to me.

GLOUCESTER    What! threat you me with telling of the king?
    Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said
    I will avouch in presence of the king:
    I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.
    'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot.

QUEEN MARGARET    Out, devil! I remember them too well:
    Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower,
    And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.

GLOUCESTER    Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king,
    I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;
    A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
    A liberal rewarder of his friends:
    To royalize his blood I spilt mine own.

QUEEN MARGARET    Yea, and much better blood than his or thine.

GLOUCESTER    In all which time you and your husband Grey
    Were factious for the house of Lancaster;
    And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband
    In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain?
    Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
    What you have been ere now, and what you are;
    Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

QUEEN MARGARET    A murderous villain, and so still thou art.

GLOUCESTER    Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick;
    Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!--

QUEEN MARGARET    Which God revenge!

GLOUCESTER    To fight on Edward's party for the crown;
    And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up.
    I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's;
    Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine
    I am too childish-foolish for this world.

QUEEN MARGARET    Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world,
    Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is.

RIVERS    My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days
    Which here you urge to prove us enemies,
    We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king:
    So should we you, if you should be our king.

GLOUCESTER    If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar:
    Far be it from my heart, the thought of it!

QUEEN ELIZABETH    As little joy, my lord, as you suppose
    You should enjoy, were you this country's king,
    As little joy may you suppose in me.
    That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.

QUEEN MARGARET    A little joy enjoys the queen thereof;
    For I am she, and altogether joyless.
    I can no longer hold me patient.

    [Advancing]

    Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
    In sharing that which you have pill'd from me!
    Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
    If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects,
    Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels?
    O gentle villain, do not turn away!

GLOUCESTER    Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight?

QUEEN MARGARET    But repetition of what thou hast marr'd;
    That will I make before I let thee go.

GLOUCESTER    Wert thou not banished on pain of death?

QUEEN MARGARET    I was; but I do find more pain in banishment
    Than death can yield me here by my abode.
    A husband and a son thou owest to me;
    And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance:
    The sorrow that I have, by right is yours,
    And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.

GLOUCESTER    The curse my noble father laid on thee,
    When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper
    And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes,
    And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout
    Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland--
    His curses, then from bitterness of soul
    Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee;
    And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    So just is God, to right the innocent.

HASTINGS    O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,
    And the most merciless that e'er was heard of!

RIVERS    Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

DORSET    No man but prophesied revenge for it.

BUCKINGHAM    Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

QUEEN MARGARET    What were you snarling all before I came,
    Ready to catch each other by the throat,
    And turn you all your hatred now on me?
    Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven?
    That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
    Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment,
    Could all but answer for that peevish brat?
    Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?
    Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!
    If not by war, by surfeit die your king,
    As ours by murder, to make him a king!
    Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales,
    For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales,
    Die in his youth by like untimely violence!
    Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
    Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!
    Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss;
    And see another, as I see thee now,
    Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
    Long die thy happy days before thy death;
    And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief,
    Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!
    Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,
    And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son
    Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him,
    That none of you may live your natural age,
    But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

GLOUCESTER    Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag!

QUEEN MARGARET    And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.
    If heaven have any grievous plague in store
    Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
    O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,
    And then hurl down their indignation
    On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
    The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul!
    Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest,
    And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
    No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
    Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream
    Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
    Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!
    Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
    The slave of nature and the son of hell!
    Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb!
    Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
    Thou rag of honour! thou detested--

GLOUCESTER    Margaret.

QUEEN MARGARET            Richard!

GLOUCESTER                      Ha!

QUEEN MARGARET                      I call thee not.

GLOUCESTER    I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought
    That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.

QUEEN MARGARET    Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply.
    O, let me make the period to my curse!

GLOUCESTER    'Tis done by me, and ends in 'Margaret.'

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.

QUEEN MARGARET    Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune!
    Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider,
    Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
    Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
    The time will come when thou shalt wish for me
    To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad.

HASTINGS    False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,
    Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.

QUEEN MARGARET    Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine.

RIVERS    Were you well served, you would be taught your duty.

QUEEN MARGARET    To serve me well, you all should do me duty,
    Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects:
    O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!

DORSET    Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.

QUEEN MARGARET    Peace, master marquess, you are malapert:
    Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.
    O, that your young nobility could judge
    What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable!
    They that stand high have many blasts to shake them;
    And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

GLOUCESTER    Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess.

DORSET    It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me.

GLOUCESTER    Yea, and much more: but I was born so high,
    Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top,
    And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.

QUEEN MARGARET    And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas!
    Witness my son, now in the shade of death;
    Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
    Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
    Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest.
    O God, that seest it, do not suffer it!
    As it was won with blood, lost be it so!

BUCKINGHAM    Have done! for shame, if not for charity.

QUEEN MARGARET    Urge neither charity nor shame to me:
    Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
    And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd.
    My charity is outrage, life my shame
    And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage.

BUCKINGHAM    Have done, have done.

QUEEN MARGARET    O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand,
    In sign of league and amity with thee:
    Now fair befal thee and thy noble house!
    Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,
    Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

BUCKINGHAM    Nor no one here; for curses never pass
    The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

QUEEN MARGARET    I'll not believe but they ascend the sky,
    And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.
    O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!
    Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,
    His venom tooth will rankle to the death:
    Have not to do with him, beware of him;
    Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him,
    And all their ministers attend on him.

GLOUCESTER    What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM    Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

QUEEN MARGARET    What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel?
    And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?
    O, but remember this another day,
    When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,
    And say poor Margaret was a prophetess!
    Live each of you the subjects to his hate,
    And he to yours, and all of you to God's!

    [Exit]

HASTINGS    My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.

RIVERS    And so doth mine: I muse why she's at liberty.

GLOUCESTER    I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother,
    She hath had too much wrong; and I repent
    My part thereof that I have done to her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    I never did her any, to my knowledge.

GLOUCESTER    But you have all the vantage of her wrong.
    I was too hot to do somebody good,
    That is too cold in thinking of it now.
    Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid,
    He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains
    God pardon them that are the cause of it!

RIVERS    A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,
    To pray for them that have done scathe to us.

GLOUCESTER    So do I ever:

    [Aside]

    being well-advised.
    For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself.

    [Enter CATESBY]

CATESBY    Madam, his majesty doth call for you,
    And for your grace; and you, my noble lords.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us?

RIVERS    Madam, we will attend your grace.

    [Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER    I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.
    The secret mischiefs that I set abroach
    I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
    Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness,
    I do beweep to many simple gulls
    Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham;
    And say it is the queen and her allies
    That stir the king against the duke my brother.
    Now, they believe it; and withal whet me
    To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey:
    But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture,
    Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
    And thus I clothe my naked villany
    With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ;
    And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

    [Enter two Murderers]

    But, soft! here come my executioners.
    How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates!
    Are you now going to dispatch this deed?

First Murderer    We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant
    That we may be admitted where he is.

GLOUCESTER    Well thought upon; I have it here about me.

    [Gives the warrant]

    When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.
    But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,
    Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;
    For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps
    May move your hearts to pity if you mark him.

First Murderer    Tush!
    Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate;
    Talkers are no good doers: be assured
    We come to use our hands and not our tongues.

GLOUCESTER    Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears:
    I like you, lads; about your business straight;
    Go, go, dispatch.

First Murderer                      We will, my noble lord.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE IV    London. The Tower.


    [Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY]

BRAKENBURY    Why looks your grace so heavily today?

CLARENCE    O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
    So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
    That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
    I would not spend another such a night,
    Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days,
    So full of dismal terror was the time!

BRAKENBURY    What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it.

CLARENCE    Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower,
    And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
    And, in my company, my brother Gloucester;
    Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
    Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England,
    And cited up a thousand fearful times,
    During the wars of York and Lancaster
    That had befall'n us. As we paced along
    Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
    Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling,
    Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,
    Into the tumbling billows of the main.
    Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
    What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!
    What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
    Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
    Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;
    Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
    Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
    All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea:
    Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes
    Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
    As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
    Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
    And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.

BRAKENBURY    Had you such leisure in the time of death
    To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?

CLARENCE    Methought I had; and often did I strive
    To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood
    Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
    To seek the empty, vast and wandering air;
    But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
    Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

BRAKENBURY    Awaked you not with this sore agony?

CLARENCE    O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life;
    O, then began the tempest to my soul,
    Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
    With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
    Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
    The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
    Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
    Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury
    Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?'
    And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by
    A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
    Dabbled in blood; and he squeak'd out aloud,
    'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
    That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;
    Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!'
    With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends
    Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears
    Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
    I trembling waked, and for a season after
    Could not believe but that I was in hell,
    Such terrible impression made the dream.

BRAKENBURY    No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you;
    I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it.

CLARENCE    O Brakenbury, I have done those things,
    Which now bear evidence against my soul,
    For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me!
    O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
    But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
    Yet execute thy wrath in me alone,
    O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!
    I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me;
    My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

BRAKENBURY    I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest!

    [CLARENCE sleeps]

    Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,
    Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.
    Princes have but their tides for their glories,
    An outward honour for an inward toil;
    And, for unfelt imagination,
    They often feel a world of restless cares:
    So that, betwixt their tides and low names,
    There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

    [Enter the two Murderers]

First Murderer    Ho! who's here?

BRAKENBURY    In God's name what are you, and how came you hither?

First Murderer    I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.

BRAKENBURY    Yea, are you so brief?

Second Murderer    O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show
    him our commission; talk no more.

    [BRAKENBURY reads it]

BRAKENBURY    I am, in this, commanded to deliver
    The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands:
    I will not reason what is meant hereby,
    Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.
    Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep:
    I'll to the king; and signify to him
    That thus I have resign'd my charge to you.

First Murderer    Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well.

    [Exit BRAKENBURY]

Second Murderer    What, shall we stab him as he sleeps?

First Murderer    No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

Second Murderer    When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till
    the judgment-day.

First Murderer    Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping.

Second Murderer    The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind
    of remorse in me.

First Murderer    What, art thou afraid?

Second Murderer    Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be
    damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us.

First Murderer    I thought thou hadst been resolute.

Second Murderer    So I am, to let him live.

First Murderer    Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so.

Second Murderer    I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour
    will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one
    would tell twenty.

First Murderer    How dost thou feel thyself now?

Second Murderer    'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet
    within me.

First Murderer    Remember our reward, when the deed is done.

Second Murderer    'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward.

First Murderer    Where is thy conscience now?

Second Murderer    In the Duke of Gloucester's purse.

First Murderer    So when he opens his purse to give us our reward,
    thy conscience flies out.

Second Murderer    Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it.

First Murderer    How if it come to thee again?

Second Murderer    I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it
    makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it
    accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him;
    he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it
    detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that
    mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of
    obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold
    that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it
    is turned out of all towns and cities for a
    dangerous thing; and every man that means to live
    well endeavours to trust to himself and to live
    without it.

First Murderer    'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me
    not to kill the duke.

Second Murderer    Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he
    would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh.

First Murderer    Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me,
    I warrant thee.

Second Murderer    Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his
    reputation. Come, shall we to this gear?

First Murderer    Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy
    sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt
    in the next room.

Second Murderer    O excellent devise! make a sop of him.

First Murderer    Hark! he stirs: shall I strike?

Second Murderer    No, first let's reason with him.

CLARENCE    Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine.

Second murderer    You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.

CLARENCE    In God's name, what art thou?

Second Murderer    A man, as you are.

CLARENCE    But not, as I am, royal.

Second Murderer    Nor you, as we are, loyal.

CLARENCE    Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.

Second Murderer    My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own.

CLARENCE    How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!
    Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale?
    Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?

Both    To, to, to--

CLARENCE    To murder me?

Both    Ay, ay.

CLARENCE    You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,
    And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.
    Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

First Murderer    Offended us you have not, but the king.

CLARENCE    I shall be reconciled to him again.

Second Murderer    Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.

CLARENCE    Are you call'd forth from out a world of men
    To slay the innocent? What is my offence?
    Where are the evidence that do accuse me?
    What lawful quest have given their verdict up
    Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced
    The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death?
    Before I be convict by course of law,
    To threaten me with death is most unlawful.
    I charge you, as you hope to have redemption
    By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins,
    That you depart and lay no hands on me
    The deed you undertake is damnable.

First Murderer    What we will do, we do upon command.

Second Murderer    And he that hath commanded is the king.

CLARENCE    Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings
    Hath in the tables of his law commanded
    That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then,
    Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's?
    Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands,
    To hurl upon their heads that break his law.

Second Murderer    And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee,
    For false forswearing and for murder too:
    Thou didst receive the holy sacrament,
    To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster.

First Murderer    And, like a traitor to the name of God,
    Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade
    Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son.

Second Murderer    Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend.

First Murderer    How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us,
    When thou hast broke it in so dear degree?

CLARENCE    Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?
    For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs,
    He sends ye not to murder me for this
    For in this sin he is as deep as I.
    If God will be revenged for this deed.
    O, know you yet, he doth it publicly,
    Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm;
    He needs no indirect nor lawless course
    To cut off those that have offended him.

First Murderer    Who made thee, then, a bloody minister,
    When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,
    That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?

CLARENCE    My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.

First Murderer    Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault,
    Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

CLARENCE    Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me;
    I am his brother, and I love him well.
    If you be hired for meed, go back again,
    And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,
    Who shall reward you better for my life
    Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

Second Murderer    You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you.

CLARENCE    O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear:
    Go you to him from me.

Both    Ay, so we will.

CLARENCE    Tell him, when that our princely father York
    Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm,
    And charged us from his soul to love each other,
    He little thought of this divided friendship:
    Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.

First Murderer    Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep.

CLARENCE    O, do not slander him, for he is kind.

First Murderer    Right,
    As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself:
    'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee.

CLARENCE    It cannot be; for when I parted with him,
    He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs,
    That he would labour my delivery.

Second Murderer    Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee
    From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven.

First Murderer    Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.

CLARENCE    Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul,
    To counsel me to make my peace with God,
    And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind,
    That thou wilt war with God by murdering me?
    Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on
    To do this deed will hate you for the deed.

Second Murderer    What shall we do?

CLARENCE                      Relent, and save your souls.

First Murderer    Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish.

CLARENCE    Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.
    Which of you, if you were a prince's son,
    Being pent from liberty, as I am now,
    if two such murderers as yourselves came to you,
    Would not entreat for life?
    My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks:
    O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,
    Come thou on my side, and entreat for me,
    As you would beg, were you in my distress
    A begging prince what beggar pities not?

Second Murderer    Look behind you, my lord.

First Murderer    Take that, and that: if all this will not do,

    [Stabs him]

    I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.

    [Exit, with the body]

Second Murderer    A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd!
    How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands
    Of this most grievous guilty murder done!

    [Re-enter First Murderer]

First Murderer    How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not?
    By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art!

Second Murderer    I would he knew that I had saved his brother!
    Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;
    For I repent me that the duke is slain.

    [Exit]

First Murderer    So do not I: go, coward as thou art.
    Now must I hide his body in some hole,
    Until the duke take order for his burial:
    And when I have my meed, I must away;
    For this will out, and here I must not stay.




    KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE I    London. The palace.


    [Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV sick, QUEEN
    ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM,
    GREY, and others]

KING EDWARD IV    Why, so: now have I done a good day's work:
    You peers, continue this united league:
    I every day expect an embassage
    From my Redeemer to redeem me hence;
    And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven,
    Since I have set my friends at peace on earth.
    Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand;
    Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.

RIVERS    By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate:
    And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.

HASTINGS    So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!

KING EDWARD IV    Take heed you dally not before your king;
    Lest he that is the supreme King of kings
    Confound your hidden falsehood, and award
    Either of you to be the other's end.

HASTINGS    So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!

RIVERS    And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!

KING EDWARD IV    Madam, yourself are not exempt in this,
    Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you;
    You have been factious one against the other,
    Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;
    And what you do, do it unfeignedly.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Here, Hastings; I will never more remember
    Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!

KING EDWARD IV    Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess.

DORSET    This interchange of love, I here protest,
    Upon my part shall be unviolable.

HASTINGS    And so swear I, my lord

    [They embrace]

KING EDWARD IV    Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league
    With thy embracements to my wife's allies,
    And make me happy in your unity.

BUCKINGHAM    Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate
    On you or yours,

    [To the Queen]

    but with all duteous love
    Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me
    With hate in those where I expect most love!
    When I have most need to employ a friend,
    And most assured that he is a friend
    Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,
    Be he unto me! this do I beg of God,
    When I am cold in zeal to yours.

KING EDWARD IV    A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,
    is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.
    There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here,
    To make the perfect period of this peace.

BUCKINGHAM    And, in good time, here comes the noble duke.

    [Enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER    Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen:
    And, princely peers, a happy time of day!

KING EDWARD IV    Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.
    Brother, we done deeds of charity;
    Made peace enmity, fair love of hate,
    Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

GLOUCESTER    A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege:
    Amongst this princely heap, if any here,
    By false intelligence, or wrong surmise,
    Hold me a foe;
    If I unwittingly, or in my rage,
    Have aught committed that is hardly borne
    By any in this presence, I desire
    To reconcile me to his friendly peace:
    'Tis death to me to be at enmity;
    I hate it, and desire all good men's love.
    First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,
    Which I will purchase with my duteous service;
    Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,
    If ever any grudge were lodged between us;
    Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you;
    That without desert have frown'd on me;
    Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all.
    I do not know that Englishman alive
    With whom my soul is any jot at odds
    More than the infant that is born to-night
    I thank my God for my humility.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    A holy day shall this be kept hereafter:
    I would to God all strifes were well compounded.
    My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty
    To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

GLOUCESTER    Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this
    To be so bouted in this royal presence?
    Who knows not that the noble duke is dead?

    [They all start]

    You do him injury to scorn his corse.

RIVERS    Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    All seeing heaven, what a world is this!

BUCKINGHAM    Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?

DORSET    Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence
    But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.

KING EDWARD IV    Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed.

GLOUCESTER    But he, poor soul, by your first order died,
    And that a winged Mercury did bear:
    Some tardy cripple bore the countermand,
    That came too lag to see him buried.
    God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,
    Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood,
    Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
    And yet go current from suspicion!

    [Enter DERBY]

DORSET    A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!

KING EDWARD IV    I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow.

DORSET    I will not rise, unless your highness grant.

KING EDWARD IV    Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st.

DORSET    The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life;
    Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman
    Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

KING EDWARD IV    Have a tongue to doom my brother's death,
    And shall the same give pardon to a slave?
    My brother slew no man; his fault was thought,
    And yet his punishment was cruel death.
    Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage,
    Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised
    Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love?
    Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
    The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
    Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury
    When Oxford had me down, he rescued me,
    And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'?
    Who told me, when we both lay in the field
    Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
    Even in his own garments, and gave himself,
    All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?
    All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
    Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you
    Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
    But when your carters or your waiting-vassals
    Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced
    The precious image of our dear Redeemer,
    You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;
    And I unjustly too, must grant it you
    But for my brother not a man would speak,
    Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself
    For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
    Have been beholding to him in his life;
    Yet none of you would once plead for his life.
    O God, I fear thy justice will take hold
    On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this!
    Come, Hastings, help me to my closet.
    Oh, poor Clarence!

    [Exeunt some with KING EDWARD IV and QUEEN MARGARET]

GLOUCESTER    This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not
    How that the guilty kindred of the queen
    Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death?
    O, they did urge it still unto the king!
    God will revenge it. But come, let us in,
    To comfort Edward with our company.

BUCKINGHAM    We wait upon your grace.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE II    The palace.


    [Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with the two children of CLARENCE]

Boy    Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead?

DUCHESS OF YORK    No, boy.

Boy    Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast,
    And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!'

Girl    Why do you look on us, and shake your head,
    And call us wretches, orphans, castaways
    If that our noble father be alive?

DUCHESS OF YORK    My pretty cousins, you mistake me much;
    I do lament the sickness of the king.
    As loath to lose him, not your father's death;
    It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost.

Boy    Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.
    The king my uncle is to blame for this:
    God will revenge it; whom I will importune
    With daily prayers all to that effect.

Girl    And so will I.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well:
    Incapable and shallow innocents,
    You cannot guess who caused your father's death.

Boy    Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester
    Told me, the king, provoked by the queen,
    Devised impeachments to imprison him :
    And when my uncle told me so, he wept,
    And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my cheek;
    Bade me rely on him as on my father,
    And he would love me dearly as his child.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes,
    And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile!
    He is my son; yea, and therein my shame;
    Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

Boy    Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?

DUCHESS OF YORK    Ay, boy.

Boy    I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?

    [Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her
    ears; RIVERS, and DORSET after her]

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep,
    To chide my fortune, and torment myself?
    I'll join with black despair against my soul,
    And to myself become an enemy.

DUCHESS OF YORK    What means this scene of rude impatience?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    To make an act of tragic violence:
    Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead.
    Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd?
    Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone?
    If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,
    That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's;
    Or, like obedient subjects, follow him
    To his new kingdom of perpetual rest.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow
    As I had title in thy noble husband!
    I have bewept a worthy husband's death,
    And lived by looking on his images:
    But now two mirrors of his princely semblance
    Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death,
    And I for comfort have but one false glass,
    Which grieves me when I see my shame in him.
    Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother,
    And hast the comfort of thy children left thee:
    But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms,
    And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs,
    Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I,
    Thine being but a moiety of my grief,
    To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries!

Boy    Good aunt, you wept not for our father's death;
    How can we aid you with our kindred tears?

Girl    Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd;
    Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Give me no help in lamentation;
    I am not barren to bring forth complaints
    All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes,
    That I, being govern'd by the watery moon,
    May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!
    Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward!

Children    Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence!

DUCHESS OF YORK    Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!

QUEEN ELIZABETH    What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone.

Children    What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone.

DUCHESS OF YORK    What stays had I but they? and they are gone.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Was never widow had so dear a loss!

Children    Were never orphans had so dear a loss!

DUCHESS OF YORK    Was never mother had so dear a loss!
    Alas, I am the mother of these moans!
    Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general.
    She for an Edward weeps, and so do I;
    I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she:
    These babes for Clarence weep and so do I;
    I for an Edward weep, so do not they:
    Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd,
    Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse,
    And I will pamper it with lamentations.

DORSET    Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased
    That you take with unthankfulness, his doing:
    In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful,
    With dull unwilligness to repay a debt
    Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
    Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,
    For it requires the royal debt it lent you.

RIVERS    Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,
    Of the young prince your son: send straight for him
    Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives:
    Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave,
    And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.

    [Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF]

GLOUCESTER    Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause
    To wail the dimming of our shining star;
    But none can cure their harms by wailing them.
    Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;
    I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee
    I crave your blessing.

DUCHESS OF YORK    God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind,
    Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

GLOUCESTER    [Aside]  Amen; and make me die a good old man!
    That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing:
    I marvel why her grace did leave it out.

BUCKINGHAM    You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers,
    That bear this mutual heavy load of moan,
    Now cheer each other in each other's love
    Though we have spent our harvest of this king,
    We are to reap the harvest of his son.
    The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts,
    But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together,
    Must gently be preserved, cherish'd, and kept:
    Me seemeth good, that, with some little train,
    Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd
    Hither to London, to be crown'd our king.

RIVERS    Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM    Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude,
    The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out,
    Which would be so much the more dangerous
    By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd:
    Where every horse bears his commanding rein,
    And may direct his course as please himself,
    As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent,
    In my opinion, ought to be prevented.

GLOUCESTER    I hope the king made peace with all of us
    And the compact is firm and true in me.

RIVERS    And so in me; and so, I think, in all:
    Yet, since it is but green, it should be put
    To no apparent likelihood of breach,
    Which haply by much company might be urged:
    Therefore I say with noble Buckingham,
    That it is meet so few should fetch the prince.

HASTINGS    And so say I.

GLOUCESTER    Then be it so; and go we to determine
    Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.
    Madam, and you, my mother, will you go
    To give your censures in this weighty business?


QUEEN ELIZABETH    |
    |  With all our harts.
DUCHESS OF YORK    |


    [Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER]

BUCKINGHAM    My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,
    For God's sake, let not us two be behind;
    For, by the way, I'll sort occasion,
    As index to the story we late talk'd of,
    To part the queen's proud kindred from the king.

GLOUCESTER    My other self, my counsel's consistory,
    My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin,
    I, like a child, will go by thy direction.
    Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE III    London. A street.


    [Enter two Citizens meeting]

First Citizen    Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast?

Second Citizen    I promise you, I scarcely know myself:
    Hear you the news abroad?

First Citizen    Ay, that the king is dead.

Second Citizen    Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better:
    I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world.

    [Enter another Citizen]

Third Citizen    Neighbours, God speed!

First Citizen    Give you good morrow, sir.

Third Citizen    Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death?

Second Citizen    Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!

Third Citizen    Then, masters, look to see a troublous world.

First Citizen    No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign.

Third Citizen    Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child!

Second Citizen    In him there is a hope of government,
    That in his nonage council under him,
    And in his full and ripen'd years himself,
    No doubt, shall then and till then govern well.

First Citizen    So stood the state when Henry the Sixth
    Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old.

Third Citizen    Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot;
    For then this land was famously enrich'd
    With politic grave counsel; then the king
    Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace.

First Citizen    Why, so hath this, both by the father and mother.

Third Citizen    Better it were they all came by the father,
    Or by the father there were none at all;
    For emulation now, who shall be nearest,
    Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.
    O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!
    And the queen's sons and brothers haught and proud:
    And were they to be ruled, and not to rule,
    This sickly land might solace as before.

First Citizen    Come, come, we fear the worst; all shall be well.

Third Citizen    When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks;
    When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand;
    When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?
    Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.
    All may be well; but, if God sort it so,
    'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.

Second Citizen    Truly, the souls of men are full of dread:
    Ye cannot reason almost with a man
    That looks not heavily and full of fear.

Third Citizen    Before the times of change, still is it so:
    By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust
    Ensuing dangers; as by proof, we see
    The waters swell before a boisterous storm.
    But leave it all to God. whither away?

Second Citizen    Marry, we were sent for to the justices.

Third Citizen    And so was I: I'll bear you company.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE IV    London. The palace.


    [Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, young YORK, QUEEN
    ELIZABETH, and the DUCHESS OF YORK]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK    Last night, I hear, they lay at Northampton;
    At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night:
    To-morrow, or next day, they will be here.

DUCHESS OF YORK    I long with all my heart to see the prince:
    I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    But I hear, no; they say my son of York
    Hath almost overta'en him in his growth.

YORK    Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow.

YORK    Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper,
    My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow
    More than my brother: 'Ay,' quoth my uncle
    Gloucester,
    'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:'
    And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
    Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold
    In him that did object the same to thee;
    He was the wretched'st thing when he was young,
    So long a-growing and so leisurely,
    That, if this rule were true, he should be gracious.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK    Why, madam, so, no doubt, he is.

DUCHESS OF YORK    I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.

YORK    Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd,
    I could have given my uncle's grace a flout,
    To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine.

DUCHESS OF YORK    How, my pretty York? I pray thee, let me hear it.

YORK    Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast
    That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old
    'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.
    Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.

DUCHESS OF YORK    I pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this?

YORK    Grandam, his nurse.

DUCHESS OF YORK    His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wert born.

YORK    If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    A parlous boy: go to, you are too shrewd.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK    Good madam, be not angry with the child.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Pitchers have ears.

    [Enter a Messenger]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK    Here comes a messenger. What news?

Messenger    Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    How fares the prince?

Messenger    Well, madam, and in health.

DUCHESS OF YORK    What is thy news then?

Messenger    Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to Pomfret,
    With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Who hath committed them?

Messenger    The mighty dukes
    Gloucester and Buckingham.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    For what offence?

Messenger    The sum of all I can, I have disclosed;
    Why or for what these nobles were committed
    Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Ay me, I see the downfall of our house!
    The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind;
    Insulting tyranny begins to jet
    Upon the innocent and aweless throne:
    Welcome, destruction, death, and massacre!
    I see, as in a map, the end of all.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Accursed and unquiet wrangling days,
    How many of you have mine eyes beheld!
    My husband lost his life to get the crown;
    And often up and down my sons were toss'd,
    For me to joy and weep their gain and loss:
    And being seated, and domestic broils
    Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors.
    Make war upon themselves; blood against blood,
    Self against self: O, preposterous
    And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen;
    Or let me die, to look on death no more!

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Come, come, my boy; we will to sanctuary.
    Madam, farewell.

DUCHESS OF YORK                      I'll go along with you.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    You have no cause.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK                      My gracious lady, go;
    And thither bear your treasure and your goods.
    For my part, I'll resign unto your grace
    The seal I keep: and so betide to me
    As well I tender you and all of yours!
    Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE I    London. A street.


    [The trumpets sound. Enter the young PRINCE EDWARD,
    GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, CARDINAL, CATESBY, and others]

BUCKINGHAM    Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber.

GLOUCESTER    Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign
    The weary way hath made you melancholy.

PRINCE EDWARD    No, uncle; but our crosses on the way
    Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy
    I want more uncles here to welcome me.

GLOUCESTER    Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years
    Hath not yet dived into the world's deceit
    Nor more can you distinguish of a man
    Than of his outward show; which, God he knows,
    Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.
    Those uncles which you want were dangerous;
    Your grace attended to their sugar'd words,
    But look'd not on the poison of their hearts :
    God keep you from them, and from such false friends!

PRINCE EDWARD    God keep me from false friends! but they were none.

GLOUCESTER    My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you.

    [Enter the Lord Mayor and his train]

Lord Mayor    God bless your grace with health and happy days!

PRINCE EDWARD    I thank you, good my lord; and thank you all.
    I thought my mother, and my brother York,
    Would long ere this have met us on the way
    Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not
    To tell us whether they will come or no!

    [Enter HASTINGS]

BUCKINGHAM    And, in good time, here comes the sweating lord.

PRINCE EDWARD    Welcome, my lord: what, will our mother come?

HASTINGS    On what occasion, God he knows, not I,
    The queen your mother, and your brother York,
    Have taken sanctuary: the tender prince
    Would fain have come with me to meet your grace,
    But by his mother was perforce withheld.

BUCKINGHAM    Fie, what an indirect and peevish course
    Is this of hers! Lord cardinal, will your grace
    Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York
    Unto his princely brother presently?
    If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him,
    And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.

CARDINAL    My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory
    Can from his mother win the Duke of York,
    Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate
    To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid
    We should infringe the holy privilege
    Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land
    Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.

BUCKINGHAM    You are too senseless--obstinate, my lord,
    Too ceremonious and traditional
    Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,
    You break not sanctuary in seizing him.
    The benefit thereof is always granted
    To those whose dealings have deserved the place,
    And those who have the wit to claim the place:
    This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserved it;
    And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it:
    Then, taking him from thence that is not there,
    You break no privilege nor charter there.
    Oft have I heard of sanctuary men;
    But sanctuary children ne'er till now.

CARDINAL    My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once.
    Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?

HASTINGS    I go, my lord.

PRINCE EDWARD    Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.

    [Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS]

    Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,
    Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?

GLOUCESTER    Where it seems best unto your royal self.
    If I may counsel you, some day or two
    Your highness shall repose you at the Tower:
    Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit
    For your best health and recreation.

PRINCE EDWARD    I do not like the Tower, of any place.
    Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?

BUCKINGHAM    He did, my gracious lord, begin that place;
    Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.

PRINCE EDWARD    Is it upon record, or else reported
    Successively from age to age, he built it?

BUCKINGHAM    Upon record, my gracious lord.

PRINCE EDWARD    But say, my lord, it were not register'd,
    Methinks the truth should live from age to age,
    As 'twere retail'd to all posterity,
    Even to the general all-ending day.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside]  So wise so young, they say, do never
    live long.

PRINCE EDWARD    What say you, uncle?

GLOUCESTER    I say, without characters, fame lives long.

    [Aside]

    Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity,
    I moralize two meanings in one word.

PRINCE EDWARD    That Julius Caesar was a famous man;
    With what his valour did enrich his wit,
    His wit set down to make his valour live
    Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;
    For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
    I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham,--

BUCKINGHAM    What, my gracious lord?

PRINCE EDWARD    An if I live until I be a man,
    I'll win our ancient right in France again,
    Or die a soldier, as I lived a king.

GLOUCESTER    [Aside]  Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

    [Enter young YORK, HASTINGS, and the CARDINAL]

BUCKINGHAM    Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York.

PRINCE EDWARD    Richard of York! how fares our loving brother?

YORK    Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now.

PRINCE EDWARD    Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours:
    Too late he died that might have kept that title,
    Which by his death hath lost much majesty.

GLOUCESTER    How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?

YORK    I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord,
    You said that idle weeds are fast in growth
    The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.

GLOUCESTER    He hath, my lord.

YORK                      And therefore is he idle?

GLOUCESTER    O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.

YORK    Then is he more beholding to you than I.

GLOUCESTER    He may command me as my sovereign;
    But you have power in me as in a kinsman.

YORK    I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.

GLOUCESTER    My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart.

PRINCE EDWARD    A beggar, brother?

YORK    Of my kind uncle, that I know will give;
    And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.

GLOUCESTER    A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.

YORK    A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it.

GLOUCESTER    A gentle cousin, were it light enough.

YORK    O, then, I see, you will part but with light gifts;
    In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.

GLOUCESTER    It is too heavy for your grace to wear.

YORK    I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.

GLOUCESTER    What, would you have my weapon, little lord?

YORK    I would, that I might thank you as you call me.

GLOUCESTER    How?

YORK    Little.

PRINCE EDWARD    My Lord of York will still be cross in talk:
    Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.

YORK    You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me:
    Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;
    Because that I am little, like an ape,
    He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.

BUCKINGHAM    With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!
    To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,
    He prettily and aptly taunts himself:
    So cunning and so young is wonderful.

GLOUCESTER    My lord, will't please you pass along?
    Myself and my good cousin Buckingham
    Will to your mother, to entreat of her
    To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.

YORK    What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?

PRINCE EDWARD    My lord protector needs will have it so.

YORK    I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.

GLOUCESTER    Why, what should you fear?

YORK    Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost:
    My grandam told me he was murdered there.

PRINCE EDWARD    I fear no uncles dead.

GLOUCESTER    Nor none that live, I hope.

PRINCE EDWARD    An if they live, I hope I need not fear.
    But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,
    Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.

    [A Sennet. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM
    and CATESBY]

BUCKINGHAM    Think you, my lord, this little prating York
    Was not incensed by his subtle mother
    To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?

GLOUCESTER    No doubt, no doubt; O, 'tis a parlous boy;
    Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable
    He is all the mother's, from the top to toe.

BUCKINGHAM    Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby.
    Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend
    As closely to conceal what we impart:
    Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way;
    What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter
    To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,
    For the instalment of this noble duke
    In the seat royal of this famous isle?

CATESBY    He for his father's sake so loves the prince,
    That he will not be won to aught against him.

BUCKINGHAM    What think'st thou, then, of Stanley? what will he?

CATESBY    He will do all in all as Hastings doth.

BUCKINGHAM    Well, then, no more but this: go, gentle Catesby,
    And, as it were far off sound thou Lord Hastings,
    How doth he stand affected to our purpose;
    And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,
    To sit about the coronation.
    If thou dost find him tractable to us,
    Encourage him, and show him all our reasons:
    If he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling,
    Be thou so too; and so break off your talk,
    And give us notice of his inclination:
    For we to-morrow hold divided councils,
    Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd.

GLOUCESTER    Commend me to Lord William: tell him, Catesby,
    His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries
    To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle;
    And bid my friend, for joy of this good news,
    Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.

BUCKINGHAM    Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly.

CATESBY    My good lords both, with all the heed I may.

GLOUCESTER    Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?

CATESBY    You shall, my lord.

GLOUCESTER    At Crosby Place, there shall you find us both.

    [Exit CATESBY]

BUCKINGHAM    Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive
    Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?

GLOUCESTER    Chop off his head, man; somewhat we will do:
    And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me
    The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables
    Whereof the king my brother stood possess'd.

BUCKINGHAM    I'll claim that promise at your grace's hands.

GLOUCESTER    And look to have it yielded with all willingness.
    Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards
    We may digest our complots in some form.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE II    Before Lord Hastings' house.


    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    What, ho! my lord!

HASTINGS    [Within]  Who knocks at the door?

Messenger    A messenger from the Lord Stanley.

    [Enter HASTINGS]

HASTINGS    What is't o'clock?

Messenger    Upon the stroke of four.

HASTINGS    Cannot thy master sleep these tedious nights?

Messenger    So it should seem by that I have to say.
    First, he commends him to your noble lordship.

HASTINGS    And then?

Messenger    And then he sends you word
    He dreamt to-night the boar had razed his helm:
    Besides, he says there are two councils held;
    And that may be determined at the one
    which may make you and him to rue at the other.
    Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure,
    If presently you will take horse with him,
    And with all speed post with him toward the north,
    To shun the danger that his soul divines.

HASTINGS    Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;
    Bid him not fear the separated councils
    His honour and myself are at the one,
    And at the other is my servant Catesby
    Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us
    Whereof I shall not have intelligence.
    Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting instance:
    And for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond
    To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers
    To fly the boar before the boar pursues,
    Were to incense the boar to follow us
    And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.
    Go, bid thy master rise and come to me
    And we will both together to the Tower,
    Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.

Messenger    My gracious lord, I'll tell him what you say.

    [Exit]

    [Enter CATESBY]

CATESBY    Many good morrows to my noble lord!

HASTINGS    Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring
    What news, what news, in this our tottering state?

CATESBY    It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord;
    And I believe twill never stand upright
    Tim Richard wear the garland of the realm.

HASTINGS    How! wear the garland! dost thou mean the crown?

CATESBY    Ay, my good lord.

HASTINGS    I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders
    Ere I will see the crown so foul misplaced.
    But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?

CATESBY    Ay, on my life; and hopes to find forward
    Upon his party for the gain thereof:
    And thereupon he sends you this good news,
    That this same very day your enemies,
    The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret.

HASTINGS    Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,
    Because they have been still mine enemies:
    But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side,
    To bar my master's heirs in true descent,
    God knows I will not do it, to the death.

CATESBY    God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!

HASTINGS    But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence,
    That they who brought me in my master's hate
    I live to look upon their tragedy.
    I tell thee, Catesby--

CATESBY    What, my lord?

HASTINGS    Ere a fortnight make me elder,
    I'll send some packing that yet think not on it.

CATESBY    'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,
    When men are unprepared and look not for it.

HASTINGS    O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out
    With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do
    With some men else, who think themselves as safe
    As thou and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear
    To princely Richard and to Buckingham.

CATESBY    The princes both make high account of you;

    [Aside]

    For they account his head upon the bridge.

HASTINGS    I know they do; and I have well deserved it.

    [Enter STANLEY]

    Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?
    Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?

STANLEY    My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby:
    You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,
    I do not like these several councils, I.

HASTINGS    My lord,
    I hold my life as dear as you do yours;
    And never in my life, I do protest,
    Was it more precious to me than 'tis now:
    Think you, but that I know our state secure,
    I would be so triumphant as I am?

STANLEY    The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London,
    Were jocund, and supposed their state was sure,
    And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;
    But yet, you see how soon the day o'ercast.
    This sudden stag of rancour I misdoubt:
    Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward!
    What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent.

HASTINGS    Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my lord?
    To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded.

LORD STANLEY    They, for their truth, might better wear their heads
    Than some that have accused them wear their hats.
    But come, my lord, let us away.

    [Enter a Pursuivant]

HASTINGS    Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow.

    [Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY]

    How now, sirrah! how goes the world with thee?

Pursuivant    The better that your lordship please to ask.

HASTINGS    I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now
    Than when I met thee last where now we meet:
    Then was I going prisoner to the Tower,
    By the suggestion of the queen's allies;
    But now, I tell thee--keep it to thyself--
    This day those enemies are put to death,
    And I in better state than e'er I was.

Pursuivant    God hold it, to your honour's good content!

HASTINGS    Gramercy, fellow: there, drink that for me.

    [Throws him his purse]

Pursuivant    God save your lordship!

    [Exit]

    [Enter a Priest]

Priest    Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.

HASTINGS    I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.
    I am in your debt for your last exercise;
    Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.

    [He whispers in his ear]

    [Enter BUCKINGHAM]

BUCKINGHAM    What, talking with a priest, lord chamberlain?
    Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest;
    Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.

HASTINGS    Good faith, and when I met this holy man,
    Those men you talk of came into my mind.
    What, go you toward the Tower?

BUCKINGHAM    I do, my lord; but long I shall not stay
    I shall return before your lordship thence.

HASTINGS    'Tis like enough, for I stay dinner there.

BUCKINGHAM    [Aside]  And supper too, although thou know'st it not.
    Come, will you go?

HASTINGS    I'll wait upon your lordship.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE III    Pomfret Castle.


    [Enter RATCLIFF, with halberds, carrying RIVERS,
    GREY, and VAUGHAN to death]

RATCLIFF    Come, bring forth the prisoners.

RIVERS    Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this:
    To-day shalt thou behold a subject die
    For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.

GREY    God keep the prince from all the pack of you!
    A knot you are of damned blood-suckers!

VAUGHAN    You live that shall cry woe for this after.

RATCLIFF    Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.

RIVERS    O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,
    Fatal and ominous to noble peers!
    Within the guilty closure of thy walls
    Richard the second here was hack'd to death;
    And, for more slander to thy dismal seat,
    We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink.

GREY    Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads,
    For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.

RIVERS    Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed she Buckingham,
    Then cursed she Richard. O, remember, God
    To hear her prayers for them, as now for us
    And for my sister and her princely sons,
    Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,
    Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt.

RATCLIFF    Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.

RIVERS    Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us all embrace:
    And take our leave, until we meet in heaven.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE IV    The Tower of London.


    [Enter BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP OF
    ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL, with others, and take their
    seats at a table]

HASTINGS    My lords, at once: the cause why we are met
    Is, to determine of the coronation.
    In God's name, speak: when is the royal day?

BUCKINGHAM    Are all things fitting for that royal time?

DERBY    It is, and wants but nomination.

BISHOP OF ELY    To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day.

BUCKINGHAM    Who knows the lord protector's mind herein?
    Who is most inward with the royal duke?

BISHOP OF ELY    Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind.

BUCKINGHAM    Who, I, my lord I we know each other's faces,
    But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine,
    Than I of yours;
    Nor I no more of his, than you of mine.
    Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.

HASTINGS    I thank his grace, I know he loves me well;
    But, for his purpose in the coronation.
    I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd
    His gracious pleasure any way therein:
    But you, my noble lords, may name the time;
    And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice,
    Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part.

    [Enter GLOUCESTER]

BISHOP OF ELY    Now in good time, here comes the duke himself.

GLOUCESTER    My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow.
    I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope,
    My absence doth neglect no great designs,
    Which by my presence might have been concluded.

BUCKINGHAM    Had not you come upon your cue, my lord
    William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part,--
    I mean, your voice,--for crowning of the king.

GLOUCESTER    Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder;
    His lordship knows me well, and loves me well.

HASTINGS    I thank your grace.

GLOUCESTER    My lord of Ely!

BISHOP OF ELY    My lord?

GLOUCESTER    When I was last in Holborn,
    I saw good strawberries in your garden there
    I do beseech you send for some of them.

BISHOP OF ELY    Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart.

    [Exit]

GLOUCESTER    Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.

    [Drawing him aside]

    Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business,
    And finds the testy gentleman so hot,
    As he will lose his head ere give consent
    His master's son, as worshipful as he terms it,
    Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.

BUCKINGHAM    Withdraw you hence, my lord, I'll follow you.

    [Exit GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM following]

DERBY    We have not yet set down this day of triumph.
    To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden;
    For I myself am not so well provided
    As else I would be, were the day prolong'd.

    [Re-enter BISHOP OF ELY]

BISHOP OF ELY    Where is my lord protector? I have sent for these
    strawberries.

HASTINGS    His grace looks cheerfully and smooth to-day;
    There's some conceit or other likes him well,
    When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit.
    I think there's never a man in Christendom
    That can less hide his love or hate than he;
    For by his face straight shall you know his heart.

DERBY    What of his heart perceive you in his face
    By any likelihood he show'd to-day?

HASTINGS    Marry, that with no man here he is offended;
    For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.

DERBY    I pray God he be not, I say.

    [Re-enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM]

GLOUCESTER    I pray you all, tell me what they deserve
    That do conspire my death with devilish plots
    Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd
    Upon my body with their hellish charms?

HASTINGS    The tender love I bear your grace, my lord,
    Makes me most forward in this noble presence
    To doom the offenders, whatsoever they be
    I say, my lord, they have deserved death.

GLOUCESTER    Then be your eyes the witness of this ill:
    See how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm
    Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up:
    And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch,
    Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore,
    That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.

HASTINGS    If they have done this thing, my gracious lord--

GLOUCESTER    If I thou protector of this damned strumpet--
    Tellest thou me of 'ifs'?  Thou art a traitor:
    Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear,
    I will not dine until I see the same.
    Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done:
    The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.

    [Exeunt all but HASTINGS, RATCLIFF, and LOVEL]

HASTINGS    Woe, woe for England! not a whit for me;
    For I, too fond, might have prevented this.
    Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm;
    But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly:
    Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,
    And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower,
    As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.
    O, now I want the priest that spake to me:
    I now repent I told the pursuivant
    As 'twere triumphing at mine enemies,
    How they at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd,
    And I myself secure in grace and favour.
    O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse
    Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head!

RATCLIFF    Dispatch, my lord; the duke would be at dinner:
    Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.

HASTINGS    O momentary grace of mortal men,
    Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
    Who builds his hopes in air of your good looks,
    Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,
    Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
    Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

LOVEL    Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim.

HASTINGS    O bloody Richard! miserable England!
    I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee
    That ever wretched age hath look'd upon.
    Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head.
    They smile at me that shortly shall be dead.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE V    The Tower-walls.


    [Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, in rotten armour,
    marvellous ill-favoured]

GLOUCESTER    Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change thy colour,
    Murder thy breath in the middle of a word,
    And then begin again, and stop again,
    As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror?

BUCKINGHAM    Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;
    Speak and look back, and pry on every side,
    Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,
    Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks
    Are at my service, like enforced smiles;
    And both are ready in their offices,
    At any time, to grace my stratagems.
    But what, is Catesby gone?

GLOUCESTER    He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.

    [Enter the Lord Mayor and CATESBY]

BUCKINGHAM    Lord mayor,--

GLOUCESTER    Look to the drawbridge there!

BUCKINGHAM    Hark! a drum.

GLOUCESTER    Catesby, o'erlook the walls.

BUCKINGHAM    Lord mayor, the reason we have sent--

GLOUCESTER    Look back, defend thee, here are enemies.

BUCKINGHAM    God and our innocency defend and guard us!

GLOUCESTER    Be patient, they are friends, Ratcliff and Lovel.

    [Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS' head]

LOVEL    Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,
    The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.

GLOUCESTER    So dear I loved the man, that I must weep.
    I took him for the plainest harmless creature
    That breathed upon this earth a Christian;
    Made him my book wherein my soul recorded
    The history of all her secret thoughts:
    So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue,
    That, his apparent open guilt omitted,
    I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife,
    He lived from all attainder of suspect.

BUCKINGHAM    Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd traitor
    That ever lived.
    Would you imagine, or almost believe,
    Were't not that, by great preservation,
    We live to tell it you, the subtle traitor
    This day had plotted, in the council-house
    To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester?

Lord Mayor    What, had he so?

GLOUCESTER    What, think You we are Turks or infidels?
    Or that we would, against the form of law,
    Proceed thus rashly to the villain's death,
    But that the extreme peril of the case,
    The peace of England and our persons' safety,
    Enforced us to this execution?

Lord Mayor    Now, fair befall you! he deserved his death;
    And you my good lords, both have well proceeded,
    To warn false traitors from the like attempts.
    I never look'd for better at his hands,
    After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.

GLOUCESTER    Yet had not we determined he should die,
    Until your lordship came to see his death;
    Which now the loving haste of these our friends,
    Somewhat against our meaning, have prevented:
    Because, my lord, we would have had you heard
    The traitor speak, and timorously confess
    The manner and the purpose of his treason;
    That you might well have signified the same
    Unto the citizens, who haply may
    Misconstrue us in him and wail his death.

Lord Mayor    But, my good lord, your grace's word shall serve,
    As well as I had seen and heard him speak
    And doubt you not, right noble princes both,
    But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens
    With all your just proceedings in this cause.

GLOUCESTER    And to that end we wish'd your lord-ship here,
    To avoid the carping censures of the world.

BUCKINGHAM    But since you come too late of our intents,
    Yet witness what you hear we did intend:
    And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell.

    [Exit Lord Mayor]

GLOUCESTER    Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.
    The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post:
    There, at your meet'st advantage of the time,
    Infer the bastardy of Edward's children:
    Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen,
    Only for saying he would make his son
    Heir to the crown; meaning indeed his house,
    Which, by the sign thereof was termed so.
    Moreover, urge his hateful luxury
    And bestial appetite in change of lust;
    Which stretched to their servants, daughters, wives,
    Even where his lustful eye or savage heart,
    Without control, listed to make his prey.
    Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:
    Tell them, when that my mother went with child
    Of that unsatiate Edward, noble York
    My princely father then had wars in France
    And, by just computation of the time,
    Found that the issue was not his begot;
    Which well appeared in his lineaments,
    Being nothing like the noble duke my father:
    But touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off,
    Because you know, my lord, my mother lives.

BUCKINGHAM    Fear not, my lord, I'll play the orator
    As if the golden fee for which I plead
    Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu.

GLOUCESTER    If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's Castle;
    Where you shall find me well accompanied
    With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops.

BUCKINGHAM    I go: and towards three or four o'clock
    Look for the news that the Guildhall affords.

    [Exit BUCKINGHAM]

GLOUCESTER    Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw;

    [To CATESBY]

    Go thou to Friar Penker; bid them both
    Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle.

    [Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

    Now will I in, to take some privy order,
    To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight;
    And to give notice, that no manner of person
    At any time have recourse unto the princes.

    [Exit]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE VI    The same.


    [Enter a Scrivener, with a paper in his hand]

Scrivener    This is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;
    Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd,
    That it may be this day read over in Paul's.
    And mark how well the sequel hangs together:
    Eleven hours I spent to write it over,
    For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me;
    The precedent was full as long a-doing:
    And yet within these five hours lived Lord Hastings,
    Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty
    Here's a good world the while! Why who's so gross,
    That seeth not this palpable device?
    Yet who's so blind, but says he sees it not?
    Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,
    When such bad dealings must be seen in thought.

    [Exit]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE VII    Baynard's Castle.


    [Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors]

GLOUCESTER    How now, my lord, what say the citizens?

BUCKINGHAM    Now, by the holy mother of our Lord,
    The citizens are mum and speak not a word.

GLOUCESTER    Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children?

BUCKINGHAM    I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,
    And his contract by deputy in France;
    The insatiate greediness of his desires,
    And his enforcement of the city wives;
    His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,
    As being got, your father then in France,
    His resemblance, being not like the duke;
    Withal I did infer your lineaments,
    Being the right idea of your father,
    Both in your form and nobleness of mind;
    Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
    Your dicipline in war, wisdom in peace,
    Your bounty, virtue, fair humility:
    Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose
    Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse
    And when mine oratory grew to an end
    I bid them that did love their country's good
    Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal king!'

GLOUCESTER    Ah! and did they so?

BUCKINGHAM    No, so God help me, they spake not a word;
    But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,
    Gazed each on other, and look'd deadly pale.
    Which when I saw, I reprehended them;
    And ask'd the mayor what meant this wilful silence:
    His answer was, the people were not wont
    To be spoke to but by the recorder.
    Then he was urged to tell my tale again,
    'Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd;'
    But nothing spake in warrant from himself.
    When he had done, some followers of mine own,
    At the lower end of the hall, hurl'd up their caps,
    And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!'
    And thus I took the vantage of those few,
    'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I;
    'This general applause and loving shout
    Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard:'
    And even here brake off, and came away.

GLOUCESTER    What tongueless blocks were they! would not they speak?

BUCKINGHAM    No, by my troth, my lord.

GLOUCESTER    Will not the mayor then and his brethren come?

BUCKINGHAM    The mayor is here at hand: intend some fear;
    Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit:
    And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,
    And stand betwixt two churchmen, good my lord;
    For on that ground I'll build a holy descant:
    And be not easily won to our request:
    Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it.

GLOUCESTER    I go; and if you plead as well for them
    As I can say nay to thee for myself,
    No doubt well bring it to a happy issue.

BUCKINGHAM    Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor knocks.

    [Exit GLOUCESTER]

    [Enter the Lord Mayor and Citizens]

    Welcome my lord; I dance attendance here;
    I think the duke will not be spoke withal.

    [Enter CATESBY]

    Here comes his servant: how now, Catesby,
    What says he?

CATESBY                 My lord: he doth entreat your grace;
    To visit him to-morrow or next day:
    He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
    Divinely bent to meditation;
    And no worldly suit would he be moved,
    To draw him from his holy exercise.

BUCKINGHAM    Return, good Catesby, to thy lord again;
    Tell him, myself, the mayor and citizens,
    In deep designs and matters of great moment,
    No less importing than our general good,
    Are come to have some conference with his grace.

CATESBY    I'll tell him what you say, my lord.

    [Exit]

BUCKINGHAM    Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!
    He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed,
    But on his knees at meditation;
    Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,
    But meditating with two deep divines;
    Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,
    But praying, to enrich his watchful soul:
    Happy were England, would this gracious prince
    Take on himself the sovereignty thereof:
    But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it.

Lord Mayor    Marry, God forbid his grace should say us nay!

BUCKINGHAM    I fear he will.

    [Re-enter CATESBY]

    How now, Catesby, what says your lord?

CATESBY    My lord,
    He wonders to what end you have assembled
    Such troops of citizens to speak with him,
    His grace not being warn'd thereof before:
    My lord, he fears you mean no good to him.

BUCKINGHAM    Sorry I am my noble cousin should
    Suspect me, that I mean no good to him:
    By heaven, I come in perfect love to him;
    And so once more return and tell his grace.

    [Exit CATESBY]

    When holy and devout religious men
    Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence,
    So sweet is zealous contemplation.

    [Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two Bishops.
    CATESBY returns]

Lord Mayor    See, where he stands between two clergymen!

BUCKINGHAM    Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,
    To stay him from the fall of vanity:
    And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,
    True ornaments to know a holy man.
    Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince,
    Lend favourable ears to our request;
    And pardon us the interruption
    Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.

GLOUCESTER    My lord, there needs no such apology:
    I rather do beseech you pardon me,
    Who, earnest in the service of my God,
    Neglect the visitation of my friends.
    But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure?

BUCKINGHAM    Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,
    And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.

GLOUCESTER    I do suspect I have done some offence
    That seems disgracious in the city's eyes,
    And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.

BUCKINGHAM    You have, my lord: would it might please your grace,
    At our entreaties, to amend that fault!

GLOUCESTER    Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?

BUCKINGHAM    Then know, it is your fault that you resign
    The supreme seat, the throne majestical,
    The scepter'd office of your ancestors,
    Your state of fortune and your due of birth,
    The lineal glory of your royal house,
    To the corruption of a blemished stock:
    Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
    Which here we waken to our country's good,
    This noble isle doth want her proper limbs;
    Her face defaced with scars of infamy,
    Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
    And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf
    Of blind forgetfulness and dark oblivion.
    Which to recure, we heartily solicit
    Your gracious self to take on you the charge
    And kingly government of this your land,
    Not as protector, steward, substitute,
    Or lowly factor for another's gain;
    But as successively from blood to blood,
    Your right of birth, your empery, your own.
    For this, consorted with the citizens,
    Your very worshipful and loving friends,
    And by their vehement instigation,
    In this just suit come I to move your grace.

GLOUCESTER    I know not whether to depart in silence,
    Or bitterly to speak in your reproof.
    Best fitteth my degree or your condition
    If not to answer, you might haply think
    Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
    To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,
    Which fondly you would here impose on me;
    If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
    So season'd with your faithful love to me.
    Then, on the other side, I cheque'd my friends.
    Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first,
    And then, in speaking, not to incur the last,
    Definitively thus I answer you.
    Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert
    Unmeritable shuns your high request.
    First if all obstacles were cut away,
    And that my path were even to the crown,
    As my ripe revenue and due by birth
    Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,
    So mighty and so many my defects,
    As I had rather hide me from my greatness,
    Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,
    Than in my greatness covet to be hid,
    And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.
    But, God be thank'd, there's no need of me,
    And much I need to help you, if need were;
    The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
    Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
    Will well become the seat of majesty,
    And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.
    On him I lay what you would lay on me,
    The right and fortune of his happy stars;
    Which God defend that I should wring from him!

BUCKINGHAM    My lord, this argues conscience in your grace;
    But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,
    All circumstances well considered.
    You say that Edward is your brother's son:
    So say we too, but not by Edward's wife;
    For first he was contract to Lady Lucy--
    Your mother lives a witness to that vow--
    And afterward by substitute betroth'd
    To Bona, sister to the King of France.
    These both put by a poor petitioner,
    A care-crazed mother of a many children,
    A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
    Even in the afternoon of her best days,
    Made prize and purchase of his lustful eye,
    Seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts
    To base declension and loathed bigamy
    By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
    This Edward, whom our manners term the prince.
    More bitterly could I expostulate,
    Save that, for reverence to some alive,
    I give a sparing limit to my tongue.
    Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
    This proffer'd benefit of dignity;
    If non to bless us and the land withal,
    Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry
    From the corruption of abusing times,
    Unto a lineal true-derived course.

Lord Mayor    Do, good my lord, your citizens entreat you.

BUCKINGHAM    Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.

CATESBY    O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!

GLOUCESTER    Alas, why would you heap these cares on me?
    I am unfit for state and majesty;
    I do beseech you, take it not amiss;
    I cannot nor I will not yield to you.

BUCKINGHAM    If you refuse it,--as, in love and zeal,
    Loath to depose the child, Your brother's son;
    As well we know your tenderness of heart
    And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
    Which we have noted in you to your kin,
    And egally indeed to all estates,--
    Yet whether you accept our suit or no,
    Your brother's son shall never reign our king;
    But we will plant some other in the throne,
    To the disgrace and downfall of your house:
    And in this resolution here we leave you.--
    Come, citizens: 'zounds! I'll entreat no more.

GLOUCESTER    O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.

    [Exit BUCKINGHAM with the Citizens]

CATESBY    Call them again, my lord, and accept their suit.

ANOTHER    Do, good my lord, lest all the land do rue it.

GLOUCESTER    Would you enforce me to a world of care?
    Well, call them again. I am not made of stone,
    But penetrable to your. kind entreats,
    Albeit against my conscience and my soul.

    [Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and the rest]

    Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men,
    Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
    To bear her burthen, whether I will or no,
    I must have patience to endure the load:
    But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach
    Attend the sequel of your imposition,
    Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
    From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
    For God he knows, and you may partly see,
    How far I am from the desire thereof.

Lord Mayor    God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it.

GLOUCESTER    In saying so, you shall but say the truth.

BUCKINGHAM    Then I salute you with this kingly title:
    Long live Richard, England's royal king!


Lord Mayor    |
    |  Amen.
Citizens    |


BUCKINGHAM    To-morrow will it please you to be crown'd?

GLOUCESTER    Even when you please, since you will have it so.

BUCKINGHAM    To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace:
    And so most joyfully we take our leave.

GLOUCESTER    Come, let us to our holy task again.
    Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE I    Before the Tower.


    [Enter, on one side, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS OF
    YORK, and DORSET; on the other, ANNE, Duchess of
    Gloucester, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet,
    CLARENCE's young Daughter]

DUCHESS OF YORK    Who meets us here?  my niece Plantagenet
    Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?
    Now, for my life, she's wandering to the Tower,
    On pure heart's love to greet the tender princes.
    Daughter, well met.

LADY ANNE    God give your graces both
    A happy and a joyful time of day!

QUEEN ELIZABETH    As much to you, good sister! Whither away?

LADY ANNE    No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,
    Upon the like devotion as yourselves,
    To gratulate the gentle princes there.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Kind sister, thanks: we'll enter all together.

    [Enter BRAKENBURY]

    And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.
    Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
    How doth the prince, and my young son of York?

BRAKENBURY    Right well, dear madam. By your patience,
    I may not suffer you to visit them;
    The king hath straitly charged the contrary.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    The king! why, who's that?

BRAKENBURY    I cry you mercy: I mean the lord protector.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    The Lord protect him from that kingly title!
    Hath he set bounds betwixt their love and me?
    I am their mother; who should keep me from them?

DUCHESS OF YORK    I am their fathers mother; I will see them.

LADY ANNE    Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:
    Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame
    And take thy office from thee, on my peril.

BRAKENBURY    No, madam, no; I may not leave it so:
    I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.

    [Exit]

    [Enter LORD STANLEY]

LORD STANLEY    Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
    And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,
    And reverend looker on, of two fair queens.

    [To LADY ANNE]

    Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,
    There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    O, cut my lace in sunder, that my pent heart
    May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon
    With this dead-killing news!

LADY ANNE    Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!

DORSET    Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your grace?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee hence!
    Death and destruction dog thee at the heels;
    Thy mother's name is ominous to children.
    If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
    And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell
    Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,
    Lest thou increase the number of the dead;
    And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,
    Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.

LORD STANLEY    Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.
    Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
    You shall have letters from me to my son
    To meet you on the way, and welcome you.
    Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

DUCHESS OF YORK    O ill-dispersing wind of misery!
    O my accursed womb, the bed of death!
    A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
    Whose unavoided eye is murderous.

LORD STANLEY    Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.

LADY ANNE    And I in all unwillingness will go.
    I would to God that the inclusive verge
    Of golden metal that must round my brow
    Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain!
    Anointed let me be with deadly venom,
    And die, ere men can say, God save the queen!

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory
    To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.

LADY ANNE    No! why?  When he that is my husband now
    Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse,
    When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands
    Which issued from my other angel husband
    And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd;
    O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
    This was my wish: 'Be thou,' quoth I, ' accursed,
    For making me, so young, so old a widow!
    And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
    And be thy wife--if any be so mad--
    As miserable by the life of thee
    As thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!
    Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
    Even in so short a space, my woman's heart
    Grossly grew captive to his honey words
    And proved the subject of my own soul's curse,
    Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest;
    For never yet one hour in his bed
    Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep,
    But have been waked by his timorous dreams.
    Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
    And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.

LADY ANNE    No more than from my soul I mourn for yours.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory!

LADY ANNE    Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave of it!

DUCHESS OF YORK    [To DORSET]

    Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!

    [To LADY ANNE]

    Go thou to Richard, and good angels guard thee!

    [To QUEEN ELIZABETH]

    Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee!
    I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!
    Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,
    And each hour's joy wrecked with a week of teen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower.
    Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
    Whom envy hath immured within your walls!
    Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
    Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
    For tender princes, use my babies well!
    So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE II    London. The palace.


    [Sennet. Enter KING RICHARD III, in pomp, crowned;
    BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, a page, and others]

KING RICHARD III    Stand all apart Cousin of Buckingham!

BUCKINGHAM    My gracious sovereign?

KING RICHARD III    Give me thy hand.

    [Here he ascendeth his throne]

    Thus high, by thy advice
    And thy assistance, is King Richard seated;
    But shall we wear these honours for a day?
    Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

BUCKINGHAM    Still live they and for ever may they last!

KING RICHARD III    O Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
    To try if thou be current gold indeed
    Young Edward lives: think now what I would say.

BUCKINGHAM    Say on, my loving lord.

KING RICHARD III    Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king,

BUCKINGHAM    Why, so you are, my thrice renowned liege.

KING RICHARD III    Ha! am I king? 'tis so: but Edward lives.

BUCKINGHAM    True, noble prince.

KING RICHARD III    O bitter consequence,
    That Edward still should live! 'True, noble prince!'
    Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull:
    Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead;
    And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
    What sayest thou? speak suddenly; be brief.

BUCKINGHAM    Your grace may do your pleasure.

KING RICHARD III    Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezeth:
    Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?

BUCKINGHAM    Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord
    Before I positively herein:
    I will resolve your grace immediately.

    [Exit]

CATESBY    [Aside to a stander by]

    The king is angry: see, he bites the lip.

KING RICHARD III    I will converse with iron-witted fools
    And unrespective boys: none are for me
    That look into me with considerate eyes:
    High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
    Boy!

Page    My lord?

KING RICHARD III    Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold
    Would tempt unto a close exploit of death?

Page    My lord, I know a discontented gentleman,
    Whose humble means match not his haughty mind:
    Gold were as good as twenty orators,
    And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.

KING RICHARD III    What is his name?

Page                    His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.

KING RICHARD III    I partly know the man: go, call him hither.

    [Exit Page]

    The deep-revolving witty Buckingham
    No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel:
    Hath he so long held out with me untired,
    And stops he now for breath?

    [Enter STANLEY]

    How now! what news with you?

STANLEY    My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorset's fled
    To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea
    Where he abides.

    [Stands apart]

KING RICHARD III    Catesby!

CATESBY           My lord?

KING RICHARD III                             Rumour it abroad
    That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die:
    I will take order for her keeping close.
    Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman,
    Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter:
    The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.
    Look, how thou dream'st! I say again, give out
    That Anne my wife is sick and like to die:
    About it; for it stands me much upon,
    To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.

    [Exit CATESBY]

    I must be married to my brother's daughter,
    Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
    Murder her brothers, and then marry her!
    Uncertain way of gain! But I am in
    So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin:
    Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

    [Re-enter Page, with TYRREL]

    Is thy name Tyrrel?

TYRREL    James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

KING RICHARD III    Art thou, indeed?

TYRREL               Prove me, my gracious sovereign.

KING RICHARD III    Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

TYRREL    Ay, my lord;
    But I had rather kill two enemies.

KING RICHARD III    Why, there thou hast it: two deep enemies,
    Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep's disturbers
    Are they that I would have thee deal upon:
    Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

TYRREL    Let me have open means to come to them,
    And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.

KING RICHARD III    Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel
    Go, by this token: rise, and lend thine ear:

    [Whispers]

    There is no more but so: say it is done,
    And I will love thee, and prefer thee too.

TYRREL    'Tis done, my gracious lord.

KING RICHARD III    Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep?

TYRREL    Ye shall, my Lord.

    [Exit]

    [Re-enter BUCKINGHAM]

BUCKINGHAM    My Lord, I have consider'd in my mind
    The late demand that you did sound me in.

KING RICHARD III    Well, let that pass. Dorset is fled to Richmond.

BUCKINGHAM    I hear that news, my lord.

KING RICHARD III    Stanley, he is your wife's son well, look to it.

BUCKINGHAM    My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise,
    For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd;
    The earldom of Hereford and the moveables
    The which you promised I should possess.

KING RICHARD III    Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey
    Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

BUCKINGHAM    What says your highness to my just demand?

KING RICHARD III    As I remember, Henry the Sixth
    Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,
    When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
    A king, perhaps, perhaps,--

BUCKINGHAM    My lord!

KING RICHARD III    How chance the prophet could not at that time
    Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

BUCKINGHAM    My lord, your promise for the earldom,--

KING RICHARD III    Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,
    The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle,
    And call'd it Rougemont: at which name I started,
    Because a bard of Ireland told me once
    I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

BUCKINGHAM    My Lord!

KING RICHARD III           Ay, what's o'clock?

BUCKINGHAM    I am thus bold to put your grace in mind
    Of what you promised me.

KING RICHARD III    Well, but what's o'clock?

BUCKINGHAM    Upon the stroke of ten.

KING RICHARD III    Well, let it strike.

BUCKINGHAM    Why let it strike?

KING RICHARD III    Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke
    Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
    I am not in the giving vein to-day.

BUCKINGHAM    Why, then resolve me whether you will or no.

KING RICHARD III    Tut, tut,
    Thou troublest me; am not in the vein.

    [Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM]

BUCKINGHAM    Is it even so? rewards he my true service
    With such deep contempt made I him king for this?
    O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone
    To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on!

    [Exit]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE III    The same.


    [Enter TYRREL]

TYRREL    The tyrannous and bloody deed is done.
    The most arch of piteous massacre
    That ever yet this land was guilty of.
    Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn
    To do this ruthless piece of butchery,
    Although they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
    Melting with tenderness and kind compassion
    Wept like two children in their deaths' sad stories.
    'Lo, thus' quoth Dighton, 'lay those tender babes:'
    'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest, 'girdling one another
    Within their innocent alabaster arms:
    Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
    Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.
    A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
    Which once,' quoth Forrest, 'almost changed my mind;
    But O! the devil'--there the villain stopp'd
    Whilst Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered
    The most replenished sweet work of nature,
    That from the prime creation e'er she framed.'
    Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse;
    They could not speak; and so I left them both,
    To bring this tidings to the bloody king.
    And here he comes.

    [Enter KING RICHARD III]

    All hail, my sovereign liege!

KING RICHARD III    Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?

TYRREL    If to have done the thing you gave in charge
    Beget your happiness, be happy then,
    For it is done, my lord.

KING RICHARD III    But didst thou see them dead?

TYRREL    I did, my lord.

KING RICHARD III                     And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

TYRREL    The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
    But how or in what place I do not know.

KING RICHARD III    Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,
    And thou shalt tell the process of their death.
    Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,
    And be inheritor of thy desire.
    Farewell till soon.

    [Exit TYRREL]

    The son of Clarence have I pent up close;
    His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;
    The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
    And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
    Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims
    At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
    And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the crown,
    To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer.

    [Enter CATESBY]

CATESBY    My lord!

KING RICHARD III    Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly?

CATESBY    Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Richmond;
    And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,
    Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

KING RICHARD III    Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
    Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army.
    Come, I have heard that fearful commenting
    Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
    Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary
    Then fiery expedition be my wing,
    Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!
    Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield;
    We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE IV    Before the palace.


    [Enter QUEEN MARGARET]

QUEEN MARGARET    So, now prosperity begins to mellow
    And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
    Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,
    To watch the waning of mine adversaries.
    A dire induction am I witness to,
    And will to France, hoping the consequence
    Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
    Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here?

    [Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK]

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Ah, my young princes! ah, my tender babes!
    My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
    If yet your gentle souls fly in the air
    And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,
    Hover about me with your airy wings
    And hear your mother's lamentation!

QUEEN MARGARET    Hover about her; say, that right for right
    Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.

DUCHESS OF YORK    So many miseries have crazed my voice,
    That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb,
    Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

QUEEN MARGARET    Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet.
    Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,
    And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
    When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?

QUEEN MARGARET    When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal living ghost,
    Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,
    Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
    Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,

    [Sitting down]

    Unlawfully made drunk with innocents' blood!

QUEEN ELIZABETH    O, that thou wouldst as well afford a grave
    As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!
    Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.
    O, who hath any cause to mourn but I?

    [Sitting down by her]

QUEEN MARGARET    If ancient sorrow be most reverend,
    Give mine the benefit of seniory,
    And let my woes frown on the upper hand.
    If sorrow can admit society,

    [Sitting down with them]

    Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine:
    I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
    I had a Harry, till a Richard kill'd him:
    Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
    Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him;

DUCHESS OF YORK    I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;
    I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.

QUEEN MARGARET    Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him.
    From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
    A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death:
    That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
    To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,
    That foul defacer of God's handiwork,
    That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
    That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
    Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.
    O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
    How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
    Preys on the issue of his mother's body,
    And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!

DUCHESS OF YORK    O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes!
    God witness with me, I have wept for thine.

QUEEN MARGARET    Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,
    And now I cloy me with beholding it.
    Thy Edward he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward:
    Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
    Young York he is but boot, because both they
    Match not the high perfection of my loss:
    Thy Clarence he is dead that kill'd my Edward;
    And the beholders of this tragic play,
    The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
    Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
    Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer,
    Only reserved their factor, to buy souls
    And send them thither: but at hand, at hand,
    Ensues his piteous and unpitied end:
    Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray.
    To have him suddenly convey'd away.
    Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I prey,
    That I may live to say, The dog is dead!

QUEEN ELIZABETH    O, thou didst prophesy the time would come
    That I should wish for thee to help me curse
    That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad!

QUEEN MARGARET    I call'd thee then vain flourish of my fortune;
    I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen;
    The presentation of but what I was;
    The flattering index of a direful pageant;
    One heaved a-high, to be hurl'd down below;
    A mother only mock'd with two sweet babes;
    A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble,
    A sign of dignity, a garish flag,
    To be the aim of every dangerous shot,
    A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
    Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
    Where are thy children? wherein dost thou, joy?
    Who sues to thee and cries 'God save the queen'?
    Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
    Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
    Decline all this, and see what now thou art:
    For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
    For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
    For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
    For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
    For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
    For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
    For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
    Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
    And left thee but a very prey to time;
    Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
    To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
    Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not
    Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
    Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd yoke;
    From which even here I slip my weary neck,
    And leave the burthen of it all on thee.
    Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance:
    These English woes will make me smile in France.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile,
    And teach me how to curse mine enemies!

QUEEN MARGARET    Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days;
    Compare dead happiness with living woe;
    Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
    And he that slew them fouler than he is:
    Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse:
    Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine!

QUEEN MARGARET    Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.

    [Exit]

DUCHESS OF YORK    Why should calamity be full of words?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Windy attorneys to their client woes,
    Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
    Poor breathing orators of miseries!
    Let them have scope: though what they do impart
    Help not all, yet do they ease the heart.

DUCHESS OF YORK    If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me.
    And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
    My damned son, which thy two sweet sons smother'd.
    I hear his drum: be copious in exclaims.

    [Enter KING RICHARD III, marching, with drums and trumpets]

KING RICHARD III    Who intercepts my expedition?

DUCHESS OF YORK    O, she that might have intercepted thee,
    By strangling thee in her accursed womb
    From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Hidest thou that forehead with a golden crown,
    Where should be graven, if that right were right,
    The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown,
    And the dire death of my two sons and brothers?
    Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?

DUCHESS OF YORK    Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence?
    And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

KING RICHARD III    A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, drums!
    Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
    Rail on the Lord's enointed: strike, I say!

    [Flourish. Alarums]

    Either be patient, and entreat me fair,
    Or with the clamorous report of war
    Thus will I drown your exclamations.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Art thou my son?

KING RICHARD III    Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Then patiently hear my impatience.

KING RICHARD III    Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
    Which cannot brook the accent of reproof.

DUCHESS OF YORK    O, let me speak!

KING RICHARD III                      Do then: but I'll not hear.

DUCHESS OF YORK    I will be mild and gentle in my speech.

KING RICHARD III    And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee,
    God knows, in anguish, pain and agony.

KING RICHARD III    And came I not at last to comfort you?

DUCHESS OF YORK    No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well,
    Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell.
    A grievous burthen was thy birth to me;
    Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
    Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious,
    Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous,
    Thy age confirm'd, proud, subdued, bloody,
    treacherous,
    More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:
    What comfortable hour canst thou name,
    That ever graced me in thy company?

KING RICHARD III    Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd
    your grace
    To breakfast once forth of my company.
    If I be so disgracious in your sight,
    Let me march on, and not offend your grace.
    Strike the drum.

DUCHESS OF YORK                      I prithee, hear me speak.

KING RICHARD III    You speak too bitterly.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Hear me a word;
    For I shall never speak to thee again.

KING RICHARD III    So.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance,
    Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror,
    Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish
    And never look upon thy face again.
    Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse;
    Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more
    Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
    My prayers on the adverse party fight;
    And there the little souls of Edward's children
    Whisper the spirits of thine enemies
    And promise them success and victory.
    Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end;
    Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.

    [Exit]

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse
    Abides in me; I say amen to all.

KING RICHARD III    Stay, madam; I must speak a word with you.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    I have no more sons of the royal blood
    For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,
    They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;
    And therefore level not to hit their lives.

KING RICHARD III    You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth,
    Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    And must she die for this? O, let her live,
    And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;
    Slander myself as false to Edward's bed;
    Throw over her the veil of infamy:
    So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
    I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.

KING RICHARD III    Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    To save her life, I'll say she is not so.

KING RICHARD III    Her life is only safest in her birth.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    And only in that safety died her brothers.

KING RICHARD III    Lo, at their births good stars were opposite.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.

KING RICHARD III    All unavoided is the doom of destiny.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    True, when avoided grace makes destiny:
    My babes were destined to a fairer death,
    If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.

KING RICHARD III    You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd
    Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
    Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts,
    Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:
    No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt
    Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
    To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
    But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
    My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys
    Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
    And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
    Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
    Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

KING RICHARD III    Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise
    And dangerous success of bloody wars,
    As I intend more good to you and yours,
    Than ever you or yours were by me wrong'd!

QUEEN ELIZABETH    What good is cover'd with the face of heaven,
    To be discover'd, that can do me good?

KING RICHARD III    The advancement of your children, gentle lady.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?

KING RICHARD III    No, to the dignity and height of honour
    The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Flatter my sorrows with report of it;
    Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
    Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

KING RICHARD III    Even all I have; yea, and myself and all,
    Will I withal endow a child of thine;
    So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
    Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs
    Which thou supposest I have done to thee.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Be brief, lest that be process of thy kindness
    Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.

KING RICHARD III    Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.

KING RICHARD III    What do you think?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul:
    So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers;
    And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it.

KING RICHARD III    Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:
    I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
    And mean to make her queen of England.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

KING RICHARD III    Even he that makes her queen who should be else?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    What, thou?

KING RICHARD III    I, even I: what think you of it, madam?

QUEEN ELIZABETH    How canst thou woo her?

KING RICHARD III    That would I learn of you,
    As one that are best acquainted with her humour.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    And wilt thou learn of me?

KING RICHARD III    Madam, with all my heart.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,
    A pair of bleeding-hearts; thereon engrave
    Edward and York; then haply she will weep:
    Therefore present to her--as sometime Margaret
    Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,--
    A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
    The purple sap from her sweet brother's body
    And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith.
    If this inducement force her not to love,
    Send her a story of thy noble acts;
    Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence,
    Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake,
    Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.

KING RICHARD III    Come, come, you mock me; this is not the way
    To win our daughter.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    There is no other way
    Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,
    And not be Richard that hath done all this.

KING RICHARD III    Say that I did all this for love of her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,
    Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

KING RICHARD III    Look, what is done cannot be now amended:
    Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
    Which after hours give leisure to repent.
    If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
    To make amends, Ill give it to your daughter.
    If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,
    To quicken your increase, I will beget
    Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter
    A grandam's name is little less in love
    Than is the doting title of a mother;
    They are as children but one step below,
    Even of your mettle, of your very blood;
    Of an one pain, save for a night of groans
    Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.
    Your children were vexation to your youth,
    But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
    The loss you have is but a son being king,
    And by that loss your daughter is made queen.
    I cannot make you what amends I would,
    Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
    Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul
    Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
    This fair alliance quickly shall call home
    To high promotions and great dignity:
    The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife.
    Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;
    Again shall you be mother to a king,
    And all the ruins of distressful times
    Repair'd with double riches of content.
    What! we have many goodly days to see:
    The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
    Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl,
    Advantaging their loan with interest
    Of ten times double gain of happiness.
    Go, then my mother, to thy daughter go
    Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
    Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale
    Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
    Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess
    With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys
    And when this arm of mine hath chastised
    The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
    Bound with triumphant garlands will I come
    And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
    To whom I will retail my conquest won,
    And she shall be sole victress, Caesar's Caesar.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    What were I best to say? her father's brother
    Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle?
    Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
    Under what title shall I woo for thee,
    That God, the law, my honour and her love,
    Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?

KING RICHARD III    Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

KING RICHARD III    Say that the king, which may command, entreats.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    That at her hands which the king's King forbids.

KING RICHARD III    Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    To wail the tide, as her mother doth.

KING RICHARD III    Say, I will love her everlastingly.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    But how long shall that title 'ever' last?

KING RICHARD III    Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    But how long fairly shall her sweet lie last?

KING RICHARD III    So long as heaven and nature lengthens it.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    So long as hell and Richard likes of it.

KING RICHARD III    Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject love.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.

KING RICHARD III    Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

KING RICHARD III    Then in plain terms tell her my loving tale.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

KING RICHARD III    Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    O no, my reasons are too deep and dead;
    Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave.

KING RICHARD III    Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break.

KING RICHARD III    Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,--

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Profaned, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.

KING RICHARD III    I swear--

QUEEN ELIZABETH            By nothing; for this is no oath:
    The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour;
    The garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
    The crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory.
    if something thou wilt swear to be believed,
    Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

KING RICHARD III    Now, by the world--

QUEEN ELIZABETH    'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

KING RICHARD III    My father's death--

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Thy life hath that dishonour'd.

KING RICHARD III    Then, by myself--

QUEEN ELIZABETH                      Thyself thyself misusest.

KING RICHARD III    Why then, by God--

QUEEN ELIZABETH                      God's wrong is most of all.
    If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
    The unity the king thy brother made
    Had not been broken, nor my brother slain:
    If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
    The imperial metal, circling now thy brow,
    Had graced the tender temples of my child,
    And both the princes had been breathing here,
    Which now, two tender playfellows to dust,
    Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
    What canst thou swear by now?

KING RICHARD III    The time to come.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast;
    For I myself have many tears to wash
    Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee.
    The children live, whose parents thou hast
    slaughter'd,
    Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age;
    The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd,
    Old wither'd plants, to wail it with their age.
    Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
    Misused ere used, by time misused o'erpast.

KING RICHARD III    As I intend to prosper and repent,
    So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
    Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!
    Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!
    Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!
    Be opposite all planets of good luck
    To my proceedings, if, with pure heart's love,
    Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,
    I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter!
    In her consists my happiness and thine;
    Without her, follows to this land and me,
    To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul,
    Death, desolation, ruin and decay:
    It cannot be avoided but by this;
    It will not be avoided but by this.
    Therefore, good mother,--I must can you so--
    Be the attorney of my love to her:
    Plead what I will be, not what I have been;
    Not my deserts, but what I will deserve:
    Urge the necessity and state of times,
    And be not peevish-fond in great designs.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

KING RICHARD III    Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Shall I forget myself to be myself?

KING RICHARD III    Ay, if yourself's remembrance wrong yourself.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    But thou didst kill my children.

KING RICHARD III    But in your daughter's womb I bury them:
    Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed
    Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

KING RICHARD III    And be a happy mother by the deed.

QUEEN ELIZABETH    I go. Write to me very shortly.
    And you shall understand from me her mind.

KING RICHARD III    Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell.

    [Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH]

    Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!

    [Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following]

    How now! what news?

RATCLIFF    My gracious sovereign, on the western coast
    Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore
    Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
    Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back:
    'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;
    And there they hull, expecting but the aid
    Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

KING RICHARD III    Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk:
    Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he?

CATESBY    Here, my lord.

KING RICHARD III    Fly to the duke:

    [To RATCLIFF]

    Post thou to Salisbury
    When thou comest thither--

    [To CATESBY]

             Dull, unmindful villain,
    Why stand'st thou still, and go'st not to the duke?

CATESBY    First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind,
    What from your grace I shall deliver to him.

KING RICHARD III    O, true, good Catesby: bid him levy straight
    The greatest strength and power he can make,
    And meet me presently at Salisbury.

CATESBY    I go.

    [Exit]

RATCLIFF    What is't your highness' pleasure I shall do at
    Salisbury?

KING RICHARD III    Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?

RATCLIFF    Your highness told me I should post before.

KING RICHARD III    My mind is changed, sir, my mind is changed.

    [Enter STANLEY]

    How now, what news with you?

STANLEY    None good, my lord, to please you with the hearing;
    Nor none so bad, but it may well be told.

KING RICHARD III    Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!
    Why dost thou run so many mile about,
    When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way?
    Once more, what news?

STANLEY    Richmond is on the seas.

KING RICHARD III    There let him sink, and be the seas on him!
    White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?

STANLEY    I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

KING RICHARD III    Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess?

STANLEY    Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely,
    He makes for England, there to claim the crown.

KING RICHARD III    Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway'd?
    Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd?
    What heir of York is there alive but we?
    And who is England's king but great York's heir?
    Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea?

STANLEY    Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.

KING RICHARD III    Unless for that he comes to be your liege,
    You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.
    Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.

STANLEY    No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not.

KING RICHARD III    Where is thy power, then, to beat him back?
    Where are thy tenants and thy followers?
    Are they not now upon the western shore.
    Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships!

STANLEY    No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.

KING RICHARD III    Cold friends to Richard: what do they in the north,
    When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

STANLEY    They have not been commanded, mighty sovereign:
    Please it your majesty to give me leave,
    I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace
    Where and what time your majesty shall please.

KING RICHARD III    Ay, ay. thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond:
    I will not trust you, sir.

STANLEY    Most mighty sovereign,
    You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful:
    I never was nor never will be false.

KING RICHARD III    Well,
    Go muster men; but, hear you, leave behind
    Your son, George Stanley: look your faith be firm.
    Or else his head's assurance is but frail.

STANLEY    So deal with him as I prove true to you.

    [Exit]

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
    As I by friends am well advertised,
    Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate
    Bishop of Exeter, his brother there,
    With many more confederates, are in arms.

    [Enter another Messenger]

Second Messenger    My liege, in Kent the Guildfords are in arms;
    And every hour more competitors
    Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth.

    [Enter another Messenger]

Third Messenger    My lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham--

KING RICHARD III    Out on you, owls! nothing but songs of death?

    [He striketh him]

    Take that, until thou bring me better news.

Third Messenger    The news I have to tell your majesty
    Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters,
    Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd;
    And he himself wander'd away alone,
    No man knows whither.

KING RICHARD III    I cry thee mercy:
    There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.
    Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd
    Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

Third Messenger    Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.

    [Enter another Messenger]

Fourth Messenger    Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset,
    'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
    Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace,
    The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest:
    Richmond, in Yorkshire, sent out a boat
    Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks
    If they were his assistants, yea or no;
    Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham.
    Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
    Hoisted sail and made away for Brittany.

KING RICHARD III    March on, march on, since we are up in arms;
    If not to fight with foreign enemies,
    Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.

    [Re-enter CATESBY]

CATESBY    My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken;
    That is the best news: that the Earl of Richmond
    Is with a mighty power landed at Milford,
    Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.

KING RICHARD III    Away towards Salisbury! while we reason here,
    A royal battle might be won and lost
    Some one take order Buckingham be brought
    To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.

    [Flourish. Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE V    Lord Derby's house.


    [Enter DERBY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK]

DERBY    Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:
    That in the sty of this most bloody boar
    My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold:
    If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
    The fear of that withholds my present aid.
    But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?

CHRISTOPHER    At Pembroke, or at Harford-west, in Wales.

DERBY    What men of name resort to him?

CHRISTOPHER    Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;
    Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley;
    Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,
    And Rice ap Thomas with a valiant crew;
    And many more of noble fame and worth:
    And towards London they do bend their course,
    If by the way they be not fought withal.

DERBY    Return unto thy lord; commend me to him:
    Tell him the queen hath heartily consented
    He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
    These letters will resolve him of my mind. Farewell.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE I    Salisbury. An open place.


    [Enter the Sheriff, and BUCKINGHAM, with halberds,
    led to execution]

BUCKINGHAM    Will not King Richard let me speak with him?

Sheriff    No, my good lord; therefore be patient.

BUCKINGHAM    Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey,
    Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
    Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
    By underhand corrupted foul injustice,
    If that your moody discontented souls
    Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
    Even for revenge mock my destruction!
    This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not?

Sheriff    It is, my lord.

BUCKINGHAM    Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday.
    This is the day that, in King Edward's time,
    I wish't might fall on me, when I was found
    False to his children or his wife's allies
    This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall
    By the false faith of him I trusted most;
    This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul
    Is the determined respite of my wrongs:
    That high All-Seer that I dallied with
    Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head
    And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
    Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men
    To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms:
    Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon my head;
    'When he,' quoth she, 'shall split thy heart with sorrow,
    Remember Margaret was a prophetess.'
    Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame;
    Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE II    The camp near Tamworth.


    [Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, BLUNT, HERBERT, and others,
    with drum and colours]

RICHMOND    Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,
    Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny,
    Thus far into the bowels of the land
    Have we march'd on without impediment;
    And here receive we from our father Stanley
    Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
    The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,
    That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines,
    Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough
    In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine
    Lies now even in the centre of this isle,
    Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn
    From Tamworth thither is but one day's march.
    In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends,
    To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
    By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

OXFORD    Every man's conscience is a thousand swords,
    To fight against that bloody homicide.

HERBERT    I doubt not but his friends will fly to us.

BLUNT    He hath no friends but who are friends for fear.
    Which in his greatest need will shrink from him.

RICHMOND    All for our vantage. Then, in God's name, march:
    True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings:
    Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE III    Bosworth Field.


    [Enter KING RICHARD III in arms, with NORFOLK,
    SURREY, and others]

KING RICHARD III    Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.
    My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

SURREY    My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.

KING RICHARD III    My Lord of Norfolk,--

NORFOLK    Here, most gracious liege.


KING RICHARD III    Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we not?

NORFOLK    We must both give and take, my gracious lord.

KING RICHARD III    Up with my tent there! here will I lie tonight;
    But where to-morrow?  Well, all's one for that.
    Who hath descried the number of the foe?

NORFOLK    Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.

KING RICHARD III    Why, our battalion trebles that account:
    Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength,
    Which they upon the adverse party want.
    Up with my tent there! Valiant gentlemen,
    Let us survey the vantage of the field
    Call for some men of sound direction
    Let's want no discipline, make no delay,
    For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day.

    [Exeunt]

    [Enter, on the other side of the field, RICHMOND,
    Sir William Brandon, OXFORD, and others. Some of
    the Soldiers pitch RICHMOND's tent]

RICHMOND    The weary sun hath made a golden set,
    And by the bright track of his fiery car,
    Gives signal, of a goodly day to-morrow.
    Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.
    Give me some ink and paper in my tent
    I'll draw the form and model of our battle,
    Limit each leader to his several charge,
    And part in just proportion our small strength.
    My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir William Brandon,
    And you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me.
    The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment:
    Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him
    And by the second hour in the morning
    Desire the earl to see me in my tent:
    Yet one thing more, good Blunt, before thou go'st,
    Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, dost thou know?

BLUNT    Unless I have mista'en his colours much,
    Which well I am assured I have not done,
    His regiment lies half a mile at least
    South from the mighty power of the king.

RICHMOND    If without peril it be possible,
    Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him,
    And give him from me this most needful scroll.

BLUNT    Upon my life, my lord, I'll under-take it;
    And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!

RICHMOND    Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come gentlemen,
    Let us consult upon to-morrow's business
    In to our tent; the air is raw and cold.

    [They withdraw into the tent]

    [Enter, to his tent, KING RICHARD III, NORFOLK,
    RATCLIFF, CATESBY, and others]

KING RICHARD III    What is't o'clock?

CATESBY                      It's supper-time, my lord;
    It's nine o'clock.

KING RICHARD III                      I will not sup to-night.
    Give me some ink and paper.
    What, is my beaver easier than it was?
    And all my armour laid into my tent?

CATESBY    If is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.

KING RICHARD III    Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;
    Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.

NORFOLK    I go, my lord.

KING RICHARD III    Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.

NORFOLK    I warrant you, my lord.

    [Exit]

KING RICHARD III    Catesby!

CATESBY    My lord?

KING RICHARD III    Send out a pursuivant at arms
    To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power
    Before sunrising, lest his son George fall
    Into the blind cave of eternal night.

    [Exit CATESBY]

    Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.
    Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.
    Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.
    Ratcliff!

RATCLIFF    My lord?

KING RICHARD III    Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

RATCLIFF    Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself,
    Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop
    Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.

KING RICHARD III    So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine:
    I have not that alacrity of spirit,
    Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have.
    Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?

RATCLIFF    It is, my lord.

KING RICHARD III                      Bid my guard watch; leave me.
    Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent
    And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.

    [Exeunt RATCLIFF and the other Attendants]

    [Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent, Lords and
    others attending]

DERBY    Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!

RICHMOND    All comfort that the dark night can afford
    Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!
    Tell me, how fares our loving mother?

DERBY    I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother
    Who prays continually for Richmond's good:
    So much for that. The silent hours steal on,
    And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
    In brief,--for so the season bids us be,--
    Prepare thy battle early in the morning,
    And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
    Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.
    I, as I may--that which I would I cannot,--
    With best advantage will deceive the time,
    And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms:
    But on thy side I may not be too forward
    Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,
    Be executed in his father's sight.
    Farewell: the leisure and the fearful time
    Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love
    And ample interchange of sweet discourse,
    Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon:
    God give us leisure for these rites of love!
    Once more, adieu: be valiant, and speed well!

RICHMOND    Good lords, conduct him to his regiment:
    I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap,
    Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow,
    When I should mount with wings of victory:
    Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.

    [Exeunt all but RICHMOND]

    O Thou, whose captain I account myself,
    Look on my forces with a gracious eye;
    Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath,
    That they may crush down with a heavy fall
    The usurping helmets of our adversaries!
    Make us thy ministers of chastisement,
    That we may praise thee in the victory!
    To thee I do commend my watchful soul,
    Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes:
    Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still!

    [Sleeps]

    [Enter the Ghost of Prince Edward, son to King Henry VI]

Ghost
of Prince Edward    [To KING RICHARD III]

    Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!
    Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth
    At Tewksbury: despair, therefore, and die!

    [To RICHMOND]

    Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls
    Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf
    King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee.

    [Enter the Ghost of King Henry VI]

Ghost
of King Henry VI    [To KING RICHARD III]

    When I was mortal, my anointed body
    By thee was punched full of deadly holes
    Think on the Tower and me: despair, and die!
    Harry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die!

    [To RICHMOND]

    Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!
    Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king,
    Doth comfort thee in thy sleep: live, and flourish!

    [Enter the Ghost of CLARENCE]

Ghost of CLARENCE    [To KING RICHARD III]

    Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!
    I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine,
    Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death!
    To-morrow in the battle think on me,
    And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!--

    [To RICHMOND]

    Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster
    The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee
    Good angels guard thy battle! live, and flourish!

    [Enter the Ghosts of RIVERS, GRAY, and VAUGHAN]

Ghost of RIVERS    [To KING RICHARD III]

    Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow,
    Rivers. that died at Pomfret! despair, and die!

Ghost of GREY    [To KING RICHARD III]

    Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair!

Ghost of VAUGHAN    [To KING RICHARD III]

    Think upon Vaughan, and, with guilty fear,
    Let fall thy lance: despair, and die!

All    [To RICHMOND]

    Awake, and think our wrongs in Richard's bosom
    Will conquer him! awake, and win the day!

    [Enter the Ghost of HASTINGS]

Ghost of HASTINGS    [To KING RICHARD III]

    Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,
    And in a bloody battle end thy days!
    Think on Lord Hastings: despair, and die!

    [To RICHMOND]

    Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!
    Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake!

    [Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes]

Ghosts
of young Princes    [To KING RICHARD III]

    Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the Tower:
    Let us be led within thy bosom, Richard,
    And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!
    Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die!

    [To RICHMOND]

    Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy;
    Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy!
    Live, and beget a happy race of kings!
    Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.

    [Enter the Ghost of LADY ANNE]

Ghost of LADY ANNE    [To KING RICHARD III]

    Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife,
    That never slept a quiet hour with thee,
    Now fills thy sleep with perturbations
    To-morrow in the battle think on me,
    And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!

    [To RICHMOND]

    Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep
    Dream of success and happy victory!
    Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.

    [Enter the Ghost of BUCKINGHAM]

Ghost
of BUCKINGHAM    [To KING RICHARD III]

    The last was I that helped thee to the crown;
    The last was I that felt thy tyranny:
    O, in the battle think on Buckingham,
    And die in terror of thy guiltiness!
    Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death:
    Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!

    [To RICHMOND]

    I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid:
    But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd:
    God and good angel fight on Richmond's side;
    And Richard falls in height of all his pride.

    [The Ghosts vanish]

    [KING RICHARD III starts out of his dream]

KING RICHARD III    Give me another horse: bind up my wounds.
    Have mercy, Jesu!--Soft! I did but dream.
    O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
    The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
    Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
    What do I fear?  myself?  there's none else by:
    Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
    Is there a murderer here?  No. Yes, I am:
    Then fly. What, from myself?   Great reason why:
    Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself?
    Alack. I love myself. Wherefore?  for any good
    That I myself have done unto myself?
    O, no! alas, I rather hate myself
    For hateful deeds committed by myself!
    I am a villain: yet I lie. I am not.
    Fool, of thyself speak well: fool, do not flatter.
    My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
    And every tongue brings in a several tale,
    And every tale condemns me for a villain.
    Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree
    Murder, stem murder, in the direst degree;
    All several sins, all used in each degree,
    Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty!
    I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
    And if I die, no soul shall pity me:
    Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself
    Find in myself no pity to myself?
    Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd
    Came to my tent; and every one did threat
    To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

    [Enter RATCLIFF]

RATCLIFF    My lord!

KING RICHARD III    'Zounds! who is there?

RATCLIFF    Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock
    Hath twice done salutation to the morn;
    Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.

KING RICHARD III    O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream!
    What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true?

RATCLIFF    No doubt, my lord.

KING RICHARD III                      O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,--

RATCLIFF    Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.

KING RICHARD III    By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
    Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
    Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
    Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
    It is not yet near day. Come, go with me;
    Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
    To see if any mean to shrink from me.

    [Exeunt]

    [Enter the Lords to RICHMOND, sitting in his tent]

LORDS    Good morrow, Richmond!

RICHMOND    Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,
    That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.

LORDS    How have you slept, my lord?

RICHMOND    The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams
    That ever enter'd in a drowsy head,
    Have I since your departure had, my lords.
    Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd,
    Came to my tent, and cried on victory:
    I promise you, my soul is very jocund
    In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
    How far into the morning is it, lords?

LORDS    Upon the stroke of four.

RICHMOND    Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction.

    [His oration to his soldiers]

    More than I have said, loving countrymen,
    The leisure and enforcement of the time
    Forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this,
    God and our good cause fight upon our side;
    The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,
    Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces;
    Richard except, those whom we fight against
    Had rather have us win than him they follow:
    For what is he they follow?  truly, gentlemen,
    A bloody tyrant and a homicide;
    One raised in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
    One that made means to come by what he hath,
    And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him;
    Abase foul stone, made precious by the foil
    Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;
    One that hath ever been God's enemy:
    Then, if you fight against God's enemy,
    God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;
    If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
    You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;
    If you do fight against your country's foes,
    Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire;
    If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
    Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;
    If you do free your children from the sword,
    Your children's children quit it in your age.
    Then, in the name of God and all these rights,
    Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.
    For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
    Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;
    But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
    The least of you shall share his part thereof.
    Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;
    God and Saint George! Richmond and victory!

    [Exeunt]

    [Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, Attendants
    and Forces]

KING RICHARD III    What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?

RATCLIFF    That he was never trained up in arms.

KING RICHARD III    He said the truth: and what said Surrey then?

RATCLIFF    He smiled and said 'The better for our purpose.'

KING RICHARD III    He was in the right; and so indeed it is.

    [Clock striketh]

    Ten the clock there. Give me a calendar.
    Who saw the sun to-day?

RATCLIFF    Not I, my lord.

KING RICHARD III    Then he disdains to shine; for by the book
    He should have braved the east an hour ago
    A black day will it be to somebody. Ratcliff!

RATCLIFF            My lord?

KING RICHARD III    The sun will not be seen to-day;
    The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.
    I would these dewy tears were from the ground.
    Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me
    More than to Richmond?  for the selfsame heaven
    That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.

    [Enter NORFOLK]

NORFOLK    Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.

KING RICHARD III    Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse.
    Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power:
    I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,
    And thus my battle shall be ordered:
    My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,
    Consisting equally of horse and foot;
    Our archers shall be placed in the midst
    John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
    Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.
    They thus directed, we will follow
    In the main battle, whose puissance on either side
    Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.
    This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou, Norfolk?

NORFOLK    A good direction, warlike sovereign.
    This found I on my tent this morning.

    [He sheweth him a paper]

KING RICHARD III    [Reads]

    'Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold,
    For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.'
    A thing devised by the enemy.
    Go, gentleman, every man unto his charge
    Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls:
    Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
    Devised at first to keep the strong in awe:
    Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
    March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell
    If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.

    [His oration to his Army]

    What shall I say more than I have inferr'd?
    Remember whom you are to cope withal;
    A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,
    A scum of Bretons, and base lackey peasants,
    Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth
    To desperate ventures and assured destruction.
    You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;
    You having lands, and blest with beauteous wives,
    They would restrain the one, distain the other.
    And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,
    Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost?
    A milk-sop, one that never in his life
    Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?
    Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again;
    Lash hence these overweening rags of France,
    These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives;
    Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
    For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves:
    If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us,
    And not these bastard Bretons; whom our fathers
    Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd,
    And in record, left them the heirs of shame.
    Shall these enjoy our lands?  lie with our wives?
    Ravish our daughters?

    [Drum afar off]

        Hark! I hear their drum.
    Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yoemen!
    Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
    Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;
    Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!

    [Enter a Messenger]

    What says Lord Stanley? will he bring his power?

Messenger    My lord, he doth deny to come.

KING RICHARD III    Off with his son George's head!

NORFOLK    My lord, the enemy is past the marsh
    After the battle let George Stanley die.

KING RICHARD III    A thousand hearts are great within my bosom:
    Advance our standards, set upon our foes
    Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
    Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
    Upon them! victory sits on our helms.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE IV    Another part of the field.


    [Alarum: excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces
    fighting; to him CATESBY]

CATESBY    Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!
    The king enacts more wonders than a man,
    Daring an opposite to every danger:
    His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
    Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
    Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!

    [Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD III]

KING RICHARD III    A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

CATESBY    Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to a horse.

KING RICHARD III    Slave, I have set my life upon a cast,
    And I will stand the hazard of the die:
    I think there be six Richmonds in the field;
    Five have I slain to-day instead of him.
    A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE V    Another part of the field.


    [Alarum. Enter KING RICHARD III and RICHMOND; they
    fight. KING RICHARD III is slain. Retreat and
    flourish. Re-enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the
    crown, with divers other Lords]

RICHMOND    God and your arms be praised, victorious friends,
    The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.

DERBY    Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee.
    Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty
    From the dead temples of this bloody wretch
    Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal:
    Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.

RICHMOND    Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!
    But, tell me, is young George Stanley living?

DERBY    He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town;
    Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.

RICHMOND    What men of name are slain on either side?

DERBY    John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,
    Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.

RICHMOND    Inter their bodies as becomes their births:
    Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled
    That in submission will return to us:
    And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament,
    We will unite the white rose and the red:
    Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,
    That long have frown'd upon their enmity!
    What traitor hears me, and says not amen?
    England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself;
    The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,
    The father rashly slaughter'd his own son,
    The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire:
    All this divided York and Lancaster,
    Divided in their dire division,
    O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth,
    The true succeeders of each royal house,
    By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!
    And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so.
    Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace,
    With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days!
    Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
    That would reduce these bloody days again,
    And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
    Let them not live to taste this land's increase
    That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!
    Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again:
    That she may long live here, God say amen!

    [Exeunt]




    VENUS AND ADONIS



'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'

TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.
RIGHT HONORABLE,

I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my
unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will
censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a
burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account
myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle
hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if
the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be
sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so
barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest.
I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your
heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish
and the world's hopeful expectation.

Your honour's in all duty,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.



EVEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.

'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;

'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'

He burns with bashful shame: she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:
He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss;
What follows more she murders with a kiss.

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone;
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin.

Forced to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace;
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.

Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
Rain added to a river that is rank
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale:
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears,
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in summer's heat
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:
'O, pity,' 'gan she cry, 'flint-hearted boy!
'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?

'I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar;
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.

'Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest,
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.

'Thus he that overruled I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:
Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.
O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight!

'Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,--
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red--
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head:
Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies;
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?
'Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels where they are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

'The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted:
Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted:
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.

'Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice,
Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee
But having no defects, why dost abhor me?

'Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;
Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in turning:
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.

'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

'Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie;
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me:
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?

'Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?
Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom and complain on theft.
Narcissus so himself himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.

'Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear:
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse:
Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth beauty;
Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty.

'Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?
By law of nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live when thou thyself art dead;
And so, in spite of death, thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.'

By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,
And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him and by Venus' side.

And now Adonis, with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His louring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,
Souring his cheeks cries 'Fie, no more of love!
The sun doth burn my face: I must remove.'

'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind?
What bare excuses makest thou to be gone!
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun:
I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;
If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.

'The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,
And, lo, I lie between that sun and thee:
The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me;
And were I not immortal, life were done
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.

'Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth?
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth?
O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.

'What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this?
Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?
Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:
Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again,
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.

'Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well-painted idol, image dun and dead,
Statue contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred!
Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion,
For men will kiss even by their own direction.'

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth he wrong;
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause:
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,
And now her sobs do her intendments break.

Sometimes she shakes her head and then his hand,
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band:
She would, he will not in her arms be bound;
And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers one in one.

'Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here
Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain
Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.'

At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple:
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple;
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,
Why, there Love lived and there he could not die.

These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking.
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes are more increasing;
The time is spent, her object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing.
'Pity,' she cries, 'some favour, some remorse!'
Away he springs and hasteth to his horse.

But, lo, from forth a copse that neighbors by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud,
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder;
The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.

Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who should say 'Lo, thus my strength is tried,
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.'

What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering 'Holla,' or his 'Stand, I say'?
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur?
For rich caparisons or trapping gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.

Look, when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed;
So did this horse excel a common one
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.

Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;
To bid the wind a base he now prepares,
And whether he run or fly they know not whether;
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.

He looks upon his love and neighs unto her;
She answers him as if she knew his mind:
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,
Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.

Then, like a melancholy malcontent,
He veils his tail that, like a falling plume,
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent:
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume.
His love, perceiving how he is enraged,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.

His testy master goeth about to take him;
When, lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there:
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.

All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast:
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said;
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;
But when the heart's attorney once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.

He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
Even as a dying coal revives with wind,
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow;
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind,
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askance he holds her in his eye.

O, what a sight it was, wistly to view
How she came stealing to the wayward boy!
To note the fighting conflict of her hue,
How white and red each other did destroy!
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels:
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print,
As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.

O, what a war of looks was then between them!
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing;
His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them;
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing:
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.

Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band;
So white a friend engirts so white a foe:
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing.

Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
'O fairest mover on this mortal round,
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound;
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee!

'Give me my hand,' saith he, 'why dost thou feel it?'
'Give me my heart,' saith she, 'and thou shalt have it:
O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it,
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it:
Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.'

'For shame,' he cries, 'let go, and let me go;
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,
And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so:
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone;
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.'

Thus she replies: 'Thy palfrey, as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire:
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire:
The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.

'How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree,
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain;
Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

'Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight?
Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold
To touch the fire, the weather being cold?

'Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;
And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,
To take advantage on presented joy;
Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee;
O, learn to love; the lesson is but plain,
And once made perfect, never lost again.'

I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will not know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it;
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;
My love to love is love but to disgrace it;
For I have heard it is a life in death,
That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.

'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd?
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
If springing things be any jot diminish'd,
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth:
The colt that's back'd and burden'd being young
Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong.

'You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part,
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;
To love's alarms it will not ope the gate:
Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery;
For where a heart is hard they make no battery.'

'What! canst thou talk?' quoth she, 'hast thou a tongue?
O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing!
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;
I had my load before, now press'd with bearing:
Melodious discord, heavenly tune harshsounding,
Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding.

'Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love
That inward beauty and invisible;
Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part in me that were but sensible:
Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,
Yet should I be in love by touching thee.

'Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much;
For from the stillitory of thy face excelling
Comes breath perfumed that breedeth love by
smelling.

'But, O, what banquet wert thou to the taste,
Being nurse and feeder of the other four!
Would they not wish the feast might ever last,
And bid Suspicion double-lock the door,
Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast?'

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,
Which to his speech did honey passage yield;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

This ill presage advisedly she marketh:
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,
His meaning struck her ere his words begun.

And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth;
A smile recures the wounding of a frown;
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The silly boy, believing she is dead,
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;

And all amazed brake off his late intent,
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!
For on the grass she lies as she were slain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,
He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd:
He kisses her; and she, by her good will,
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day:
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth;
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumined with her eye;

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd,
Had not his clouded with his brow's repine;
But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light,
Shone like the moon in water seen by night.

'O, where am I?' quoth she, 'in earth or heaven,
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire?
What hour is this? or morn or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or life desire?
But now I lived, and life was death's annoy;
But now I died, and death was lively joy.

'O, thou didst kill me: kill me once again:
Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
Hath taught them scornful tricks and such disdain
That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine;
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.

'Long may they kiss each other, for this cure!
O, never let their crimson liveries wear!
And as they last, their verdure still endure,
To drive infection from the dangerous year!
That the star-gazers, having writ on death,
May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath.

'Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing?
To sell myself I can be well contented,
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing;
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.

'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches unto thee?
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?

'Fair queen,' quoth he, 'if any love you owe me,
Measure my strangeness with my unripe years:
Before I know myself, seek not to know me;
No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:
The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste.

'Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,
His day's hot task hath ended in the west;
The owl, night's herald, shrieks, ''Tis very late;'
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest,
And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light
Do summon us to part and bid good night.

'Now let me say 'Good night,' and so say you;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.'
'Good night,' quoth she, and, ere he says 'Adieu,'
The honey fee of parting tender'd is:
Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;
Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face.

Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth:
He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth
Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.

Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth;
Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry:

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,
With blindfold fury she begins to forage;
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage,
Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
Forgetting shame's pure blush and honour's wrack.

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,
Like a wild bird being tamed with too much handling,
Or as the fleet-foot roe that's tired with chasing,
Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling,
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.

What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering,
And yields at last to every light impression?
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing,
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission:
Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward,
But then woos best when most his choice is froward.

When he did frown, O, had she then gave over,
Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd.
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd:
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.

For pity now she can no more detain him;
The poor fool prays her that he may depart:
She is resolved no longer to restrain him;
Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart,
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest,
He carries thence incaged in his breast.

'Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I'll waste in sorrow,
For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
Tell me, Love's master, shall we meet to-morrow?
Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?'
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.

'The boar!' quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws:
She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,
He on her belly falls, she on her back.

Now is she in the very lists of love,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter:
All is imaginary she doth prove,
He will not manage her, although he mount her;
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy,
To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.

Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw,
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.
The warm effects which she in him finds missing
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.

But all in vain; good queen, it will not be:
She hath assay'd as much as may be proved;
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee;
She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved.
'Fie, fie,' he says, 'you crush me; let me go;
You have no reason to withhold me so.'

'Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweet boy, ere this,
But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.
O, be advised! thou know'st not what it is
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,
Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill.

'On his bow-back he hath a battle set
Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes;
His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret;
His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;
Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way,
And whom he strikes his cruel tushes slay.

'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,
Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter;
His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd;
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture:
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.

'Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine,
To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes;
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne,
Whose full perfection all the world amazes;
But having thee at vantage,--wondrous dread!--
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.

'O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still;
Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends:
Come not within his danger by thy will;
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,
I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.

'Didst thou not mark my face? was it not white?
Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye?
Grew I not faint? and fell I not downright?
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.

'For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy
Doth call himself Affection's sentinel;
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry 'Kill, kill!'
Distempering gentle Love in his desire,
As air and water do abate the fire.

'This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker that eats up Love's tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy,
That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,
Knocks at my heat and whispers in mine ear
That if I love thee, I thy death should fear:

'And more than so, presenteth to mine eye
The picture of an angry-chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore;
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed
Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.

'What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
That tremble at the imagination?
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,
And fear doth teach it divination:
I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.

'But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me;
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at the fox which lives by subtlety,
Or at the roe which no encounter dare:
Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs,
And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy
hounds.

'And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles
How he outruns the wind and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:
The many musets through the which he goes
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

'Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell,
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer:
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:

'For there his smell with others being mingled,
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out;
Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies,
As if another chase were in the skies.

'By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear,
To harken if his foes pursue him still:
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;
And now his grief may be compared well
To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.

'Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
Turn, and return, indenting with the way;
Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch,
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:
For misery is trodden on by many,
And being low never relieved by any.

'Lie quietly, and hear a little more;
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize,
Applying this to that, and so to so;
For love can comment upon every woe.

'Where did I leave?' 'No matter where,' quoth he,
'Leave me, and then the story aptly ends:
The night is spent.' 'Why, what of that?' quoth she.
'I am,' quoth he, 'expected of my friends;
And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.'
'In night,' quoth she, 'desire sees best of all

'But if thou fall, O, then imagine this,
The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss.
Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,
Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.

'Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine,
Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason,
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine;
Wherein she framed thee in high heaven's despite,
To shame the sun by day and her by night.

'And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies
To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature,
Making it subject to the tyranny
Of mad mischances and much misery;

'As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,
Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood,
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood:
Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despair,
Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair.

'And not the least of all these maladies
But in one minute's fight brings beauty under:
Both favour, savour, hue and qualities,
Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder,
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done,
As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun.

'Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,
Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.

'What is thy body but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.

'So in thyself thyself art made away;
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife,
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,
Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life.
Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets,
But gold that's put to use more gold begets.'

'Nay, then,' quoth Adon, 'you will fall again
Into your idle over-handled theme:
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream;
For, by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse,
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.

'If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,
And every tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown
For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,
And will not let a false sound enter there;

'Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into the quiet closure of my breast;
And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.
No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.

'What have you urged that I cannot reprove?
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger:
I hate not love, but your device in love,
That lends embracements unto every stranger.
You do it for increase: O strange excuse,
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse!

'Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name;
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;
Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,
As caterpillars do the tender leaves.

'Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But Lust's effect is tempest after sun;
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done;
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies;
Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.

'More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
The text is old, the orator too green.
Therefore, in sadness, now I will away;
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen:
Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended,
Do burn themselves for having so offended.'

With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace,
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast,
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace;
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.
Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye.

Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend,
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend:
So did the merciless and pitchy night
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.

Whereat amazed, as one that unaware
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,
Or stonish'd as night-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood,
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:
'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times 'Woe, woe!'
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.

She marking them begins a wailing note
And sings extemporally a woeful ditty;
How love makes young men thrall and old men dote;
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty:
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
And still the choir of echoes answer so.

Her song was tedious and outwore the night,
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:
If pleased themselves, others, they think, delight
In such-like circumstance, with suchlike sport:
Their copious stories oftentimes begun
End without audience and are never done.

For who hath she to spend the night withal
But idle sounds resembling parasites,
Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call,
Soothing the humour of fantastic wits?
She says ''Tis so:' they answer all ''Tis so;'
And would say after her, if she said 'No.'

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow:
'O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
There lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.'

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn,
And yet she hears no tidings of her love:
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn:
Anon she hears them chant it lustily,
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.

And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay:
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake.

By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay;
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder
Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder;
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses and her spirit confounds.

For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:
Finding their enemy to be so curst,
They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first.

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart;
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield,
They basely fly and dare not stay the field.

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy;
Till, cheering up her senses all dismay'd,
She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy,
And childish error, that they are afraid;
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:--
And with that word she spied the hunted boar,

Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither:
This way runs, and now she will no further,
But back retires to rate the boar for murther.

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;
She treads the path that she untreads again;
Her more than haste is mated with delays,
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,
Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting;
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.

Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound,
And asks the weary caitiff for his master,
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;
And here she meets another sadly scowling,
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.

When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise,
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin volleys out his voice;
Another and another answer him,
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,
Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go.

Look, how the world's poor people are amazed
At apparitions, signs and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;
So she at these sad signs draws up her breath
And sighing it again, exclaims on Death.

'Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love,'--thus chides she Death,--
'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath,
Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?

'If he be dead,--O no, it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it:--
O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.
Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart.

'Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke;
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower:
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike dead.

'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest such weeping?
What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.'

Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt;
But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
And with his strong course opens them again.

O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow,
Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry;
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.

Variable passions throng her constant woe,
As striving who should best become her grief;
All entertain'd, each passion labours so,
That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
But none is best: then join they all together,
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.

By this, far off she hears some huntsman hollo;
A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well:
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expel;
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
Being prison'd in her eye like pearls in glass;
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass,
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd.

O hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous!
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous:
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought;
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;
It was not she that call'd him, all-to naught:
Now she adds honours to his hateful name;
She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings,
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.

'No, no,' quoth she, 'sweet Death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me I felt a kind of fear
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe;
Then, gentle shadow,--truth I must confess,--
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.

''Tis not my fault: the boar provoked my tongue;
Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander;
'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;
I did but act, he's author of thy slander:
Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
Could rule them both without ten women's wit.'

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate;
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With Death she humbly doth insinuate;
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories
His victories, his triumphs and his glories.

'O Jove,' quoth she, 'how much a fool was I
To be of such a weak and silly mind
To wail his death who lives and must not die
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!
For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

'Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd thieves;
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.'
Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.

As falcon to the lure, away she flies;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view,
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew;

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again;
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head:

Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain;
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again;
Who like a king perplexed in his throne,
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,

Whereat each tributary subject quakes;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound.
This mutiny each part doth so surprise
That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes;

And, being open'd, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd
In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd:
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
But stole his blood and seem'd with him to bleed.

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead:
Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow;
Her eyes are mad that they have wept til now.

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,
That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,
That makes more gashes where no breach should be:
His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled;
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.

'My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
And yet,' quoth she, 'behold two Adons dead!
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead:
Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire!
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

'Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim;
But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him.

'Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear!
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;
The sun doth scorn you and the wind doth hiss you:
But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair:

'And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;
The wind would blow it off and, being gone,
Play with his locks: then would Adonis weep;
And straight, in pity of his tender years,
They both would strive who first should dry his tears.

'To see his face the lion walk'd along
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him;
To recreate himself when he hath sung,
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him;
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey
And never fright the silly lamb that day.

'When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took,
That some would sing, some other in their bills
Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries;
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

'But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;
Witness the entertainment that he gave:
If he did see his face, why then I know
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so.

''Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain:
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there;
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.

'Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess,
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first;
But he is dead, and never did he bless
My youth with his; the more am I accurst.'
With this, she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold;
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,
As if they heard the woeful words she told;
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies;

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd,
And every beauty robb'd of his effect:
'Wonder of time,' quoth she, 'this is my spite,
That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.

'Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy:
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:
It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end,
Ne'er settled equally, but high or low,
That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.

'It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud,
Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while;
The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd
With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile:
The strongest body shall it make most weak,
Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak.

'It shall be sparing and too full of riot,
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;
It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild,
Make the young old, the old become a child.

'It shall suspect where is no cause of fear;
It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;
It shall be merciful and too severe,
And most deceiving when it seems most just;
Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward,
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.

'It shall be cause of war and dire events,
And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire;
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustious matter is to fire:
Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy,
They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.'

By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white,
Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath,
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell,
Since he himself is reft from her by death:
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears.

'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy fathers guise--
Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire--
For every little grief to wet his eyes:
To grow unto himself was his desire,
And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good
To wither in my breast as in his blood.

'Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
There shall not be one minute in an hour
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.'

Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;
Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
Means to immure herself and not be seen.




    THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.


The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; whereof
this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety.
The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth
of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I
have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in
all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would
show greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship,
to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness.

Your lordship's in all duty,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.



    THE RAPE OF LUCRECE


    THE ARGUMENT


Lucius Tarquinius, for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus,
after he had caused his own father-in-law Servius Tullius to be
cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs,
not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had
possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons
and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege
the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of
Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after
supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife: among
whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife
Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they posted to Rome; and
intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of
that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds
his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her
maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or
in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus
the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus
Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering
his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the
camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and
was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by
Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth
into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the
morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight,
hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father,
another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one
accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius;
and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause
of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her
revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and
withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent
they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the
Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted
the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a
bitter invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the
people were so moved, that with one consent and a general
acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state
government changed from kings to consuls.



    THE RAPE OF LUCRECE



FROM the besieged Ardea all in post,
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

Haply that name of 'chaste' unhappily set
This bateless edge on his keen appetite;
When Collatine unwisely did not let
To praise the clear unmatched red and white
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight,
Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties,
With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state;
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate;
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,
That kings might be espoused to more fame,
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.

O happiness enjoy'd but of a few!
And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done
As is the morning's silver-melting dew
Against the golden splendor of the sun!
An expired date, cancell'd ere well begun:
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms,
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
The eyes of men without an orator;
What needeth then apologies be made,
To set forth that which is so singular?
Or why is Collatine the publisher
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is his own?

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty
Suggested this proud issue of a king;
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing,
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting
His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt
That golden hap which their superiors want.

But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those:
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver glows.
O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold,
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old!

When at Collatium this false lord arrived,
Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived
Which of them both should underprop her fame:
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame;
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white.

But beauty, in that white intituled,
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field:
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white.

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen,
Argued by beauty's red and virtue's white
Of either's colour was the other queen,
Proving from world's minority their right:
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight;
The sovereignty of either being so great,
That oft they interchange each other's seat.

Their silent war of lilies and of roses,
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;
Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd,
The coward captive vanquished doth yield
To those two armies that would let him go,
Rather than triumph in so false a foe.

Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue,--
The niggard prodigal that praised her so,--
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show:
Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,
In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.

This earthly saint, adored by this devil,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper;
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil;
Birds never limed no secret bushes fear:
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd:

For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty;
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate,
Save something too much wonder of his eye,
Which, having all, all could not satisfy;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,
That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

But she, that never coped with stranger eyes,
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks,
Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books:
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks;
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,
More than his eyes were open'd to the light.

He stories to her ears her husband's fame,
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;
And decks with praises Collatine's high name,
Made glorious by his manly chivalry
With bruised arms and wreaths of victory:
Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express,
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.

Far from the purpose of his coming hither,
He makes excuses for his being there:
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear;
Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,
Upon the world dim darkness doth display,
And in her vaulty prison stows the Day.

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,
Intending weariness with heavy spright;
For, after supper, long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:
Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight;
And every one to rest themselves betake,
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake.

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining;
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:
Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;
And when great treasure is the meed proposed,
Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed.

Those that much covet are with gain so fond,
For what they have not, that which they possess
They scatter and unloose it from their bond,
And so, by hoping more, they have but less;
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

The aim of all is but to nurse the life
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage;
As life for honour in fell battle's rage;
Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and all together lost.

So that in venturing ill we leave to be
The things we are for that which we expect;
And this ambitious foul infirmity,
In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have: so then we do neglect
The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing by augmenting it.

Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make,
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust;
And for himself himself be must forsake:
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust?
When shall he think to find a stranger just,
When he himself himself confounds, betrays
To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days?

Now stole upon the time the dead of night,
When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes:
No comfortable star did lend his light,
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries;
Now serves the season that they may surprise
The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead and still,
While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.

And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed,
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm;
Is madly toss'd between desire and dread;
Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm;
But honest fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm,
Doth too too oft betake him to retire,
Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire.

His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye;
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly,
'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire,
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.'

Here pale with fear he doth premeditate
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise,
And in his inward mind he doth debate
What following sorrow may on this arise:
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise
His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust,
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:

'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not
To darken her whose light excelleth thine:
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot
With your uncleanness that which is divine;
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine:
Let fair humanity abhor the deed
That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed.

'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!
O foul dishonour to my household's grave!
O impious act, including all foul harms!
A martial man to be soft fancy's slave!
True valour still a true respect should have;
Then my digression is so vile, so base,
That it will live engraven in my face.

'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,
And be an eye-sore in my golden coat;
Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive,
To cipher me how fondly I did dote;
That my posterity, shamed with the note
Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin
To wish that I their father had not bin.

'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?

'If Collatinus dream of my intent,
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent?
This siege that hath engirt his marriage,
This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,
This dying virtue, this surviving shame,
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?

'O, what excuse can my invention make,
When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?
Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake,
Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed?
The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed;
And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,
But coward-like with trembling terror die.


'Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire,
Or lain in ambush to betray my life,
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire
Might have excuse to work upon his wife,
As in revenge or quittal of such strife:
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.

'Shameful it is; ay, if the fact be known:
Hateful it is; there is no hate in loving:
I'll beg her love; but she is own:
The worst is but denial and reproving:
My will is strong, past reason's weak removing.
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.'

Thus, graceless, holds he disputation
'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will,
And with good thoughts make dispensation,
Urging the worser sense for vantage still;
Which in a moment doth confound and kill
All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.

Quoth he, 'She took me kindly by the hand,
And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes,
Fearing some hard news from the warlike band,
Where her beloved Collatinus lies.
O, how her fear did make her colour rise!
First red as roses that on lawn we lay,
Then white as lawn, the roses took away.

'And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd
Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear!
Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd,
Until her husband's welfare she did hear;
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood.

'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?
All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;
Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;
Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:
Affection is my captain, and he leadeth;
And when his gaudy banner is display'd,
The coward fights and will not be dismay'd.

'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die!
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age!
My heart shall never countermand mine eye:
Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;
My part is youth, and beats these from the stage:
Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;
Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?'

As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear
Is almost choked by unresisted lust.
Away he steals with open listening ear,
Full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust;
Both which, as servitors to the unjust,
So cross him with their opposite persuasion,
That now he vows a league, and now invasion.

Within his thought her heavenly image sits,
And in the self-same seat sits Collatine:
That eye which looks on her confounds his wits;
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,
Unto a view so false will not incline;
But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,
Which once corrupted takes the worser part;

And therein heartens up his servile powers,
Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show,
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow,
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.
By reprobate desire thus madly led,
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed.

The locks between her chamber and his will,
Each one by him enforced, retires his ward;
But, as they open, they all rate his ill,
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard:
The threshold grates the door to have him heard;
Night-wandering weasels shriek to see him there;
They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.

As each unwilling portal yields him way,
Through little vents and crannies of the place
The wind wars with his torch to make him stay,
And blows the smoke of it into his face,
Extinguishing his conduct in this case;
But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch:

And being lighted, by the light he spies
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks:
He takes it from the rushes where it lies,
And griping it, the needle his finger pricks;
As who should say 'This glove to wanton tricks
Is not inured; return again in haste;
Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are chaste.'

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;
He in the worst sense construes their denial:
The doors, the wind, the glove, that did delay him,
He takes for accidental things of trial;
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial,
Who with a lingering slay his course doth let,
Till every minute pays the hour his debt.

'So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend the time,
Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring,
To add a more rejoicing to the prime,
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.
Pain pays the income of each precious thing;
Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands,
The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.'

Now is he come unto the chamber-door,
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought,
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more,
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing be sought.
So from himself impiety hath wrought,
That for his prey to pray he doth begin,
As if the heavens should countenance his sin.

But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,
Having solicited th' eternal power
That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair,
And they would stand auspicious to the hour,
Even there he starts: quoth he, 'I must deflower:
The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,
How can they then assist me in the act?

'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!
My will is back'd with resolution:
Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried;
The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution;
Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution.
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.'

This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch,
And with his knee the door he opens wide.
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch:
Thus treason works ere traitors be espied.
Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside;
But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,
Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.

Into the chamber wickedly he stalks,
And gazeth on her yet unstained bed.
The curtains being close, about he walks,
Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head:
By their high treason is his heart misled;
Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon
To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.

Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun,
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
To wink, being blinded with a greater light:
Whether it is that she reflects so bright,
That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;
But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.

O, had they in that darksome prison died!
Then had they seen the period of their ill;
Then Collatine again, by Lucrece' side,
In his clear bed might have reposed still:
But they must ope, this blessed league to kill;
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight.

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;
Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,
Swelling on either side to want his bliss;
Between whose hills her head entombed is:
Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,
To be admired of lewd unhallow'd eyes.

Without the bed her other fair hand was,
On the green coverlet; whose perfect white
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass,
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night.
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their light,
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,
Till they might open to adorn the day.

Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath;
O modest wantons! wanton modesty!
Showing life's triumph in the map of death,
And death's dim look in life's mortality:
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify,
As if between them twain there were no strife,
But that life lived in death, and death in life.

Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered,
Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,
And him by oath they truly honoured.
These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred;
Who, like a foul ursurper, went about
From this fair throne to heave the owner out.

What could he see but mightily he noted?
What did he note but strongly he desired?
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,
And in his will his wilful eye he tired.
With more than admiration he admired
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.

As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey,
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,
So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,
His rage of lust by gazing qualified;
Slack'd, not suppress'd; for standing by her side,
His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:

And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,
Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting,
In bloody death and ravishment delighting,
Nor children's tears nor mothers' groans respecting,
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting:
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,
Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking.

His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,
His eye commends the leading to his hand;
His hand, as proud of such a dignity,
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land;
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,
Left there round turrets destitute and pale.

They, mustering to the quiet cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies,
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset,
And fright her with confusion of their cries:
She, much amazed, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes,
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd.

Imagine her as one in dead of night
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking;
What terror or 'tis! but she, in worser taking,
From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
The sight which makes supposed terror true.

Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies;
She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes:
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries;
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.

His hand, that yet remains upon her breast,--
Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!--
May feel her heart-poor citizen!--distress'd,
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall,
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage and lesser pity,
To make the breach and enter this sweet city.

First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin
To sound a parley to his heartless foe;
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,
The reason of this rash alarm to know,
Which he by dumb demeanor seeks to show;
But she with vehement prayers urgeth still
Under what colour he commits this ill.

Thus he replies: 'The colour in thy face,
That even for anger makes the lily pale,
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace,
Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale:
Under that colour am I come to scale
Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is thine,
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.

'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide:
Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,
Where thou with patience must my will abide;
My will that marks thee for my earth's delight,
Which I to conquer sought with all my might;
But as reproof and reason beat it dead,
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.

'I see what crosses my attempt will bring;
I know what thorns the growing rose defends;
I think the honey guarded with a sting;
All this beforehand counsel comprehends:
But will is deaf and hears no heedful friends;
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,
And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty.

'I have debated, even in my soul,
What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed;
But nothing can affection's course control,
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears ensue the deed,
Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;
Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.'

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,
Which, like a falcon towering in the skies,
Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade,
Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies:
So under his insulting falchion lies
Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells.

'Lucrece,' quoth he,'this night I must enjoy thee:
If thou deny, then force must work my way,
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee:
That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay,
To kill thine honour with thy life's decay;
And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.

'So thy surviving husband shall remain
The scornful mark of every open eye;
Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,
Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy:
And thou, the author of their obloquy,
Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes,
And sung by children in succeeding times.

'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend:
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted;
A little harm done to a great good end
For lawful policy remains enacted.
The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted
In a pure compound; being so applied,
His venom in effect is purified.

'Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake,
Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot
The shame that from them no device can take,
The blemish that will never be forgot;
Worse than a slavish wipe or birth-hour's blot:
For marks descried in men's nativity
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.'

Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye
He rouseth up himself and makes a pause;
While she, the picture of pure piety,
Like a white hind under the gripe's sharp claws,
Pleads, in a wilderness where are no laws,
To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,
Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.

But when a black-faced cloud the world doth threat,
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get,
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their bidding,
Hindering their present fall by this dividing;
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays,
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.

Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally,
While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth:
Her sad behavior feeds his vulture folly,
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth
No penetrable entrance to her plaining:
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.

Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face;
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd,
Which to her oratory adds more grace.
She puts the period often from his place;
And midst the sentence so her accent breaks,
That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.

She conjures him by high almighty Jove,
By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath,
By her untimely tears, her husband's love,
By holy human law, and common troth,
By heaven and earth, and all the power of both,
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire,
And stoop to honour, not to foul desire.

Quoth she, 'Reward not hospitality
With such black payment as thou hast pretended;
Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;
Mar not the thing that cannot be amended;
End thy ill aim before thy shoot be ended;
He is no woodman that doth bend his bow
To strike a poor unseasonable doe.

'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me:
Thyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me:
Myself a weakling; do not then ensnare me:
Thou look'st not like deceit; do not deceive me.
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee:
If ever man were moved with woman moans,
Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans:

'All which together, like a troubled ocean,
Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart,
To soften it with their continual motion;
For stones dissolved to water do convert.
O, if no harder than a stone thou art,
Melt at my tears, and be compassionate!
Soft pity enters at an iron gate.

'In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee:
Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame?
To all the host of heaven I complain me,
Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely name.
Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same,
Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king;
For kings like gods should govern everything.

'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age,
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring!
If in thy hope thou darest do such outrage,
What darest thou not when once thou art a king?
O, be remember'd, no outrageous thing
From vassal actors can be wiped away;
Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.

'This deed will make thee only loved for fear;
But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love:
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
When they in thee the like offences prove:
If but for fear of this, thy will remove;
For princes are the glass, the school, the book,
Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look.

'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn?
Must he in thee read lectures of such shame?
Wilt thou be glass wherein it shall discern
Authority for sin, warrant for blame,
To privilege dishonour in thy name?
Thou black'st reproach against long-living laud,
And makest fair reputation but a bawd.

'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee,
From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity,
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill.
Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil,
When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul sin may say,
He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way?

'Think but how vile a spectacle it were,
To view thy present trespass in another.
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear;
Their own transgressions partially they smother:
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.
O, how are they wrapp'd in with infamies
That from their own misdeeds askance their eyes!

'To thee, to thee, my heaved-up hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier:
I sue for exiled majesty's repeal;
Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire:
His true respect will prison false desire,
And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,
That thou shalt see thy state and pity mine.'

'Have done,' quoth he: 'my uncontrolled tide
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let.
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide,
And with the wind in greater fury fret:
The petty streams that pay a daily debt
To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.'

'Thou art,' quoth she, 'a sea, a sovereign king;
And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.
If all these pretty ills shall change thy good,
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hearsed,
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed.

'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified;
Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave:
Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:
The lesser thing should not the greater hide;
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot,
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.

'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state'--
No more,' quoth he; 'by heaven, I will not hear thee:
Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate,
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee;
That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,
To be thy partner in this shameful doom.'

This said, he sets his foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb cries;
Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold:

For with the nightly linen that she wears
He pens her piteous clamours in her head;
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed!
The spots whereof could weeping purify,
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life,
And he hath won what he would lose again:
This forced league doth force a further strife;
This momentary joy breeds months of pain;
This hot desire converts to cold disdain:
Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,
And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before.

Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight,
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk
The prey wherein by nature they delight;
So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:
His taste delicious, in digestion souring,
Devours his will, that lived by foul devouring.

O, deeper sin than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination!
Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt,
Ere he can see his own abomination.
While Lust is in his pride, no exclamation
Can curb his heat or rein his rash desire,
Till like a jade Self-will himself doth tire.

And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace,
Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:
The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with Grace,
For there it revels; and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission prays.

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased;
For now against himself he sounds this doom,
That through the length of times he stands disgraced:
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced;
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,
To ask the spotted princess how she fares.

She says, her subjects with foul insurrection
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall,
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To living death and pain perpetual:
Which in her prescience she controlled still,
But her foresight could not forestall their will.

Even in this thought through the dark night he stealeth,
A captive victor that hath lost in gain;
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain;
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of lust he left behind,
And he the burden of a guilty mind.

He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence;
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there;
He scowls and hates himself for his offence;
She, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;
He faintly flies, sneaking with guilty fear;
She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;
He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loathed delight.

He thence departs a heavy convertite;
She there remains a hopeless castaway;
He in his speed looks for the morning light;
She prays she never may behold the day,
'For day,' quoth she, 'nights scapes doth open lay,
And my true eyes have never practised how
To cloak offences with a cunning brow.

'They think not but that every eye can see
The same disgrace which they themselves behold;
And therefore would they still in darkness be,
To have their unseen sin remain untold;
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,
Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.'

Here she exclaims against repose and rest,
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast,
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer chest to close so pure a mind.
Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite
Against the unseen secrecy of night:

'O comfort-killing Night, image of hell!
Dim register and notary of shame!
Black stage for tragedies and murders fell!
Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!
Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!
Grim cave of death! whispering conspirator
With close-tongued treason and the ravisher!

'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy Night!
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportion'd course of time;
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.

'With rotten damps ravish the morning air;
Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick
The life of purity, the supreme fair,
Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick;
And let thy misty vapours march so thick,
That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light
May set at noon and make perpetual night.

'Were Tarquin Night, as he is but Night's child,
The silver-shining queen he would distain;
Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defiled,
Through Night's black bosom should not peep again:
So should I have co-partners in my pain;
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage.

'Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,
To mask their brows and hide their infamy;
But I alone alone must sit and pine,
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.

'O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke,
Let not the jealous Day behold that face
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace!
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place,
That all the faults which in thy reign are made
May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade!

'Make me not object to the tell-tale Day!
The light will show, character'd in my brow,
The story of sweet chastity's decay,
The impious breach of holy wedlock vow:
Yea the illiterate, that know not how
To cipher what is writ in learned books,
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.

'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story,
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name;
The orator, to deck his oratory,
Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame;
Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,
Will tie the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.

'Let my good name, that senseless reputation,
For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted:
If that be made a theme for disputation,
The branches of another root are rotted,
And undeserved reproach to him allotted
That is as clear from this attaint of mine
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.

'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace!
O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar!
Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face,
And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar,
How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,
Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows!

'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,
From me by strong assault it is bereft.
My honour lost, and I, a drone-like bee,
Have no perfection of my summer left,
But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft:
In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept,
And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept.

'Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack;
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
For it had been dishonour to disdain him:
Besides, of weariness he did complain him,
And talk'd of virtue: O unlook'd-for evil,
When virtue is profaned in such a devil!

'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests?
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud?
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?
Or kings be breakers of their own behests?
But no perfection is so absolute,
That some impurity doth not pollute.

'The aged man that coffers-up his gold
Is plagued with cramps and gouts and painful fits;
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits,
And useless barns the harvest of his wits;
Having no other pleasure of his gain
But torment that it cannot cure his pain.

'So then he hath it when he cannot use it,
And leaves it to be master'd by his young;
Who in their pride do presently abuse it:
Their father was too weak, and they too strong,
To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.
The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours
Even in the moment that we call them ours.

'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;
The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;
What virtue breeds iniquity devours:
We have no good that we can say is ours,
But ill-annexed Opportunity
Or kills his life or else his quality.

'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great!
'Tis thou that executest the traitor's treason:
Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season;
'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason;
And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him,
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.

'Thou makest the vestal violate her oath;
Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd;
Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth;
Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd!
Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud:
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!

'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
Thy private feasting to a public fast,
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name,
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste:
Thy violent vanities can never last.
How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?

'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend,
And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd?
When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end?
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chain'd?
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd?
The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;
But they ne'er meet with Opportunity.

'The patient dies while the physician sleeps;
The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;
Justice is feasting while the widow weeps;
Advice is sporting while infection breeds:
Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds:
Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages,
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.

'When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee,
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid:
They buy thy help; but Sin ne'er gives a fee,
He gratis comes; and thou art well appaid
As well to hear as grant what he hath said.
My Collatine would else have come to me
When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee.

Guilty thou art of murder and of theft,
Guilty of perjury and subornation,
Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift,
Guilty of incest, that abomination;
An accessary by thine inclination
To all sins past, and all that are to come,
From the creation to the general doom.

'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly Night,
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care,
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare;
Thou nursest all and murder'st all that are:
O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!
Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.

'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,
Betray'd the hours thou gavest me to repose,
Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me
To endless date of never-ending woes?
Time's office is to fine the hate of foes;
To eat up errors by opinion bred,
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.

'Time's glory is to calm contending kings,
To unmask falsehood and bring truth to light,
To stamp the seal of time in aged things,
To wake the morn and sentinel the night,
To wrong the wronger till he render right,
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,
And smear with dust their glittering golden towers;

'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,
To feed oblivion with decay of things,
To blot old books and alter their contents,
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings,
To dry the old oak's sap and cherish springs,
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel,
And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel;

'To show the beldam daughters of her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child,
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild,
To mock the subtle in themselves beguiled,
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,
And waste huge stones with little water drops.

'Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,
Unless thou couldst return to make amends?
One poor retiring minute in an age
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,
Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends:
O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back,
I could prevent this storm and shun thy wrack!

'Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:
Devise extremes beyond extremity,
To make him curse this cursed crimeful night:
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;
And the dire thought of his committed evil
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.

'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances,
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;
Let there bechance him pitiful mischances,
To make him moan; but pity not his moans:
Stone him with harden'd hearts harder than stones;
And let mild women to him lose their mildness,
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.

'Let him have time to tear his curled hair,
Let him have time against himself to rave,
Let him have time of Time's help to despair,
Let him have time to live a loathed slave,
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave,
And time to see one that by alms doth live
Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.

'Let him have time to see his friends his foes,
And merry fools to mock at him resort;
Let him have time to mark how slow time goes
In time of sorrow, and how swift and short
His time of folly and his time of sport;
And ever let his unrecalling crime
Have time to wail th' abusing of his time.

'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,
Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill!
At his own shadow let the thief run mad,
Himself himself seek every hour to kill!
Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill;
For who so base would such an office have
As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave?

'The baser is he, coming from a king,
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate:
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate;
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
The moon being clouded presently is miss'd,
But little stars may hide them when they list.

'The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire,
And unperceived fly with the filth away;
But if the like the snow-white swan desire,
The stain upon his silver down will stay.
Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day:
Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly,
But eagles gazed upon with every eye.

'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools!
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!
Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools;
Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters;
To trembling clients be you mediators:
For me, I force not argument a straw,
Since that my case is past the help of law.

'In vain I rail at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful Night;
In vain I cavil with mine infamy,
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite:
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right.
The remedy indeed to do me good
Is to let forth my foul-defiled blood.

'Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree?
Honour thyself to rid me of this shame:
For if I die, my honour lives in thee;
But if I live, thou livest in my defame:
Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame,
And wast afeard to scratch her wicked foe,
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.'

This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth,
To find some desperate instrument of death:
But this no slaughterhouse no tool imparteth
To make more vent for passage of her breath;
Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth
As smoke from AEtna, that in air consumes,
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.

'In vain,' quoth she, 'I live, and seek in vain
Some happy mean to end a hapless life.
I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain,
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife:
But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife:
So am I now: O no, that cannot be;
Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.

'O, that is gone for which I sought to live,
And therefore now I need not fear to die.
To clear this spot by death, at least I give
A badge of fame to slander's livery;
A dying life to living infamy:
Poor helpless help, the treasure stol'n away,
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!

'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know
The stained taste of violated troth;
I will not wrong thy true affection so,
To flatter thee with an infringed oath;
This bastard graff shall never come to growth:
He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute
That thou art doting father of his fruit.

'Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state:
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought
Basely with gold, but stol'n from forth thy gate.
For me, I am the mistress of my fate,
And with my trespass never will dispense,
Till life to death acquit my forced offence.

'I will not poison thee with my attaint,
Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses;
My sable ground of sin I will not paint,
To hide the truth of this false night's abuses:
My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices,
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.'

By this, lamenting Philomel had ended
The well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow,
And solemn night with slow sad gait descended
To ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow:
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be.

Revealing day through every cranny spies,
And seems to point her out where she sits weeping;
To whom she sobbing speaks: 'O eye of eyes,
Why pry'st thou through my window? leave thy peeping:
Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping:
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,
For day hath nought to do what's done by night.'

Thus cavils she with every thing she sees:
True grief is fond and testy as a child,
Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees:
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild;
Continuance tames the one; the other wild,
Like an unpractised swimmer plunging still,
With too much labour drowns for want of skill.

So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,
Holds disputation with each thing she views,
And to herself all sorrow doth compare;
No object but her passion's strength renews;
And as one shifts, another straight ensues:
Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words;
Sometime 'tis mad and too much talk affords.

The little birds that tune their morning's joy
Make her moans mad with their sweet melody:
For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;
Sad souls are slain in merry company;
Grief best is pleased with grief's society:
True sorrow then is feelingly sufficed
When with like semblance it is sympathized.

'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore;
He ten times pines that pines beholding food;
To see the salve doth make the wound ache more;
Great grief grieves most at that would do it good;
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood,
Who being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows;
Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.

'You mocking-birds,' quoth she, 'your tunes entomb
Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts,
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb:
My restless discord loves no stops nor rests;
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;
Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.

'Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment,
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair:
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear,
And with deep groans the diapason bear;
For burden-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still,
While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill.

'And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part,
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,
To imitate thee well, against my heart
Will fix a sharp knife to affright mine eye;
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.
These means, as frets upon an instrument,
Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment.

'And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day,
As shaming any eye should thee behold,
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way,
That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold,
Will we find out; and there we will unfold
To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds:
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.'

As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,
Wildly determining which way to fly,
Or one encompass'd with a winding maze,
That cannot tread the way out readily;
So with herself is she in mutiny,
To live or die which of the twain were better,
When life is shamed, and death reproach's debtor.

'To kill myself,' quoth she, 'alack, what were it,
But with my body my poor soul's pollution?
They that lose half with greater patience bear it
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion.
That mother tries a merciless conclusion
Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one,
Will slay the other and be nurse to none.

'My body or my soul, which was the dearer,
When the one pure, the other made divine?
Whose love of either to myself was nearer,
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine?
Ay me! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine,
His leaves will wither and his sap decay;
So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away.

'Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted,
Her mansion batter'd by the enemy;
Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted,
Grossly engirt with daring infamy:
Then let it not be call'd impiety,
If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole
Through which I may convey this troubled soul.

'Yet die I will not till my Collatine
Have heard the cause of my untimely death;
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath.
My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath,
Which by him tainted shall for him be spent,
And as his due writ in my testament.

'My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife
That wounds my body so dishonoured.
'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life;
The one will live, the other being dead:
So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred;
For in my death I murder shameful scorn:
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born.

'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee?
My resolution, love, shall be thy boast,
By whose example thou revenged mayest be.
How Tarquin must be used, read it in me:
Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,
And for my sake serve thou false Tarquin so.

'This brief abridgement of my will I make:
My soul and body to the skies and ground;
My resolution, husband, do thou take;
Mine honour be the knife's that makes my wound;
My shame be his that did my fame confound;
And all my fame that lives disbursed be
To those that live, and think no shame of me.

'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will;
How was I overseen that thou shalt see it!
My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;
My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it.
Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say 'So be it:'
Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee:
Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.'

This Plot of death when sadly she had laid,
And wiped the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,
With untuned tongue she hoarsely calls her maid,
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies;
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies.
Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so
As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow.

Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,
With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty,
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow,
For why her face wore sorrow's livery;
But durst not ask of her audaciously
Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so,
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe.

But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye;
Even so the maid with swelling drops gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy
Of those fair suns set in her mistress' sky,
Who in a salt-waved ocean quench their light,
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.

A pretty while these pretty creatures stand,
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:
One justly weeps; the other takes in hand
No cause, but company, of her drops spilling:
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing;
Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts,
And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts.

For men have marble, women waxen, minds,
And therefore are they form'd as marble will;
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill:
Then call them not the authors of their ill,
No more than wax shall be accounted evil
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil.

Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,
Lays open all the little worms that creep;
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep:
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep:
Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks,
Poor women's faces are their own fault's books.

No man inveigh against the wither'd flower,
But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd:
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour,
Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild
Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfill'd
With men's abuses: those proud lords, to blame,
Make weak-made women tenants to their shame.

The precedent whereof in Lucrece view,
Assail'd by night with circumstances strong
Of present death, and shame that might ensue
By that her death, to do her husband wrong:
Such danger to resistance did belong,
That dying fear through all her body spread;
And who cannot abuse a body dead?

By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining:
'My girl,' quoth she, 'on what occasion break
Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are
raining?
If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining,
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood:
If tears could help, mine own would do me good.

'But tell me, girl, when went'--and there she stay'd
Till after a deep groan--'Tarquin from hence?'
'Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid,
'The more to blame my sluggard negligence:
Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense;
Myself was stirring ere the break of day,
And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.

'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold,
She would request to know your heaviness.'
'O, peace!' quoth Lucrece: 'if it should be told,
The repetition cannot make it less;
For more it is than I can well express:
And that deep torture may be call'd a hell
When more is felt than one hath power to tell.

'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen:
Yet save that labour, for I have them here.
What should I say? One of my husband's men
Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear
A letter to my lord, my love, my dear;
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it;
The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.'

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write,
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill:
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight;
What wit sets down is blotted straight with will;
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill:
Much like a press of people at a door,
Throng her inventions, which shall go before.

At last she thus begins: 'Thou worthy lord
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,
Health to thy person! next vouchsafe t' afford--
If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see--
Some present speed to come and visit me.
So, I commend me from our house in grief:
My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.'

Here folds she up the tenor of her woe,
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.
By this short schedule Collatine may know
Her grief, but not her grief's true quality:
She dares not thereof make discovery,
Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,
Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd excuse.

Besides, the life and feeling of her passion
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her:
When sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her
From that suspicion which the world might bear her.
To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter
With words, till action might become them better.

To see sad sights moves more than hear them told;
For then eye interprets to the ear
The heavy motion that it doth behold,
When every part a part of woe doth bear.
'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:
Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords,
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.

Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ
'At Ardea to my lord with more than haste.'
The post attends, and she delivers it,
Charging the sour-faced groom to hie as fast
As lagging fowls before the northern blast:
Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems:
Extremity still urgeth such extremes.

The homely villain court'sies to her low;
And, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye
Receives the scroll without or yea or no,
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie.
But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie
Imagine every eye beholds their blame;
For Lucrece thought he blush'd to her see shame:

When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect
Of spirit, Life, and bold audacity.
Such harmless creatures have a true respect
To talk in deeds, while others saucily
Promise more speed, but do it leisurely:
Even so this pattern of the worn-out age
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage.

His kindled duty kindled her mistrust,
That two red fires in both their faces blazed;
She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust,
And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed;
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed:
The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish,
The more she thought he spied in her some blemish.

But long she thinks till he return again,
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.
The weary time she cannot entertain,
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan:
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan,
That she her plaints a little while doth stay,
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy:
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece.
For Helen's rape the city to destroy,
Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy;
Which the conceited painter drew so proud,
As heaven, it seem'd, to kiss the turrets bow'd.

A thousand lamentable objects there,
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life:
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear,
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife:
The red blood reek'd, to show the painter's strife;
And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights,
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.

There might you see the labouring pioner
Begrimed with sweat, and smeared all with dust;
And from the towers of Troy there would appear
The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust,
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust:
Such sweet observance in this work was had,
That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.

In great commanders grace and majesty
You might behold, triumphing in their faces;
In youth, quick bearing and dexterity;
Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces;
Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,
That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble.

In Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art
Of physiognomy might one behold!
The face of either cipher'd either's heart;
Their face their manners most expressly told:
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigor roll'd;
But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent
Show'd deep regard and smiling government.

There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight;
Making such sober action with his hand,
That it beguiled attention, charm'd the sight:
In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white,
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky.

About him were a press of gaping faces,
Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice;
All jointly listening, but with several graces,
As if some mermaid did their ears entice,
Some high, some low, the painter was so nice;
The scalps of many, almost hid behind,
To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind.

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head,
His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear;
Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n and
red;
Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear;
And in their rage such signs of rage they bear,
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words,
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords.

For much imaginary work was there;
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,
That for Achilles' image stood his spear,
Griped in an armed hand; himself, behind,
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind:
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,
Stood for the whole to be imagined.

And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to
field,
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;
And to their hope they such odd action yield,
That through their light joy seemed to appear,
Like bright things stain'd, a kind of heavy fear.

And from the strand of Dardan, where they fought,
To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran,
Whose waves to imitate the battle sought
With swelling ridges; and their ranks began
To break upon the galled shore, and than
Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks,
They join and shoot their foam at Simois' banks.

To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,
To find a face where all distress is stell'd.
Many she sees where cares have carved some,
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd,
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld,
Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes,
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies.

In her the painter had anatomized
Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign:
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguised;
Of what she was no semblance did remain:
Her blue blood changed to black in every vein,
Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed,
Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead.

On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,
And shapes her sorrow to the beldam's woes,
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries,
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes:
The painter was no god to lend her those;
And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong,
To give her so much grief and not a tongue.

'Poor instrument,' quoth she,'without a sound,
I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue;
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound,
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong;
And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.

'Show me the strumpet that began this stir,
That with my nails her beauty I may tear.
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear:
Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here;
And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die.

'Why should the private pleasure of some one
Become the public plague of many moe?
Let sin, alone committed, light alone
Upon his head that hath transgressed so;
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe:
For one's offence why should so many fall,
To plague a private sin in general?

'Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds,
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies,
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,
And one man's lust these many lives confounds:
Had doting Priam cheque'd his son's desire,
Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.'

Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes:
For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes;
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell:
So Lucrece, set a-work, sad tales doth tell
To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow;
She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.

She throws her eyes about the painting round,
And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament.
At last she sees a wretched image bound,
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent:
His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content;
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes,
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes.

In him the painter labour'd with his skill
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe;
Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red no guilty instance gave,
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.

But, like a constant and confirmed devil,
He entertain'd a show so seeming just,
And therein so ensconced his secret evil,
That jealousy itself could not mistrust
False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust
Into so bright a day such black-faced storms,
Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms.

The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew
For perjured Sinon, whose enchanting story
The credulous old Priam after slew;
Whose words like wildfire burnt the shining glory
Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry,
And little stars shot from their fixed places,
When their glass fell wherein they view'd their faces.

This picture she advisedly perused,
And chid the painter for his wondrous skill,
Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abused;
So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill:
And still on him she gazed; and gazing still,
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied,
That she concludes the picture was belied.

'It cannot be,' quoth she,'that so much guile'--
She would have said 'can lurk in such a look;'
But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while,
And from her tongue 'can lurk' from 'cannot' took:
'It cannot be' she in that sense forsook,
And turn'd it thus,' It cannot be, I find,
But such a face should bear a wicked mind.

'For even as subtle Sinon here is painted.
So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,
As if with grief or travail he had fainted,
To me came Tarquin armed; so beguiled
With outward honesty, but yet defiled
With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,
So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.

'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,
To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds!
Priam, why art thou old and yet not wise?
For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds:
His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds;
Those round clear pearls of his, that move thy pity,
Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.

'Such devils steal effects from lightless hell;
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,
And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell;
These contraries such unity do hold,
Only to flatter fools and make them bold:
So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter,
That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.'

Here, all enraged, such passion her assails,
That patience is quite beaten from her breast.
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails,
Comparing him to that unhappy guest
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest:
At last she smilingly with this gives o'er;
'Fool, fool!' quoth she, 'his wounds will not be sore.'

Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow,
And time doth weary time with her complaining.
She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow,
And both she thinks too long with her remaining:
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining:
Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps,
And they that watch see time how slow it creeps.

Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought,
That she with painted images hath spent;
Being from the feeling of her own grief brought
By deep surmise of others' detriment;
Losing her woes in shows of discontent.
It easeth some, though none it ever cured,
To think their dolour others have endured.

But now the mindful messenger, come back,
Brings home his lord and other company;
Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black:
And round about her tear-stained eye
Blue circles stream'd; like rainbows in the sky:
These water-galls in her dim element
Foretell new storms to those already spent.

Which when her sad-beholding husband saw,
Amazedly in her sad face he stares:
Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw,
Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares.
He hath no power to ask her how she fares:
Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance,
Met far from home, wondering each other's chance.

At last he takes her by the bloodless hand,
And thus begins: 'What uncouth ill event
Hath thee befall'n, that thou dost trembling stand?
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?
Why art thou thus attired in discontent?
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,
And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.'

Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire,
Ere once she can discharge one word of woe:
At length address'd to answer his desire,
She modestly prepares to let them know
Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe;
While Collatine and his consorted lords
With sad attention long to hear her words.

And now this pale swan in her watery nest
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending;
'Few words,' quoth she, 'Shall fit the trespass best,
Where no excuse can give the fault amending:
In me moe woes than words are now depending;
And my laments would be drawn out too long,
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.

'Then be this all the task it hath to say
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed
A stranger came, and on that pillow lay
Where thou was wont to rest thy weary head;
And what wrong else may be imagined
By foul enforcement might be done to me,
From that, alas, thy Lucrece is not free.

'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,
With shining falchion in my chamber came
A creeping creature, with a flaming light,
And softly cried 'Awake, thou Roman dame,
And entertain my love; else lasting shame
On thee and thine this night I will inflict,
If thou my love's desire do contradict.

' 'For some hard-favour'd groom of thine,' quoth he,
'Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,
I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee
And swear I found you where you did fulfil
The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill
The lechers in their deed: this act will be
My fame and thy perpetual infamy.'

'With this, I did begin to start and cry;
And then against my heart he sets his sword,
Swearing, unless I took all patiently,
I should not live to speak another word;
So should my shame still rest upon record,
And never be forgot in mighty Rome
Th' adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.

'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,
And far the weaker with so strong a fear:
My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;
No rightful plea might plead for justice there:
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear
That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes;
And when the judge is robb'd the prisoner dies.

'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse!
Or at the least this refuge let me find;
Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse,
Immaculate and spotless is my mind;
That was not forced; that never was inclined
To accessary yieldings, but still pure
Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.'

Lo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,
With head declined, and voice damm'd up with woe,
With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across,
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow
The grief away that stops his answer so:
But, wretched as he is, he strives in vain;
What he breathes out his breath drinks up again.

As through an arch the violent roaring tide
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste,
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride
Back to the strait that forced him on so fast;
In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past:
Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw,
To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.

Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth,
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:
'Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth
Another power; no flood by raining slaketh.
My woe too sensible thy passion maketh
More feeling-painful: let it then suffice
To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.

'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,
For she that was thy Lucrece, now attend me:
Be suddenly revenged on my foe,
Thine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me
From what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me
Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;
For sparing justice feeds iniquity.

'But ere I name him, you fair lords,' quoth she,
Speaking to those that came with Collatine,
'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,
With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;
For 'tis a meritorious fair design
To chase injustice with revengeful arms:
Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' harms.'

At this request, with noble disposition
Each present lord began to promise aid,
As bound in knighthood to her imposition,
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd.
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said,
The protestation stops. 'O, speak, ' quoth she,
'How may this forced stain be wiped from me?

'What is the quality of mine offence,
Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance?
May my pure mind with the foul act dispense,
My low-declined honour to advance?
May any terms acquit me from this chance?
The poison'd fountain clears itself again;
And why not I from this compelled stain?'

With this, they all at once began to say,
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears;
While with a joyless smile she turns away
The face, that map which deep impression bears
Of hard misfortune, carved in it with tears.
'No, no,' quoth she, 'no dame, hereafter living,
By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.'

Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break,
She throws forth Tarquin's name; 'He, he,' she says,
But more than 'he' her poor tongue could not speak;
Till after many accents and delays,
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays,
She utters this, 'He, he, fair lords, 'tis he,
That guides this hand to give this wound to me.'

Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed:
That blow did that it from the deep unrest
Of that polluted prison where it breathed:
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd
Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly
Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny.

Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed,
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew;
Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed,
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw;
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew
The murderous knife, and, as it left the place,
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;

And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
Circles her body in on every side,
Who, like a late-sack'd island, vastly stood
Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood.
Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd,
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin stain'd.

About the mourning and congealed face
Of that black blood a watery rigol goes,
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place:
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes,
Corrupted blood some watery token shows;
And blood untainted still doth red abide,
Blushing at that which is so putrified.

'Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius cries,
'That life was mine which thou hast here deprived.
If in the child the father's image lies,
Where shall I live now Lucrece is unlived?
Thou wast not to this end from me derived.
If children predecease progenitors,
We are their offspring, and they none of ours.

'Poor broken glass, I often did behold
In thy sweet semblance my old age new born;
But now that fresh fair mirror, dim and old,
Shows me a bare-boned death by time out-worn:
O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn,
And shivered all the beauty of my glass,
That I no more can see what once I was!

'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer,
If they surcease to be that should survive.
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger
And leave the faltering feeble souls alive?
The old bees die, the young possess their hive:
Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again and see
Thy father die, and not thy father thee!

By this, starts Collatine as from a dream,
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;
And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream
He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,
And counterfeits to die with her a space;
Till manly shame bids him possess his breath
And live to be revenged on her death.

The deep vexation of his inward soul
Hath served a dumb arrest upon his tongue;
Who, mad that sorrow should his use control,
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long,
Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng
Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's aid,
That no man could distinguish what he said.

Yet sometime 'Tarquin' was pronounced plain,
But through his teeth, as if the name he tore.
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain,
Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more;
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er:
Then son and father weep with equal strife
Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife.

The one doth call her his, the other his,
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay.
The father says 'She's mine.' 'O, mine she is,'
Replies her husband: 'do not take away
My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say
He weeps for her, for she was only mine,
And only must be wail'd by Collatine.'

'O,' quoth Lucretius,' I did give that life
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.'
'Woe, woe,' quoth Collatine, 'she was my wife,
I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.'
'My daughter' and 'my wife' with clamours fill'd
The dispersed air, who, holding Lucrece' life,
Answer'd their cries, 'my daughter' and 'my wife.'

Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side,
Seeing such emulation in their woe,
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride,
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show.
He with the Romans was esteemed so
As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,
For sportive words and uttering foolish things:

But now he throws that shallow habit by,
Wherein deep policy did him disguise;
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,
To cheque the tears in Collatinus' eyes.
'Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth be, 'arise:
Let my unsounded self, supposed a fool,
Now set thy long-experienced wit to school.

'Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?
Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?
Is it revenge to give thyself a blow
For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?
Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds:
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,
To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.

'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart
In such relenting dew of lamentations;
But kneel with me and help to bear thy part,
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations,
That they will suffer these abominations,
Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced,
By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased.

'Now, by the Capitol that we adore,
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd,
By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's
store,
By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd,
And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complain'd
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,
We will revenge the death of this true wife.'

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast,
And kiss'd the fatal knife, to end his vow;
And to his protestation urged the rest,
Who, wondering at him, did his words allow:
Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow;
And that deep vow, which Brutus made before,
He doth again repeat, and that they swore.

When they had sworn to this advised doom,
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome,
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence:
Which being done with speedy diligence,
The Romans plausibly did give consent
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.




    KING RICHARD II


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING RICHARD    the Second. (KING RICHARD II:)


JOHN OF GAUNT    Duke of Lancaster        |
            |  uncles to the King.
EDMUND OF LANGLEY    Duke of York  (DUKE OF YORK:)    |


HENRY, surnamed
BOLINGBROKE    (HENRY BOLINGBROKE:)  Duke of Hereford,
    son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    son to the Duke of York.

THOMAS MOWBRAY    Duke of Norfolk.

DUKE OF SURREY:

EARL OF SALISBURY:

LORD BERKELEY:


BUSHY    |
    |
BAGOT    |  servants to King Richard.
    |
GREEN    |


EARL
OF NORTHUMBERLAND    (NORTHUMBERLAND:)

HENRY PERCY,
surnamed HOTSPUR    his son. (HENRY PERCY:)

LORD ROSS:

LORD WILLOUGHBY:

LORD FITZWATER:

BISHOP OF CARLISLE:

Abbot Of
Westminster    (Abbot:)

LORD MARSHAL    (Lord Marshal:)

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:

SIR
PIERCE OF EXTON    (EXTON:)

    Captain of a band of Welshmen. (Captain:)

QUEEN
to King Richard    (QUEEN:)

DUCHESS OF YORK    (DUCHESS OF YORK:)

DUCHESS
OF GLOUCESTER    (DUCHESS:)

    Lady attending on the Queen. (Lady:)

    Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners,
    Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. (Lord:)
    (First Herald:)
    (Second Herald:)
    (Gardener:)
    (Keeper:)
    (Groom:)
    (Servant:)


SCENE    England and Wales.




    KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE I    London. KING RICHARD II's palace.


    [Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other
    Nobles and Attendants]

KING RICHARD II    Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
    Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,
    Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son,
    Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
    Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
    Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

JOHN OF GAUNT    I have, my liege.

KING RICHARD II    Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
    If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
    Or worthily, as a good subject should,
    On some known ground of treachery in him?

JOHN OF GAUNT    As near as I could sift him on that argument,
    On some apparent danger seen in him
    Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice.

KING RICHARD II    Then call them to our presence; face to face,
    And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
    The accuser and the accused freely speak:
    High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
    In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

    [Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Many years of happy days befal
    My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

THOMAS MOWBRAY    Each day still better other's happiness;
    Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
    Add an immortal title to your crown!

KING RICHARD II    We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,
    As well appeareth by the cause you come;
    Namely to appeal each other of high treason.
    Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
    Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    First, heaven be the record to my speech!
    In the devotion of a subject's love,
    Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
    And free from other misbegotten hate,
    Come I appellant to this princely presence.
    Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
    And mark my greeting well; for what I speak
    My body shall make good upon this earth,
    Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
    Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,
    Too good to be so and too bad to live,
    Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
    The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
    Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
    With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
    And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,
    What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove.

THOMAS MOWBRAY    Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:
    'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
    The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
    Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;
    The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this:
    Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
    As to be hush'd and nought at all to say:
    First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
    From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
    Which else would post until it had return'd
    These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
    Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
    And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
    I do defy him, and I spit at him;
    Call him a slanderous coward and a villain:
    Which to maintain I would allow him odds,
    And meet him, were I tied to run afoot
    Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
    Or any other ground inhabitable,
    Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
    Mean time let this defend my loyalty,
    By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
    Disclaiming here the kindred of the king,
    And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
    Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
    If guilty dread have left thee so much strength
    As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop:
    By that and all the rites of knighthood else,
    Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
    What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.

THOMAS MOWBRAY    I take it up; and by that sword I swear
    Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
    I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
    Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
    And when I mount, alive may I not light,
    If I be traitor or unjustly fight!

KING RICHARD II    What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?
    It must be great that can inherit us
    So much as of a thought of ill in him.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true;
    That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles
    In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,
    The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
    Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
    Besides I say and will in battle prove,
    Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
    That ever was survey'd by English eye,
    That all the treasons for these eighteen years
    Complotted and contrived in this land
    Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
    Further I say and further will maintain
    Upon his bad life to make all this good,
    That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,
    Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,
    And consequently, like a traitor coward,
    Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood:
    Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
    Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
    To me for justice and rough chastisement;
    And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
    This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

KING RICHARD II    How high a pitch his resolution soars!
    Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?

THOMAS MOWBRAY    O, let my sovereign turn away his face
    And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
    Till I have told this slander of his blood,
    How God and good men hate so foul a liar.

KING RICHARD II    Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:
    Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
    As he is but my father's brother's son,
    Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow,
    Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
    Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
    The unstooping firmness of my upright soul:
    He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:
    Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

THOMAS MOWBRAY    Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
    Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.
    Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais
    Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;
    The other part reserved I by consent,
    For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
    Upon remainder of a dear account,
    Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:
    Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death,
    I slew him not; but to my own disgrace
    Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
    For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
    The honourable father to my foe
    Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
    A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul
    But ere I last received the sacrament
    I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
    Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.
    This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd,
    It issues from the rancour of a villain,
    A recreant and most degenerate traitor
    Which in myself I boldly will defend;
    And interchangeably hurl down my gage
    Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
    To prove myself a loyal gentleman
    Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.
    In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
    Your highness to assign our trial day.

KING RICHARD II    Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled 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.

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

KING RICHARD II    And, Norfolk, throw down his.

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

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

THOMAS MOWBRAY    Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
    My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
    The one my duty owes; but my fair name,
    Despite of death that lives upon my grave,
    To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
    I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here,
    Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear,
    The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
    Which breathed this poison.

KING RICHARD II    Rage must be withstood:
    Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.

THOMAS MOWBRAY    Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame.
    And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,
    The purest treasure mortal times afford
    Is spotless reputation: that away,
    Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
    A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
    Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
    Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:
    Take honour from me, and my life is done:
    Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
    In that I live and for that will I die.

KING RICHARD II    Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!
    Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight?
    Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
    Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue
    Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong,
    Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
    The slavish motive of recanting fear,
    And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,
    Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.

    [Exit JOHN OF GAUNT]

KING RICHARD II    We were not born to sue, but to command;
    Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
    Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
    At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day:
    There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
    The swelling difference of your settled hate:
    Since we can not atone you, we shall see
    Justice design the victor's chivalry.
    Lord marshal, command our officers at arms
    Be ready to direct these home alarms.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE II    The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace.


    [Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with DUCHESS]

JOHN OF GAUNT    Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood
    Doth more solicit me than your exclaims,
    To stir against the butchers of his life!
    But since correction lieth in those hands
    Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
    Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;
    Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,
    Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

DUCHESS    Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
    Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
    Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
    Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,
    Or seven fair branches springing from one root:
    Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
    Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;
    But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,
    One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,
    One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
    Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt,
    Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
    By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.
    Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb,
    That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee
    Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,
    Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent
    In some large measure to thy father's death,
    In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
    Who was the model of thy father's life.
    Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair:
    In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
    Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,
    Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
    That which in mean men we intitle patience
    Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
    What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,
    The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death.

JOHN OF GAUNT    God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,
    His deputy anointed in His sight,
    Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully,
    Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
    An angry arm against His minister.

DUCHESS    Where then, alas, may I complain myself?

JOHN OF GAUNT    To God, the widow's champion and defence.

DUCHESS    Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
    Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold
    Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:
    O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
    That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
    Or, if misfortune miss the first career,
    Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,
    They may break his foaming courser's back,
    And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
    A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!
    Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife
    With her companion grief must end her life.

JOHN OF GAUNT    Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry:
    As much good stay with thee as go with me!

DUCHESS    Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls,
    Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:
    I take my leave before I have begun,
    For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
    Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.
    Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so;
    Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
    I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?--
    With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
    Alack, and what shall good old York there see
    But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,
    Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
    And what hear there for welcome but my groans?
    Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
    To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.
    Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die:
    The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE III    The lists at Coventry.


    [Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE]

Lord Marshal    My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.

Lord Marshal    The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,
    Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay
    For nothing but his majesty's approach.

    [The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD enters with
    his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and
    others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in
    arms, defendant, with a Herald]

KING RICHARD II    Marshal, demand of yonder champion
    The cause of his arrival here in arms:
    Ask him his name and orderly proceed
    To swear him in the justice of his cause.

Lord Marshal    In God's name and the king's, say who thou art
    And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,
    Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel:
    Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath;
    As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!

THOMAS MOWBRAY    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!

    [The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE,
    appellant, in armour, with a Herald]

KING RICHARD II    Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
    Both who he is and why he cometh hither
    Thus plated in habiliments of war,
    And formally, according to our law,
    Depose him in the justice of his cause.

Lord Marshal    What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither,
    Before King Richard in his royal lists?
    Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?
    Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby
    Am I; who ready here do stand in arms,
    To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour,
    In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
    That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,
    To God of heaven, King Richard and to me;
    And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

Lord Marshal    On pain of death, no person be so bold
    Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,
    Except the marshal and such officers
    Appointed to direct these fair designs.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand,
    And bow my knee before his majesty:
    For Mowbray and myself are like two men
    That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
    Then let us take a ceremonious leave
    And loving farewell of our several friends.

Lord Marshal    The appellant in all duty greets your highness,
    And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

KING RICHARD II    We will descend and fold him in our arms.
    Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
    So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
    Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,
    Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    O let no noble eye profane a tear
    For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear:
    As confident as is the falcon's flight
    Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
    My loving lord, I take my leave of you;
    Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;
    Not sick, although I have to do with death,
    But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
    Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
    The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:
    O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
    Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
    Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up
    To reach at victory above my head,
    Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers;
    And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,
    That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,
    And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt,
    Even in the lusty havior of his son.

JOHN OF GAUNT    God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
    Be swift like lightning in the execution;
    And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
    Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
    Of thy adverse pernicious enemy:
    Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive!

THOMAS MOWBRAY    However God or fortune cast my lot,
    There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne,
    A loyal, just and upright gentleman:
    Never did captive with a freer heart
    Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace
    His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
    More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
    This feast of battle with mine adversary.
    Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,
    Take from my mouth the wish of happy years:
    As gentle and as jocund as to jest
    Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.

KING RICHARD II    Farewell, my lord: securely I espy
    Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
    Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

Lord Marshal    Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
    Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.

Lord Marshal    Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.

First Herald    Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
    Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself,
    On pain to be found false and recreant,
    To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
    A traitor to his God, his king and him;
    And dares him to set forward to the fight.

Second Herald    Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
    On pain to be found false and recreant,
    Both to defend himself and to approve
    Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
    To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal;
    Courageously and with a free desire
    Attending but the signal to begin.

Lord Marshal    Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants.

    [A charge sounded]

    Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.

KING RICHARD II    Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
    And both return back to their chairs again:
    Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound
    While we return these dukes what we decree.

    [A long flourish]

    Draw near,
    And list what with our council we have done.
    For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd
    With that dear blood which it hath fostered;
    And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
    Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword;
    And for we think the eagle-winged pride
    Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
    With rival-hating envy, set on you
    To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
    Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
    Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums,
    With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
    And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
    Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace
    And make us wade even in our kindred's blood,
    Therefore, we banish you our territories:
    You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,
    Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields
    Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
    But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Your will be done: this must my comfort be,
    Sun that warms you here shall shine on me;
    And those his golden beams to you here lent
    Shall point on me and gild my banishment.

KING RICHARD II    Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
    Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
    The sly slow hours shall not determinate
    The dateless limit of thy dear exile;
    The hopeless word of 'never to return'
    Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

THOMAS MOWBRAY    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?

KING RICHARD II    It boots thee not to be compassionate:
    After our sentence plaining comes too late.

THOMAS MOWBRAY    Then thus I turn me from my country's light,
    To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.

KING RICHARD II    Return again, and take an oath with thee.
    Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
    Swear by the duty that you owe to God--
    Our part therein we banish with yourselves--
    To keep the oath that we administer:
    You never shall, so help you truth and God!
    Embrace each other's love in banishment;
    Nor never look upon each other's face;
    Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
    This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;
    Nor never by advised purpose meet
    To plot, contrive, or complot any ill
    'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    I swear.

THOMAS MOWBRAY    And I, to keep all this.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:--
    By this time, had the king permitted us,
    One of our souls had wander'd in the air.
    Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
    As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:
    Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;
    Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
    The clogging burthen of a guilty soul.

THOMAS MOWBRAY    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.

    [Exit]

KING RICHARD II    Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
    I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect
    Hath from the number of his banish'd years
    Pluck'd four away.

    [To HENRY BOLINGBROKE]

    Six frozen winter spent,
    Return with welcome home from banishment.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    How long a time lies in one little word!
    Four lagging winters and four wanton springs
    End in a word: such is the breath of kings.

JOHN OF GAUNT    I thank my liege, that in regard of me
    He shortens four years of my son's exile:
    But little vantage shall I reap thereby;
    For, ere the six years that he hath to spend
    Can change their moons and bring their times about
    My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light
    Shall be extinct with age and endless night;
    My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
    And blindfold death not let me see my son.

KING RICHARD II    Why uncle, thou hast many years to live.

JOHN OF GAUNT    But not a minute, king, that thou canst give:
    Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
    And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;
    Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
    But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
    Thy word is current with him for my death,
    But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

KING RICHARD II    Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,
    Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave:
    Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour?

JOHN OF GAUNT    Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
    You urged me as a judge; but I had rather
    You would have bid me argue like a father.
    O, had it been a stranger, not my child,
    To smooth his fault I should have been more mild:
    A partial slander sought I to avoid,
    And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.
    Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
    I was too strict to make mine own away;
    But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
    Against my will to do myself this wrong.

KING RICHARD II    Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so:
    Six years we banish him, and he shall go.

    [Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train]

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know,
    From where you do remain let paper show.

Lord Marshal    My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,
    As far as land will let me, by your side.

JOHN OF GAUNT    O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
    That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    I have too few to take my leave of you,
    When the tongue's office should be prodigal
    To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.

JOHN OF GAUNT    Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Joy absent, grief is present for that time.

JOHN OF GAUNT    What is six winters? they are quickly gone.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.

JOHN OF GAUNT    Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
    Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.

JOHN OF GAUNT    The sullen passage of thy weary steps
    Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set
    The precious jewel of thy home return.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
    Will but remember me what a deal of world
    I wander from the jewels that I love.
    Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
    To foreign passages, and in the end,
    Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
    But that I was a journeyman to grief?

JOHN OF GAUNT    All places that the eye of heaven visits
    Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
    Teach thy necessity to reason thus;
    There is no virtue like necessity.
    Think not the king did banish thee,
    But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit,
    Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
    Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour
    And not the king exiled thee; or suppose
    Devouring pestilence hangs in our air
    And thou art flying to a fresher clime:
    Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
    To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest:
    Suppose the singing birds musicians,
    The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd,
    The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more
    Than a delightful measure or a dance;
    For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
    The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    O, who can hold a fire in his hand
    By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
    Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
    By bare imagination of a feast?
    Or wallow naked in December snow
    By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
    O, no! the apprehension of the good
    Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
    Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more
    Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.

JOHN OF GAUNT    Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way:
    Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;
    My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!
    Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,
    Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE IV    The court.


    [Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and GREEN at one
    door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another]

KING RICHARD II    We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,
    How far brought you high Hereford on his way?

DUKE OF AUMERLE    I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
    But to the next highway, and there I left him.

KING RICHARD II    And say, what store of parting tears were shed?

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,
    Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
    Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
    Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

KING RICHARD II    What said our cousin when you parted with him?

DUKE OF AUMERLE    'Farewell:'
    And, for my heart disdained that my tongue
    Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
    To counterfeit oppression of such grief
    That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
    Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours
    And added years to his short banishment,
    He should have had a volume of farewells;
    But since it would not, he had none of me.

KING RICHARD II    He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
    When time shall call him home from banishment,
    Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
    Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green
    Observed his courtship to the common people;
    How he did seem to dive into their hearts
    With humble and familiar courtesy,
    What reverence he did throw away on slaves,
    Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles
    And patient underbearing of his fortune,
    As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
    Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
    A brace of draymen bid God speed him well
    And had the tribute of his supple knee,
    With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;'
    As were our England in reversion his,
    And he our subjects' next degree in hope.

GREEN    Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts.
    Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,
    Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
    Ere further leisure yield them further means
    For their advantage and your highness' loss.

KING RICHARD II    We will ourself in person to this war:
    And, for our coffers, with too great a court
    And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
    We are inforced to farm our royal realm;
    The revenue whereof shall furnish us
    For our affairs in hand: if that come short,
    Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;
    Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
    They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold
    And send them after to supply our wants;
    For we will make for Ireland presently.

    [Enter BUSHY]

    Bushy, what news?

BUSHY    Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,
    Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste
    To entreat your majesty to visit him.

KING RICHARD II    Where lies he?

BUSHY    At Ely House.

KING RICHARD II    Now put it, God, in the physician's mind
    To help him to his grave immediately!
    The lining of his coffers shall make coats
    To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.
    Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him:
    Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!

All    Amen.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE I    Ely House.


    [Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK,
    &c]

JOHN OF GAUNT    Will the king come, that I may breathe my last
    In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?

DUKE OF YORK    Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;
    For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

JOHN OF GAUNT    O, but they say the tongues of dying men
    Enforce attention like deep harmony:
    Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain,
    For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
    He that no more must say is listen'd more
    Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;
    More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before:
    The setting sun, and music at the close,
    As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
    Writ in remembrance more than things long past:
    Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
    My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

DUKE OF YORK    No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,
    As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond,
    Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound
    The open ear of youth doth always listen;
    Report of fashions in proud Italy,
    Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
    Limps after in base imitation.
    Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity--
    So it be new, there's no respect how vile--
    That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?
    Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
    Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
    Direct not him whose way himself will choose:
    'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.

JOHN OF GAUNT    Methinks I am a prophet new inspired
    And thus expiring do foretell of him:
    His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
    For violent fires soon burn out themselves;
    Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;
    He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;
    With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:
    Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
    Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
    This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
    This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
    This other Eden, demi-paradise,
    This fortress built by Nature for herself
    Against infection and the hand of war,
    This happy breed of men, this little world,
    This precious stone set in the silver sea,
    Which serves it in the office of a wall,
    Or as a moat defensive to a house,
    Against the envy of less happier lands,
    This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
    This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
    Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth,
    Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
    For Christian service and true chivalry,
    As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
    Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son,
    This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
    Dear for her reputation through the world,
    Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it,
    Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
    England, bound in with the triumphant sea
    Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
    Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
    With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:
    That England, that was wont to conquer others,
    Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
    Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
    How happy then were my ensuing death!

    [Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE,
    BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD
    WILLOUGHBY]

DUKE OF YORK    The king is come: deal mildly with his youth;
    For young hot colts being raged do rage the more.

QUEEN    How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?

KING RICHARD II    What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt?

JOHN OF GAUNT    O how that name befits my composition!
    Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old:
    Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;
    And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?
    For sleeping England long time have I watch'd;
    Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt:
    The pleasure that some fathers feed upon,
    Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks;
    And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt:
    Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
    Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.

KING RICHARD II    Can sick men play so nicely with their names?

JOHN OF GAUNT    No, misery makes sport to mock itself:
    Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
    I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.

KING RICHARD II    Should dying men flatter with those that live?

JOHN OF GAUNT    No, no, men living flatter those that die.

KING RICHARD II    Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me.

JOHN OF GAUNT    O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.

KING RICHARD II    I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

JOHN OF GAUNT    Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;
    Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
    Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land
    Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;
    And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
    Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure
    Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
    A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
    Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;
    And yet, incaged in so small a verge,
    The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
    O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye
    Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,
    From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,
    Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd,
    Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.
    Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,
    It were a shame to let this land by lease;
    But for thy world enjoying but this land,
    Is it not more than shame to shame it so?
    Landlord of England art thou now, not king:
    Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou--

KING RICHARD II             A lunatic lean-witted fool,
    Presuming on an ague's privilege,
    Darest with thy frozen admonition
    Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood
    With fury from his native residence.
    Now, by my seat's right royal majesty,
    Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
    This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head
    Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.

JOHN OF GAUNT    O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son,
    For that I was his father Edward's son;
    That blood already, like the pelican,
    Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused:
    My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul,
    Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls!
    May be a precedent and witness good
    That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood:
    Join with the present sickness that I have;
    And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
    To crop at once a too long wither'd flower.
    Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
    These words hereafter thy tormentors be!
    Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
    Love they to live that love and honour have.

    [Exit, borne off by his Attendants]

KING RICHARD II    And let them die that age and sullens have;
    For both hast thou, and both become the grave.

DUKE OF YORK    I do beseech your majesty, impute his words
    To wayward sickliness and age in him:
    He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
    As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.

KING RICHARD II    Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his;
    As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

    [Enter NORTHUMBERLAND]

NORTHUMBERLAND    My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.

KING RICHARD II    What says he?

NORTHUMBERLAND                      Nay, nothing; all is said
    His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
    Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

DUKE OF YORK    Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!
    Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

KING RICHARD II    The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;
    His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.
    So much for that. Now for our Irish wars:
    We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,
    Which live like venom where no venom else
    But only they have privilege to live.
    And for these great affairs do ask some charge,
    Towards our assistance we do seize to us
    The plate, corn, revenues and moveables,
    Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.

DUKE OF YORK    How long shall I be patient? ah, how long
    Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
    Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment
    Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
    Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
    About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
    Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
    Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
    I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
    Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first:
    In war was never lion raged more fierce,
    In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
    Than was that young and princely gentleman.
    His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
    Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;
    But when he frown'd, it was against the French
    And not against his friends; his noble hand
    Did will what he did spend and spent not that
    Which his triumphant father's hand had won;
    His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,
    But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
    O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
    Or else he never would compare between.

KING RICHARD II    Why, uncle, what's the matter?

DUKE OF YORK    O my liege,
    Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased
    Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
    Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands
    The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
    Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live?
    Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true?
    Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
    Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
    Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time
    His charters and his customary rights;
    Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;
    Be not thyself; for how art thou a king
    But by fair sequence and succession?
    Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!--
    If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,
    Call in the letters patent that he hath
    By his attorneys-general to sue
    His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,
    You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
    You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts
    And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts
    Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

KING RICHARD II    Think what you will, we seize into our hands
    His plate, his goods, his money and his lands.

DUKE OF YORK    I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell:
    What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell;
    But by bad courses may be understood
    That their events can never fall out good.

    [Exit]

KING RICHARD II    Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight:
    Bid him repair to us to Ely House
    To see this business. To-morrow next
    We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow:
    And we create, in absence of ourself,
    Our uncle York lord governor of England;
    For he is just and always loved us well.
    Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
    Be merry, for our time of stay is short

    [Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN, DUKE OF
    AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT]

NORTHUMBERLAND    Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

LORD ROSS    And living too; for now his son is duke.

LORD WILLOUGHBY    Barely in title, not in revenue.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Richly in both, if justice had her right.

LORD ROSS    My heart is great; but it must break with silence,
    Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more
    That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!

LORD WILLOUGHBY    Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?
    If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
    Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.

LORD ROSS    No good at all that I can do for him;
    Unless you call it good to pity him,
    Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne
    In him, a royal prince, and many moe
    Of noble blood in this declining land.
    The king is not himself, but basely led
    By flatterers; and what they will inform,
    Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
    That will the king severely prosecute
    'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

LORD ROSS    The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes,
    And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined
    For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

LORD WILLOUGHBY    And daily new exactions are devised,
    As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what:
    But what, o' God's name, doth become of this?

NORTHUMBERLAND    Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not,
    But basely yielded upon compromise
    That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows:
    More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.

LORD ROSS    The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

LORD WILLOUGHBY    The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.

LORD ROSS    He hath not money for these Irish wars,
    His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,
    But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.

NORTHUMBERLAND    His noble kinsman: most degenerate king!
    But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
    Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm;
    We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
    And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

LORD ROSS    We see the very wreck that we must suffer;
    And unavoided is the danger now,
    For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death
    I spy life peering; but I dare not say
    How near the tidings of our comfort is.

LORD WILLOUGHBY    Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.

LORD ROSS    Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
    We three are but thyself; and, speaking so,
    Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay
    In Brittany, received intelligence
    That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,
    [                                               ]
    That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
    His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
    Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,
    Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint,
    All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne
    With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
    Are making hither with all due expedience
    And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
    Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay
    The first departing of the king for Ireland.
    If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
    Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
    Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
    Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt
    And make high majesty look like itself,
    Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;
    But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
    Stay and be secret, and myself will go.

LORD ROSS    To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.

LORD WILLOUGHBY    Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE II    The palace.


    [Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT]

BUSHY    Madam, your majesty is too much sad:
    You promised, when you parted with the king,
    To lay aside life-harming heaviness
    And entertain a cheerful disposition.

QUEEN    To please the king I did; to please myself
    I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
    Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
    Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
    As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks,
    Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
    Is coming towards me, and my inward soul
    With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves,
    More than with parting from my lord the king.

BUSHY    Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
    Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;
    For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
    Divides one thing entire to many objects;
    Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon
    Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry
    Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
    Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
    Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
    Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
    Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
    More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen;
    Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
    Which for things true weeps things imaginary.

QUEEN    It may be so; but yet my inward soul
    Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be,
    I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad
    As, though on thinking on no thought I think,
    Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

BUSHY    'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

QUEEN    'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived
    From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
    For nothing had begot my something grief;
    Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:
    'Tis in reversion that I do possess;
    But what it is, that is not yet known; what
    I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

    [Enter GREEN]

GREEN    God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
    I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.

QUEEN    Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is;
    For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope:
    Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?

GREEN    That he, our hope, might have retired his power,
    And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
    Who strongly hath set footing in this land:
    The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
    And with uplifted arms is safe arrived
    At Ravenspurgh.

QUEEN                      Now God in heaven forbid!

GREEN    Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse,
    The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,
    The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
    With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

BUSHY    Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland
    And all the rest revolted faction traitors?

GREEN    We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester
    Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
    And all the household servants fled with him
    To Bolingbroke.

QUEEN    So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,
    And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
    Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,
    And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
    Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.

BUSHY    Despair not, madam.

QUEEN    Who shall hinder me?
    I will despair, and be at enmity
    With cozening hope: he is a flatterer,
    A parasite, a keeper back of death,
    Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
    Which false hope lingers in extremity.

    [Enter DUKE OF YORK]

GREEN    Here comes the Duke of York.

QUEEN    With signs of war about his aged neck:
    O, full of careful business are his looks!
    Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words.

DUKE OF YORK    Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts:
    Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth,
    Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief.
    Your husband, he is gone to save far off,
    Whilst others come to make him lose at home:
    Here am I left to underprop his land,
    Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:
    Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
    Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.

    [Enter a Servant]

Servant    My lord, your son was gone before I came.

DUKE OF YORK    He was? Why, so! go all which way it will!
    The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold,
    And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
    Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;
    Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:
    Hold, take my ring.

Servant    My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,
    To-day, as I came by, I called there;
    But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

DUKE OF YORK    What is't, knave?

Servant    An hour before I came, the duchess died.

DUKE OF YORK    God for his mercy! what a tide of woes
    Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
    I know not what to do: I would to God,
    So my untruth had not provoked him to it,
    The king had cut off my head with my brother's.
    What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland?
    How shall we do for money for these wars?
    Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me.
    Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts
    And bring away the armour that is there.

    [Exit Servant]

    Gentlemen, will you go muster men?
    If I know how or which way to order these affairs
    Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
    Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen:
    The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
    And duty bids defend; the other again
    Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd,
    Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
    Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll
    Dispose of you.
    Gentlemen, go, muster up your men,
    And meet me presently at Berkeley.
    I should to Plashy too;
    But time will not permit: all is uneven,
    And every thing is left at six and seven.

    [Exeunt DUKE OF YORK and QUEEN]

BUSHY    The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,
    But none returns. For us to levy power
    Proportionable to the enemy
    Is all unpossible.

GREEN    Besides, our nearness to the king in love
    Is near the hate of those love not the king.

BAGOT    And that's the wavering commons: for their love
    Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them
    By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

BUSHY    Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd.

BAGOT    If judgement lie in them, then so do we,
    Because we ever have been near the king.

GREEN    Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle:
    The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

BUSHY    Thither will I with you; for little office
    The hateful commons will perform for us,
    Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
    Will you go along with us?

BAGOT    No; I will to Ireland to his majesty.
    Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain,
    We three here art that ne'er shall meet again.

BUSHY    That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

GREEN    Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes
    Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry:
    Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
    Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.

BUSHY    Well, we may meet again.

BAGOT    I fear me, never.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE III    Wilds in Gloucestershire.


    [Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

NORTHUMBERLAND    Believe me, noble lord,
    I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire:
    These high wild hills and rough uneven ways
    Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome,
    And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
    Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
    But I bethink me what a weary way
    From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found
    In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,
    Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled
    The tediousness and process of my travel:
    But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have
    The present benefit which I possess;
    And hope to joy is little less in joy
    Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords
    Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done
    By sight of what I have, your noble company.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Of much less value is my company
    Than your good words. But who comes here?

    [Enter HENRY PERCY]

NORTHUMBERLAND    It is my son, young Harry Percy,
    Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.
    Harry, how fares your uncle?

HENRY PERCY    I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Why, is he not with the queen?

HENRY PERCY    No, my good Lord; he hath forsook the court,
    Broken his staff of office and dispersed
    The household of the king.

NORTHUMBERLAND    What was his reason?
    He was not so resolved when last we spake together.

HENRY PERCY    Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.
    But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,
    To offer service to the Duke of Hereford,
    And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover
    What power the Duke of York had levied there;
    Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?

HENRY PERCY    No, my good lord, for that is not forgot
    Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge,
    I never in my life did look on him.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Then learn to know him now; this is the duke.

HENRY PERCY    My gracious lord, I tender you my service,
    Such as it is, being tender, raw and young:
    Which elder days shall ripen and confirm
    To more approved service and desert.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure
    I count myself in nothing else so happy
    As in a soul remembering my good friends;
    And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,
    It shall be still thy true love's recompense:
    My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.

NORTHUMBERLAND    How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir
    Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

HENRY PERCY    There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,
    Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard;
    And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour;
    None else of name and noble estimate.

    [Enter LORD ROSS and LORD WILLOUGHBY]

NORTHUMBERLAND    Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,
    Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues
    A banish'd traitor: all my treasury
    Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd
    Shall be your love and labour's recompense.

LORD ROSS    Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

LORD WILLOUGHBY    And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;
    Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
    Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

    [Enter LORD BERKELEY]

NORTHUMBERLAND    It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.

LORD BERKELEY    My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    My lord, my answer is--to Lancaster;
    And I am come to seek that name in England;
    And I must find that title in your tongue,
    Before I make reply to aught you say.

LORD BERKELEY    Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning
    To raze one title of your honour out:
    To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,
    From the most gracious regent of this land,
    The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on
    To take advantage of the absent time
    And fright our native peace with self-born arms.

    [Enter DUKE OF YORK attended]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    I shall not need transport my words by you;
    Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle!

    [Kneels]

DUKE OF YORK    Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
    Whose duty is deceiveable and false.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    My gracious uncle--

DUKE OF YORK    Tut, tut!
    Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle:
    I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace.'
    In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
    Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
    Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground?
    But then more 'why?' why have they dared to march
    So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,
    Frighting her pale-faced villages with war
    And ostentation of despised arms?
    Comest thou because the anointed king is hence?
    Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
    And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
    Were I but now the lord of such hot youth
    As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself
    Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
    From forth the ranks of many thousand French,
    O, then how quickly should this arm of mine.
    Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee
    And minister correction to thy fault!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    My gracious uncle, let me know my fault:
    On what condition stands it and wherein?

DUKE OF YORK    Even in condition of the worst degree,
    In gross rebellion and detested treason:
    Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come
    Before the expiration of thy time,
    In braving arms against thy sovereign.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;
    But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
    And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace
    Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
    You are my father, for methinks in you
    I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father,
    Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
    A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties
    Pluck'd from my arms perforce and given away
    To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
    If that my cousin king be King of England,
    It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.
    You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin;
    Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,
    He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
    To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.
    I am denied to sue my livery here,
    And yet my letters-patents give me leave:
    My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold,
    And these and all are all amiss employ'd.
    What would you have me do? I am a subject,
    And I challenge law: attorneys are denied me;
    And therefore, personally I lay my claim
    To my inheritance of free descent.

NORTHUMBERLAND    The noble duke hath been too much abused.

LORD ROSS    It stands your grace upon to do him right.

LORD WILLOUGHBY    Base men by his endowments are made great.

DUKE OF YORK    My lords of England, let me tell you this:
    I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs
    And laboured all I could to do him right;
    But in this kind to come, in braving arms,
    Be his own carver and cut out his way,
    To find out right with wrong, it may not be;
    And you that do abet him in this kind
    Cherish rebellion and are rebels all.

NORTHUMBERLAND    The noble duke hath sworn his coming is
    But for his own; and for the right of that
    We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;
    And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath!

DUKE OF YORK    Well, well, I see the issue of these arms:
    I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
    Because my power is weak and all ill left:
    But if I could, by Him that gave me life,
    I would attach you all and make you stoop
    Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;
    But since I cannot, be it known to you
    I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;
    Unless you please to enter in the castle
    And there repose you for this night.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    An offer, uncle, that we will accept:
    But we must win your grace to go with us
    To Bristol castle, which they say is held
    By Bushy, Bagot and their complices,
    The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
    Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.

DUKE OF YORK    It may be I will go with you: but yet I'll pause;
    For I am loath to break our country's laws.
    Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are:
    Things past redress are now with me past care.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE IV    A camp in Wales.


    [Enter EARL OF SALISBURY and a Welsh Captain]

Captain    My lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days,
    And hardly kept our countrymen together,
    And yet we hear no tidings from the king;
    Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell.

EARL OF SALISBURY    Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman:
    The king reposeth all his confidence in thee.

Captain    'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay.
    The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd
    And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
    The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth
    And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
    Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap,
    The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,
    The other to enjoy by rage and war:
    These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.
    Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled,
    As well assured Richard their king is dead.

    [Exit]

EARL OF SALISBURY    Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind
    I see thy glory like a shooting star
    Fall to the base earth from the firmament.
    Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
    Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest:
    Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,
    And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

    [Exit]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE I    Bristol. Before the castle.


    [Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, DUKE OF YORK,
    NORTHUMBERLAND, LORD ROSS, HENRY PERCY, LORD
    WILLOUGHBY, with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Bring forth these men.
    Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls--
    Since presently your souls must part your bodies--
    With too much urging your pernicious lives,
    For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood
    From off my hands, here in the view of men
    I will unfold some causes of your deaths.
    You have misled a prince, a royal king,
    A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
    By you unhappied and disfigured clean:
    You have in manner with your sinful hours
    Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him,
    Broke the possession of a royal bed
    And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks
    With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.
    Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,
    Near to the king in blood, and near in love
    Till you did make him misinterpret me,
    Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,
    And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,
    Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
    Whilst you have fed upon my signories,
    Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods,
    From my own windows torn my household coat,
    Razed out my imprese, leaving me no sign,
    Save men's opinions and my living blood,
    To show the world I am a gentleman.
    This and much more, much more than twice all this,
    Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd over
    To execution and the hand of death.

BUSHY    More welcome is the stroke of death to me
    Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.

GREEN    My comfort is that heaven will take our souls
    And plague injustice with the pains of hell.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.

    [Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and others, with the
    prisoners]

    Uncle, you say the queen is at your house;
    For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated:
    Tell her I send to her my kind commends;
    Take special care my greetings be deliver'd.

DUKE OF YORK    A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd
    With letters of your love to her at large.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Thank, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away.
    To fight with Glendower and his complices:
    Awhile to work, and after holiday.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE II    The coast of Wales. A castle in view.


    [Drums; flourish and colours. Enter KING RICHARD
    II, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, DUKE OF AUMERLE, and Soldiers]

KING RICHARD II    Barkloughly castle call they this at hand?

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air,
    After your late tossing on the breaking seas?

KING RICHARD II    Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy
    To stand upon my kingdom once again.
    Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
    Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs:
    As a long-parted mother with her child
    Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,
    So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
    And do thee favours with my royal hands.
    Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
    Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
    But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
    And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,
    Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet
    Which with usurping steps do trample thee:
    Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
    And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
    Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder
    Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
    Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
    Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords:
    This earth shall have a feeling and these stones
    Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
    Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE    Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you king
    Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
    The means that heaven yields must be embraced,
    And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
    And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse,
    The proffer'd means of succor and redress.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
    Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
    Grows strong and great in substance and in power.

KING RICHARD II    Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not
    That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,
    Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,
    Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen
    In murders and in outrage, boldly here;
    But when from under this terrestrial ball
    He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines
    And darts his light through every guilty hole,
    Then murders, treasons and detested sins,
    The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
    Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
    So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
    Who all this while hath revell'd in the night
    Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,
    Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,
    His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
    Not able to endure the sight of day,
    But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.
    Not all the water in the rough rude sea
    Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;
    The breath of worldly men cannot depose
    The deputy elected by the Lord:
    For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd
    To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
    God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
    A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
    Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.

    [Enter EARL OF SALISBURY]

    Welcome, my lord    how far off lies your power?

EARL OF SALISBURY    Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,
    Than this weak arm: discomfort guides my tongue
    And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
    One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,
    Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth:
    O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
    And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
    To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
    O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy state:
    For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead.
    Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Comfort, my liege; why looks your grace so pale?

KING RICHARD II    But now the blood of twenty thousand men
    Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;
    And, till so much blood thither come again,
    Have I not reason to look pale and dead?
    All souls that will be safe fly from my side,
    For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.

KING RICHARD II    I had forgot myself; am I not king?
    Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.
    Is not the king's name twenty thousand names?
    Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes
    At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,
    Ye favourites of a king: are we not high?
    High be our thoughts: I know my uncle York
    Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?

    [Enter SIR STEPHEN SCROOP]

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP    More health and happiness betide my liege
    Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him!

KING RICHARD II    Mine ear is open and my heart prepared;
    The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
    Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care
    And what loss is it to be rid of care?
    Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
    Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
    We'll serve Him too and be his fellow so:
    Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
    They break their faith to God as well as us:
    Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay:
    The worst is death, and death will have his day.

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP    Glad am I that your highness is so arm'd
    To bear the tidings of calamity.
    Like an unseasonable stormy day,
    Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
    As if the world were all dissolved to tears,
    So high above his limits swells the rage
    Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
    With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.
    White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
    Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,
    Strive to speak big and clap their female joints
    In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
    The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
    Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
    Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
    Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,
    And all goes worse than I have power to tell.

KING RICHARD II    Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill.
    Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
    What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
    That they have let the dangerous enemy
    Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
    If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it:
    I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP    Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.

KING RICHARD II    O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!
    Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
    Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!
    Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!
    Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
    Upon their spotted souls for this offence!

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP    Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
    Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate:
    Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
    With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse
    Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound
    And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP    Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Where is the duke my father with his power?

KING RICHARD II    No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
    Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
    Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
    Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth,
    Let's choose executors and talk of wills:
    And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
    Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
    Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's,
    And nothing can we call our own but death
    And that small model of the barren earth
    Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
    For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground
    And tell sad stories of the death of kings;
    How some have been deposed; some slain in war,
    Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
    Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd;
    All murder'd: for within the hollow crown
    That rounds the mortal temples of a king
    Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits,
    Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
    Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
    To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks,
    Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
    As if this flesh which walls about our life,
    Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus
    Comes at the last and with a little pin
    Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
    Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood
    With solemn reverence: throw away respect,
    Tradition, form and ceremonious duty,
    For you have but mistook me all this while:
    I live with bread like you, feel want,
    Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,
    How can you say to me, I am a king?

BISHOP OF CARLISLE    My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes,
    But presently prevent the ways to wail.
    To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,
    Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe,
    And so your follies fight against yourself.
    Fear and be slain; no worse can come to fight:
    And fight and die is death destroying death;
    Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    My father hath a power; inquire of him
    And learn to make a body of a limb.

KING RICHARD II    Thou chidest me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come
    To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
    This ague fit of fear is over-blown;
    An easy task it is to win our own.
    Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?
    Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP    Men judge by the complexion of the sky
    The state and inclination of the day:
    So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
    My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
    I play the torturer, by small and small
    To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:
    Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke,
    And all your northern castles yielded up,
    And all your southern gentlemen in arms
    Upon his party.

KING RICHARD II                      Thou hast said enough.
    Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth

    [To DUKE OF AUMERLE]

    Of that sweet way I was in to despair!
    What say you now? what comfort have we now?
    By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly
    That bids me be of comfort any more.
    Go to Flint castle: there I'll pine away;
    A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.
    That power I have, discharge; and let them go
    To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,
    For I have none: let no man speak again
    To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    My liege, one word.

KING RICHARD II    He does me double wrong
    That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
    Discharge my followers: let them hence away,
    From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE III    Wales. Before Flint castle.


    [Enter, with drum and colours, HENRY BOLINGBROKE,
    DUKE OF YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, Attendants, and forces]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    So that by this intelligence we learn
    The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury
    Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed
    With some few private friends upon this coast.

NORTHUMBERLAND    The news is very fair and good, my lord:
    Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.

DUKE OF YORK    It would beseem the Lord Northumberland
    To say 'King Richard:' alack the heavy day
    When such a sacred king should hide his head.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Your grace mistakes; only to be brief
    Left I his title out.

DUKE OF YORK    The time hath been,
    Would you have been so brief with him, he would
    Have been so brief with you, to shorten you,
    For taking so the head, your whole head's length.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.

DUKE OF YORK    Take not, good cousin, further than you should.
    Lest you mistake the heavens are o'er our heads.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself
    Against their will. But who comes here?

    [Enter HENRY PERCY]

    Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle yield?

HENRY PERCY    The castle royally is mann'd, my lord,
    Against thy entrance.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Royally!
    Why, it contains no king?

HENRY PERCY    Yes, my good lord,
    It doth contain a king; King Richard lies
    Within the limits of yon lime and stone:
    And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
    Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman
    Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.

NORTHUMBERLAND    O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Noble lords,
    Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;
    Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley
    Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:
    Henry Bolingbroke
    On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand
    And sends allegiance and true faith of heart
    To his most royal person, hither come
    Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,
    Provided that my banishment repeal'd
    And lands restored again be freely granted:
    If not, I'll use the advantage of my power
    And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood
    Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen:
    The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
    It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
    The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,
    My stooping duty tenderly shall show.
    Go, signify as much, while here we march
    Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.
    Let's march without the noise of threatening drum,
    That from this castle's tatter'd battlements
    Our fair appointments may be well perused.
    Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
    With no less terror than the elements
    Of fire and water, when their thundering shock
    At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
    Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:
    The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain
    My waters; on the earth, and not on him.
    March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.

    [Parle without, and answer within. Then a flourish.
    Enter on the walls, KING RICHARD II, the BISHOP OF
    CARLISLE, DUKE OF AUMERLE, SIR STEPHEN SCROOP, and
    EARL OF SALISBURY]

    See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,
    As doth the blushing discontented sun
    From out the fiery portal of the east,
    When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
    To dim his glory and to stain the track
    Of his bright passage to the occident.

DUKE OF YORK    Yet looks he like a king: behold, his eye,
    As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth
    Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe,
    That any harm should stain so fair a show!

KING RICHARD II    We are amazed; and thus long have we stood
    To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,

    [To NORTHUMBERLAND]

    Because we thought ourself thy lawful king:
    And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
    To pay their awful duty to our presence?
    If we be not, show us the hand of God
    That hath dismissed us from our stewardship;
    For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
    Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,
    Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.
    And though you think that all, as you have done,
    Have torn their souls by turning them from us,
    And we are barren and bereft of friends;
    Yet know, my master, God omnipotent,
    Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf
    Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike
    Your children yet unborn and unbegot,
    That lift your vassal hands against my head
    And threat the glory of my precious crown.
    Tell Bolingbroke--for yond methinks he stands--
    That every stride he makes upon my land
    Is dangerous treason: he is come to open
    The purple testament of bleeding war;
    But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,
    Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons
    Shall ill become the flower of England's face,
    Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
    To scarlet indignation and bedew
    Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood.

NORTHUMBERLAND    The king of heaven forbid our lord the king
    Should so with civil and uncivil arms
    Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice noble cousin
    Harry Bolingbroke doth humbly kiss thy hand;
    And by the honourable tomb he swears,
    That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones,
    And by the royalties of both your bloods,
    Currents that spring from one most gracious head,
    And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,
    And by the worth and honour of himself,
    Comprising all that may be sworn or said,
    His coming hither hath no further scope
    Than for his lineal royalties and to beg
    Enfranchisement immediate on his knees:
    Which on thy royal party granted once,
    His glittering arms he will commend to rust,
    His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart
    To faithful service of your majesty.
    This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;
    And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him.

KING RICHARD II    Northumberland, say thus the king returns:
    His noble cousin is right welcome hither;
    And all the number of his fair demands
    Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction:
    With all the gracious utterance thou hast
    Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.
    We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,

    [To DUKE OF AUMERLE]

    To look so poorly and to speak so fair?
    Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
    Defiance to the traitor, and so die?

DUKE OF AUMERLE    No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words
    Till time lend friends and friends their helpful swords.

KING RICHARD II    O God, O God! that e'er this tongue of mine,
    That laid the sentence of dread banishment
    On yon proud man, should take it off again
    With words of sooth! O that I were as great
    As is my grief, or lesser than my name!
    Or that I could forget what I have been,
    Or not remember what I must be now!
    Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat,
    Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.

KING RICHARD II    What must the king do now? must he submit?
    The king shall do it: must he be deposed?
    The king shall be contented: must he lose
    The name of king? o' God's name, let it go:
    I'll give my jewels for a set of beads,
    My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,
    My gay apparel for an almsman's gown,
    My figured goblets for a dish of wood,
    My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff,
    My subjects for a pair of carved saints
    And my large kingdom for a little grave,
    A little little grave, an obscure grave;
    Or I'll be buried in the king's highway,
    Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet
    May hourly trample on their sovereign's head;
    For on my heart they tread now whilst I live;
    And buried once, why not upon my head?
    Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin!
    We'll make foul weather with despised tears;
    Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn,
    And make a dearth in this revolting land.
    Or shall we play the wantons with our woes,
    And make some pretty match with shedding tears?
    As thus, to drop them still upon one place,
    Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
    Within the earth; and, therein laid,--there lies
    Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes.
    Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see
    I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.
    Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,
    What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty
    Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?
    You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.

NORTHUMBERLAND    My lord, in the base court he doth attend
    To speak with you; may it please you to come down.

KING RICHARD II    Down, down I come; like glistering Phaethon,
    Wanting the manage of unruly jades.
    In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,
    To come at traitors' calls and do them grace.
    In the base court? Come down? Down, court!
    down, king!
    For night-owls shriek where mounting larks
    should sing.

    [Exeunt from above]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    What says his majesty?

NORTHUMBERLAND    Sorrow and grief of heart
    Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man
    Yet he is come.

    [Enter KING RICHARD and his attendants below]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Stand all apart,
    And show fair duty to his majesty.

    [He kneels down]

    My gracious lord,--

KING RICHARD II    Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee
    To make the base earth proud with kissing it:
    Me rather had my heart might feel your love
    Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy.
    Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,
    Thus high at least, although your knee be low.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.

KING RICHARD II    Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,
    As my true service shall deserve your love.

KING RICHARD II    Well you deserve: they well deserve to have,
    That know the strong'st and surest way to get.
    Uncle, give me your hands: nay, dry your eyes;
    Tears show their love, but want their remedies.
    Cousin, I am too young to be your father,
    Though you are old enough to be my heir.
    What you will have, I'll give, and willing too;
    For do we must what force will have us do.
    Set on towards London, cousin, is it so?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Yea, my good lord.

KING RICHARD II    Then I must not say no.

    [Flourish. Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE IV    LANGLEY. The DUKE OF YORK's garden.


    [Enter the QUEEN and two Ladies]

QUEEN    What sport shall we devise here in this garden,
    To drive away the heavy thought of care?

Lady    Madam, we'll play at bowls.

QUEEN    'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs,
    And that my fortune rubs against the bias.

Lady    Madam, we'll dance.

QUEEN    My legs can keep no measure in delight,
    When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:
    Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport.

Lady    Madam, we'll tell tales.

QUEEN    Of sorrow or of joy?

Lady    Of either, madam.

QUEEN    Of neither, girl:
    For of joy, being altogether wanting,
    It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
    Or if of grief, being altogether had,
    It adds more sorrow to my want of joy:
    For what I have I need not to repeat;
    And what I want it boots not to complain.

Lady    Madam, I'll sing.

QUEEN    'Tis well that thou hast cause
    But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep.

Lady    I could weep, madam, would it do you good.

QUEEN    And I could sing, would weeping do me good,
    And never borrow any tear of thee.

    [Enter a Gardener, and two Servants]

    But stay, here come the gardeners:
    Let's step into the shadow of these trees.
    My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
    They'll talk of state; for every one doth so
    Against a change; woe is forerun with woe.

    [QUEEN and Ladies retire]

Gardener    Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,
    Which, like unruly children, make their sire
    Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight:
    Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
    Go thou, and like an executioner,
    Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays,
    That look too lofty in our commonwealth:
    All must be even in our government.
    You thus employ'd, I will go root away
    The noisome weeds, which without profit suck
    The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

Servant    Why should we in the compass of a pale
    Keep law and form and due proportion,
    Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,
    When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,
    Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,
    Her fruit-trees all upturned, her hedges ruin'd,
    Her knots disorder'd and her wholesome herbs
    Swarming with caterpillars?

Gardener    Hold thy peace:
    He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring
    Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:
    The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
    That seem'd in eating him to hold him up,
    Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke,
    I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

Servant    What, are they dead?

Gardener    They are; and Bolingbroke
    Hath seized the wasteful king. O, what pity is it
    That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land
    As we this garden! We at time of year
    Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees,
    Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,
    With too much riches it confound itself:
    Had he done so to great and growing men,
    They might have lived to bear and he to taste
    Their fruits of duty: superfluous branches
    We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
    Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
    Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.

Servant    What, think you then the king shall be deposed?

Gardener    Depress'd he is already, and deposed
    'Tis doubt he will be: letters came last night
    To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's,
    That tell black tidings.

QUEEN    O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking!

    [Coming forward]

    Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,
    How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?
    What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee
    To make a second fall of cursed man?
    Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?
    Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth,
    Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,
    Camest thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.

Gardener    Pardon me, madam: little joy have I
    To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.
    King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
    Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are weigh'd:
    In your lord's scale is nothing but himself,
    And some few vanities that make him light;
    But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
    Besides himself, are all the English peers,
    And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.
    Post you to London, and you will find it so;
    I speak no more than every one doth know.

QUEEN    Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
    Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
    And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st
    To serve me last, that I may longest keep
    Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go,
    To meet at London London's king in woe.
    What, was I born to this, that my sad look
    Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
    Gardener, for telling me these news of woe,
    Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow.

    [Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies]

GARDENER    Poor queen! so that thy state might be no worse,
    I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
    Here did she fall a tear; here in this place
    I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:
    Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
    In the remembrance of a weeping queen.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT IV



SCENE I    Westminster Hall.


    [Enter, as to the Parliament, HENRY BOLINGBROKE,
    DUKE OF AUMERLE, NORTHUMBERLAND, HENRY PERCY, LORD
    FITZWATER, DUKE OF SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,
    the Abbot Of Westminster, and another Lord, Herald,
    Officers, and BAGOT]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Call forth Bagot.
    Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind;
    What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death,
    Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd
    The bloody office of his timeless end.

BAGOT    Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.

BAGOT    My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue
    Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd.
    In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted,
    I heard you say, 'Is not my arm of length,
    That reacheth from the restful English court
    As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?'
    Amongst much other talk, that very time,
    I heard you say that you had rather refuse
    The offer of an hundred thousand crowns
    Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
    Adding withal how blest this land would be
    In this your cousin's death.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Princes and noble lords,
    What answer shall I make to this base man?
    Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,
    On equal terms to give him chastisement?
    Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd
    With the attainder of his slanderous lips.
    There is my gage, the manual seal of death,
    That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest,
    And will maintain what thou hast said is false
    In thy heart-blood, though being all too base
    To stain the temper of my knightly sword.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Excepting one, I would he were the best
    In all this presence that hath moved me so.

LORD FITZWATER    If that thy valour stand on sympathy,
    There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine:
    By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st,
    I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest it
    That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death.
    If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest;
    And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
    Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Thou darest not, coward, live to see that day.

LORD FITZWATER    Now by my soul, I would it were this hour.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this.

HENRY PERCY    Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true
    In this appeal as thou art all unjust;
    And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,
    To prove it on thee to the extremest point
    Of mortal breathing: seize it, if thou darest.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    An if I do not, may my hands rot off
    And never brandish more revengeful steel
    Over the glittering helmet of my foe!

Lord    I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;
    And spur thee on with full as many lies
    As may be holloa'd in thy treacherous ear
    From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn;
    Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all:
    I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
    To answer twenty thousand such as you.

DUKE OF SURREY    My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
    The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

LORD FITZWATER    'Tis very true: you were in presence then;
    And you can witness with me this is true.

DUKE OF SURREY    As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.

LORD FITZWATER    Surrey, thou liest.

DUKE OF SURREY    Dishonourable boy!
    That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword,
    That it shall render vengeance and revenge
    Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie
    In earth as quiet as thy father's skull:
    In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn;
    Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.

LORD FITZWATER    How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!
    If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
    I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,
    And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies,
    And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,
    To tie thee to my strong correction.
    As I intend to thrive in this new world,
    Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal:
    Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say
    That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
    To execute the noble duke at Calais.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Some honest Christian trust me with a gage
    That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this,
    If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    These differences shall all rest under gage
    Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be,
    And, though mine enemy, restored again
    To all his lands and signories: when he's return'd,
    Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE    That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.
    Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
    For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,
    Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross
    Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens:
    And toil'd with works of war, retired himself
    To Italy; and there at Venice gave
    His body to that pleasant country's earth,
    And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
    Under whose colours he had fought so long.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?

BISHOP OF CARLISLE    As surely as I live, my lord.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom
    Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,
    Your differences shall all rest under gage
    Till we assign you to your days of trial.

    [Enter DUKE OF YORK, attended]

DUKE OF YORK    Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee
    From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing soul
    Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields
    To the possession of thy royal hand:
    Ascend his throne, descending now from him;
    And long live Henry, fourth of that name!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE    Marry. God forbid!
    Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
    Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
    Would God that any in this noble presence
    Were enough noble to be upright judge
    Of noble Richard! then true noblesse would
    Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
    What subject can give sentence on his king?
    And who sits here that is not Richard's subject?
    Thieves are not judged but they are by to hear,
    Although apparent guilt be seen in them;
    And shall the figure of God's majesty,
    His captain, steward, deputy-elect,
    Anointed, crowned, planted many years,
    Be judged by subject and inferior breath,
    And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,
    That in a Christian climate souls refined
    Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!
    I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
    Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king:
    My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
    Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king:
    And if you crown him, let me prophesy:
    The blood of English shall manure the ground,
    And future ages groan for this foul act;
    Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
    And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars
    Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;
    Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny
    Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
    The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls.
    O, if you raise this house against this house,
    It will the woefullest division prove
    That ever fell upon this cursed earth.
    Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,
    Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe!

NORTHUMBERLAND    Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,
    Of capital treason we arrest you here.
    My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge
    To keep him safely till his day of trial.
    May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Fetch hither Richard, that in common view
    He may surrender; so we shall proceed
    Without suspicion.

DUKE OF YORK                      I will be his conduct.

    [Exit]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Lords, you that here are under our arrest,
    Procure your sureties for your days of answer.
    Little are we beholding to your love,
    And little look'd for at your helping hands.

    [Re-enter DUKE OF YORK, with KING RICHARD II, and
    Officers bearing the regalia]

KING RICHARD II    Alack, why am I sent for to a king,
    Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
    Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd
    To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs:
    Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me
    To this submission. Yet I well remember
    The favours of these men: were they not mine?
    Did they not sometime cry, 'all hail!' to me?
    So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve,
    Found truth in all but one: I, in twelve thousand, none.
    God save the king! Will no man say amen?
    Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen.
    God save the king! although I be not he;
    And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.
    To do what service am I sent for hither?

DUKE OF YORK    To do that office of thine own good will
    Which tired majesty did make thee offer,
    The resignation of thy state and crown
    To Henry Bolingbroke.

KING RICHARD II    Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown;
    Here cousin:
    On this side my hand, and on that side yours.
    Now is this golden crown like a deep well
    That owes two buckets, filling one another,
    The emptier ever dancing in the air,
    The other down, unseen and full of water:
    That bucket down and full of tears am I,
    Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    I thought you had been willing to resign.

KING RICHARD II    My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine:
    You may my glories and my state depose,
    But not my griefs; still am I king of those.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Part of your cares you give me with your crown.

KING RICHARD II    Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.
    My care is loss of care, by old care done;
    Your care is gain of care, by new care won:
    The cares I give I have, though given away;
    They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Are you contented to resign the crown?

KING RICHARD II    Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be;
    Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.
    Now mark me, how I will undo myself;
    I give this heavy weight from off my head
    And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,
    The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
    With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
    With mine own hands I give away my crown,
    With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
    With mine own breath release all duty's rites:
    All pomp and majesty I do forswear;
    My manors, rents, revenues I forego;
    My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny:
    God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!
    God keep all vows unbroke that swear to thee!
    Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved,
    And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved!
    Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
    And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit!
    God save King Harry, unking'd Richard says,
    And send him many years of sunshine days!
    What more remains?

NORTHUMBERLAND                      No more, but that you read
    These accusations and these grievous crimes
    Committed by your person and your followers
    Against the state and profit of this land;
    That, by confessing them, the souls of men
    May deem that you are worthily deposed.

KING RICHARD II    Must I do so? and must I ravel out
    My weaved-up folly? Gentle Northumberland,
    If thy offences were upon record,
    Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop
    To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,
    There shouldst thou find one heinous article,
    Containing the deposing of a king
    And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
    Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:
    Nay, all of you that stand and look upon,
    Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,
    Though some of you with Pilate wash your hands
    Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
    Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross,
    And water cannot wash away your sin.

NORTHUMBERLAND    My lord, dispatch; read o'er these articles.

KING RICHARD II    Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see:
    And yet salt water blinds them not so much
    But they can see a sort of traitors here.
    Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
    I find myself a traitor with the rest;
    For I have given here my soul's consent
    To undeck the pompous body of a king;
    Made glory base and sovereignty a slave,
    Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.

NORTHUMBERLAND    My lord,--

KING RICHARD II    No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,
    Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,
    No, not that name was given me at the font,
    But 'tis usurp'd: alack the heavy day,
    That I have worn so many winters out,
    And know not now what name to call myself!
    O that I were a mockery king of snow,
    Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
    To melt myself away in water-drops!
    Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good,
    An if my word be sterling yet in England,
    Let it command a mirror hither straight,
    That it may show me what a face I have,
    Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.

    [Exit an attendant]

NORTHUMBERLAND    Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come.

KING RICHARD II    Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I come to hell!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.

NORTHUMBERLAND    The commons will not then be satisfied.

KING RICHARD II    They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough,
    When I do see the very book indeed
    Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.

    [Re-enter Attendant, with a glass]

    Give me the glass, and therein will I read.
    No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck
    So many blows upon this face of mine,
    And made no deeper wounds? O flattering glass,
    Like to my followers in prosperity,
    Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face
    That every day under his household roof
    Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face
    That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?
    Was this the face that faced so many follies,
    And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke?
    A brittle glory shineth in this face:
    As brittle as the glory is the face;

    [Dashes the glass against the ground]

    For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.
    Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,
    How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd
    The shadow or your face.

KING RICHARD II    Say that again.
    The shadow of my sorrow! ha! let's see:
    'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
    And these external manners of laments
    Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
    That swells with silence in the tortured soul;
    There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
    For thy great bounty, that not only givest
    Me cause to wail but teachest me the way
    How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,
    And then be gone and trouble you no more.
    Shall I obtain it?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE                      Name it, fair cousin.

KING RICHARD II    'Fair cousin'? I am greater than a king:
    For when I was a king, my flatterers
    Were then but subjects; being now a subject,
    I have a king here to my flatterer.
    Being so great, I have no need to beg.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Yet ask.

KING RICHARD II    And shall I have?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    You shall.

KING RICHARD II    Then give me leave to go.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Whither?

KING RICHARD II    Whither you will, so I were from your sights.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.

KING RICHARD II    O, good! convey? conveyers are you all,
    That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.

    [Exeunt KING RICHARD II, some Lords, and a Guard]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    On Wednesday next we solemnly set down
    Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.

    [Exeunt all except the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the Abbot
    of Westminster, and DUKE OF AUMERLE]

Abbot    A woeful pageant have we here beheld.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE    The woe's to come; the children yet unborn.
    Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    You holy clergymen, is there no plot
    To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?

Abbot    My lord,
    Before I freely speak my mind herein,
    You shall not only take the sacrament
    To bury mine intents, but also to effect
    Whatever I shall happen to devise.
    I see your brows are full of discontent,
    Your hearts of sorrow and your eyes of tears:
    Come home with me to supper; and I'll lay
    A plot shall show us all a merry day.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE I    London. A street leading to the Tower.


    [Enter QUEEN and Ladies]

QUEEN    This way the king will come; this is the way
    To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower,
    To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
    Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:
    Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
    Have any resting for her true king's queen.

    [Enter KING RICHARD II and Guard]

    But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
    My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold,
    That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
    And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
    Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand,
    Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb,
    And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
    Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodged in thee,
    When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

KING RICHARD II    Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
    To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,
    To think our former state a happy dream;
    From which awaked, the truth of what we are
    Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
    To grim Necessity, and he and I
    Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France
    And cloister thee in some religious house:
    Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
    Which our profane hours here have stricken down.

QUEEN    What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
    Transform'd and weaken'd? hath Bolingbroke deposed
    Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
    The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw,
    And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
    To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
    Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod,
    And fawn on rage with base humility,
    Which art a lion and a king of beasts?

KING RICHARD II    A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts,
    I had been still a happy king of men.
    Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France:
    Think I am dead and that even here thou takest,
    As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.
    In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire
    With good old folks and let them tell thee tales
    Of woeful ages long ago betid;
    And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs,
    Tell thou the lamentable tale of me
    And send the hearers weeping to their beds:
    For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
    The heavy accent of thy moving tongue
    And in compassion weep the fire out;
    And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
    For the deposing of a rightful king.

    [Enter NORTHUMBERLAND and others]

NORTHUMBERLAND    My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed:
    You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.
    And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;
    With all swift speed you must away to France.

KING RICHARD II    Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
    The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,
    The time shall not be many hours of age
    More than it is ere foul sin gathering head
    Shalt break into corruption: thou shalt think,
    Though he divide the realm and give thee half,
    It is too little, helping him to all;
    And he shall think that thou, which know'st the way
    To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
    Being ne'er so little urged, another way
    To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
    The love of wicked men converts to fear;
    That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both
    To worthy danger and deserved death.

NORTHUMBERLAND    My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
    Take leave and part; for you must part forthwith.

KING RICHARD II    Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate
    A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me,
    And then betwixt me and my married wife.
    Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
    And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.
    Part us, Northumberland; I toward the north,
    Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
    My wife to France: from whence, set forth in pomp,
    She came adorned hither like sweet May,
    Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day.

QUEEN    And must we be divided? must we part?

KING RICHARD II    Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

QUEEN    Banish us both and send the king with me.

NORTHUMBERLAND    That were some love but little policy.

QUEEN    Then whither he goes, thither let me go.

KING RICHARD II    So two, together weeping, make one woe.
    Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
    Better far off than near, be ne'er the near.
    Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.

QUEEN    So longest way shall have the longest moans.

KING RICHARD II    Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short,
    And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
    Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,
    Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief;
    One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
    Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.

QUEEN    Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part
    To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
    So, now I have mine own again, be gone,
    That I might strive to kill it with a groan.

KING RICHARD II    We make woe wanton with this fond delay:
    Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE II    The DUKE OF YORK's palace.


    [Enter DUKE OF YORK and DUCHESS OF YORK]

DUCHESS OF YORK    My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
    When weeping made you break the story off,
    of our two cousins coming into London.

DUKE OF YORK    Where did I leave?

DUCHESS OF YORK                      At that sad stop, my lord,
    Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops
    Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

DUKE OF YORK    Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
    Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed
    Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
    With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
    Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee,
    Bolingbroke!'
    You would have thought the very windows spake,
    So many greedy looks of young and old
    Through casements darted their desiring eyes
    Upon his visage, and that all the walls
    With painted imagery had said at once
    'Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!'
    Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,
    Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,
    Bespake them thus: 'I thank you, countrymen:'
    And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?

DUKE OF YORK    As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
    After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
    Are idly bent on him that enters next,
    Thinking his prattle to be tedious;
    Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
    Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him!'
    No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
    But dust was thrown upon his sacred head:
    Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
    His face still combating with tears and smiles,
    The badges of his grief and patience,
    That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
    The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted
    And barbarism itself have pitied him.
    But heaven hath a hand in these events,
    To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
    To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
    Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Here comes my son Aumerle.

DUKE OF YORK    Aumerle that was;
    But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
    And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
    I am in parliament pledge for his truth
    And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

    [Enter DUKE OF AUMERLE]

DUCHESS OF YORK    Welcome, my son: who are the violets now
    That strew the green lap of the new come spring?

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not:
    God knows I had as lief be none as one.

DUKE OF YORK    Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
    Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
    What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs?

DUKE OF AUMERLE    For aught I know, my lord, they do.

DUKE OF YORK    You will be there, I know.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    If God prevent not, I purpose so.

DUKE OF YORK    What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom?
    Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    My lord, 'tis nothing.

DUKE OF YORK    No matter, then, who see it;
    I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    I do beseech your grace to pardon me:
    It is a matter of small consequence,
    Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

DUKE OF YORK    Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
    I fear, I fear,--

DUCHESS OF YORK                      What should you fear?
    'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
    For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.

DUKE OF YORK    Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond
    That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.
    Boy, let me see the writing.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.

DUKE OF YORK    I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.

    [He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it]

    Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!

DUCHESS OF YORK    What is the matter, my lord?

DUKE OF YORK    Ho! who is within there?

    [Enter a Servant]

            Saddle my horse.
    God for his mercy, what treachery is here!

DUCHESS OF YORK    Why, what is it, my lord?

DUKE OF YORK    Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.
    Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth,
    I will appeach the villain.

DUCHESS OF YORK    What is the matter?

DUKE OF YORK    Peace, foolish woman.

DUCHESS OF YORK    I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Good mother, be content; it is no more
    Than my poor life must answer.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Thy life answer!

DUKE OF YORK    Bring me my boots: I will unto the king.

    [Re-enter Servant with boots]

DUCHESS OF YORK    Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed.
    Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.

DUKE OF YORK    Give me my boots, I say.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Why, York, what wilt thou do?
    Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
    Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
    Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
    And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
    And rob me of a happy mother's name?
    Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?

DUKE OF YORK    Thou fond mad woman,
    Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
    A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
    And interchangeably set down their hands,
    To kill the king at Oxford.

DUCHESS OF YORK    He shall be none;
    We'll keep him here: then what is that to him?

DUKE OF YORK    Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
    I would appeach him.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Hadst thou groan'd for him
    As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.
    But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect
    That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
    And that he is a bastard, not thy son:
    Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
    He is as like thee as a man may be,
    Not like to me, or any of my kin,
    And yet I love him.

DUKE OF YORK    Make way, unruly woman!

    [Exit]

DUCHESS OF YORK    After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse;
    Spur post, and get before him to the king,
    And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
    I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
    I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
    And never will I rise up from the ground
    Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone!

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE III    A royal palace.


    [Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, HENRY PERCY, and other Lords]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?
    'Tis full three months since I did see him last;
    If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.
    I would to God, my lords, he might be found:
    Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
    For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
    With unrestrained loose companions,
    Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
    And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
    Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,
    Takes on the point of honour to support
    So dissolute a crew.

HENRY PERCY    My lord, some two days since I saw the prince,
    And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    And what said the gallant?

HENRY PERCY    His answer was, he would unto the stews,
    And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,
    And wear it as a favour; and with that
    He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    As dissolute as desperate; yet through both
    I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years
    May happily bring forth. But who comes here?

    [Enter DUKE OF AUMERLE]

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Where is the king?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    What means our cousin, that he stares and looks
    So wildly?

DUKE OF AUMERLE    God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty,
    To have some conference with your grace alone.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.

    [Exeunt HENRY PERCY and Lords]

    What is the matter with our cousin now?

DUKE OF AUMERLE    For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
    My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth
    Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Intended or committed was this fault?
    If on the first, how heinous e'er it be,
    To win thy after-love I pardon thee.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Then give me leave that I may turn the key,
    That no man enter till my tale be done.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Have thy desire.

DUKE OF YORK    [Within]  My liege, beware; look to thyself;
    Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Villain, I'll make thee safe.

    [Drawing]

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.

DUKE OF YORK    [Within]  Open the door, secure, foolhardy king:
    Shall I for love speak treason to thy face?
    Open the door, or I will break it open.

    [Enter DUKE OF YORK]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    What is the matter, uncle? speak;
    Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,
    That we may arm us to encounter it.

DUKE OF YORK    Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
    The treason that my haste forbids me show.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd:
    I do repent me; read not my name there
    My heart is not confederate with my hand.

DUKE OF YORK    It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.
    I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king;
    Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:
    Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
    A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    O heinous, strong and bold conspiracy!
    O loyal father of a treacherous son!
    Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain,
    From when this stream through muddy passages
    Hath held his current and defiled himself!
    Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
    And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
    This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

DUKE OF YORK    So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd;
    And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,
    As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
    Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
    Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies:
    Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
    The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.

DUCHESS OF YORK    [Within]  What ho, my liege! for God's sake,
    let me in.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?

DUCHESS OF YORK    A woman, and thy aunt, great king; 'tis I.
    Speak with me, pity me, open the door.
    A beggar begs that never begg'd before.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
    And now changed to 'The Beggar and the King.'
    My dangerous cousin, let your mother in:
    I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.

DUKE OF YORK    If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
    More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.
    This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound;
    This let alone will all the rest confound.

    [Enter DUCHESS OF YORK]

DUCHESS OF YORK    O king, believe not this hard-hearted man!
    Love loving not itself none other can.

DUKE OF YORK    Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?
    Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?

DUCHESS OF YORK    Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.

    [Kneels]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Rise up, good aunt.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Not yet, I thee beseech:
    For ever will I walk upon my knees,
    And never see day that the happy sees,
    Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy,
    By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.

DUKE OF AUMERLE    Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee.

DUKE OF YORK    Against them both my true joints bended be.
    Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!

DUCHESS OF YORK    Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face;
    His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;
    His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast:
    He prays but faintly and would be denied;
    We pray with heart and soul and all beside:
    His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
    Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow:
    His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
    Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
    Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have
    That mercy which true prayer ought to have.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Good aunt, stand up.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Nay, do not say, 'stand up;'
    Say, 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.'
    And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
    'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech.
    I never long'd to hear a word till now;
    Say 'pardon,' king; let pity teach thee how:
    The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
    No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet.

DUKE OF YORK    Speak it in French, king; say, 'pardonne moi.'

DUCHESS OF YORK    Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?
    Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
    That set'st the word itself against the word!
    Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land;
    The chopping French we do not understand.
    Thine eye begins to speak; set thy tongue there;
    Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear;
    That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,
    Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Good aunt, stand up.

DUCHESS OF YORK    I do not sue to stand;
    Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.

DUCHESS OF YORK    O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
    Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again;
    Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain,
    But makes one pardon strong.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    With all my heart
    I pardon him.

DUCHESS OF YORK                      A god on earth thou art.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    But for our trusty brother-in-law and the abbot,
    With all the rest of that consorted crew,
    Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
    Good uncle, help to order several powers
    To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are:
    They shall not live within this world, I swear,
    But I will have them, if I once know where.
    Uncle, farewell: and, cousin too, adieu:
    Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.

DUCHESS OF YORK    Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE IV    The same.


    [Enter EXTON and Servant]

EXTON    Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake,
    'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?'
    Was it not so?

Servant                      These were his very words.

EXTON    'Have I no friend?' quoth he: he spake it twice,
    And urged it twice together, did he not?

Servant    He did.

EXTON    And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me,
    And who should say, 'I would thou wert the man'
    That would divorce this terror from my heart;'
    Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go:
    I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE V    Pomfret castle.


    [Enter KING RICHARD]

KING RICHARD II    I have been studying how I may compare
    This prison where I live unto the world:
    And for because the world is populous
    And here is not a creature but myself,
    I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer it out.
    My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,
    My soul the father; and these two beget
    A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
    And these same thoughts people this little world,
    In humours like the people of this world,
    For no thought is contented. The better sort,
    As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
    With scruples and do set the word itself
    Against the word:
    As thus, 'Come, little ones,' and then again,
    'It is as hard to come as for a camel
    To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'
    Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
    Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails
    May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
    Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls,
    And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
    Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves
    That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
    Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars
    Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame,
    That many have and others must sit there;
    And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
    Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
    Of such as have before endured the like.
    Thus play I in one person many people,
    And none contented: sometimes am I king;
    Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,
    And so I am: then crushing penury
    Persuades me I was better when a king;
    Then am I king'd again: and by and by
    Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
    And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be,
    Nor I nor any man that but man is
    With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased
    With being nothing. Music do I hear?

    [Music]

    Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,
    When time is broke and no proportion kept!
    So is it in the music of men's lives.
    And here have I the daintiness of ear
    To cheque time broke in a disorder'd string;
    But for the concord of my state and time
    Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
    I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;
    For now hath time made me his numbering clock:
    My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar
    Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,
    Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
    Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
    Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
    Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart,
    Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans
    Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time
    Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
    While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.
    This music mads me; let it sound no more;
    For though it have holp madmen to their wits,
    In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
    Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
    For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
    Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

    [Enter a Groom of the Stable]

Groom    Hail, royal prince!

KING RICHARD II    Thanks, noble peer;
    The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
    What art thou? and how comest thou hither,
    Where no man never comes but that sad dog
    That brings me food to make misfortune live?

Groom    I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
    When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,
    With much ado at length have gotten leave
    To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.
    O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld
    In London streets, that coronation-day,
    When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary,
    That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,
    That horse that I so carefully have dress'd!

KING RICHARD II    Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,
    How went he under him?

Groom    So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground.

KING RICHARD II    So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!
    That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
    This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
    Would he not stumble? would he not fall down,
    Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck
    Of that proud man that did usurp his back?
    Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
    Since thou, created to be awed by man,
    Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;
    And yet I bear a burthen like an ass,
    Spurr'd, gall'd and tired by jouncing Bolingbroke.

    [Enter Keeper, with a dish]

Keeper    Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.

KING RICHARD II    If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.

Groom    What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.

    [Exit]

Keeper    My lord, will't please you to fall to?

KING RICHARD II    Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.

Keeper    My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, who
    lately came from the king, commands the contrary.

KING RICHARD II    The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!
    Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

    [Beats the keeper]

Keeper    Help, help, help!

    [Enter EXTON and Servants, armed]

KING RICHARD II    How now! what means death in this rude assault?
    Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

    [Snatching an axe from a Servant and killing him]

    Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

    [He kills another. Then Exton strikes him down]

    That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire
    That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand
    Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land.
    Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
    Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

    [Dies]

EXTON    As full of valour as of royal blood:
    Both have I spill'd; O would the deed were good!
    For now the devil, that told me I did well,
    Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
    This dead king to the living king I'll bear
    Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.

    [Exeunt]




    KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE VI    Windsor castle.


    [Flourish. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, DUKE OF YORK,
    with other Lords, and Attendants]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
    Is that the rebels have consumed with fire
    Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire;
    But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not.

    [Enter NORTHUMBERLAND]

    Welcome, my lord    what is the news?

NORTHUMBERLAND    First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.
    The next news is, I have to London sent
    The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent:
    The manner of their taking may appear
    At large discoursed in this paper here.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;
    And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

    [Enter LORD FITZWATER]

LORD FITZWATER    My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
    The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely,
    Two of the dangerous consorted traitors
    That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
    Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

    [Enter HENRY PERCY, and the BISHOP OF CARLISLE]

HENRY PERCY    The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,
    With clog of conscience and sour melancholy
    Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
    But here is Carlisle living, to abide
    Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Carlisle, this is your doom:
    Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,
    More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
    So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife:
    For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
    High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.

    [Enter EXTON, with persons bearing a coffin]

EXTON    Great king, within this coffin I present
    Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies
    The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
    Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought
    A deed of slander with thy fatal hand
    Upon my head and all this famous land.

EXTON    From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE    They love not poison that do poison need,
    Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead,
    I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
    The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
    But neither my good word nor princely favour:
    With Cain go wander through shades of night,
    And never show thy head by day nor light.
    Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe,
    That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow:
    Come, mourn with me for that I do lament,
    And put on sullen black incontinent:
    I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
    To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:
    March sadly after; grace my mournings here;
    In weeping after this untimely bier.

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING JOHN:

PRINCE HENRY    son to the king.

ARTHUR    Duke of Bretagne, nephew to the king.

The Earl of
PEMBROKE    (PEMBROKE:)

The Earl of ESSEX    (ESSEX:)

The Earl of
SALISBURY    (SALISBURY:)

The Lord BIGOT    (BIGOT:)

HUBERT DE BURGH    (HUBERT:)

ROBERT
FAULCONBRIDGE    Son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge. (ROBERT:)

PHILIP the BASTARD    his half-brother. (BASTARD:)

JAMES GURNEY    servant to Lady Faulconbridge. (GURNEY:)

PETER Of Pomfret    a prophet. (PETER:)

PHILIP    King of France. (KING PHILIP:)

LEWIS    the Dauphin.

LYMOGES    Duke of AUSTRIA. (AUSTRIA:)

CARDINAL PANDULPH    the Pope's legate.

MELUN    a French Lord.

CHATILLON    ambassador from France to King John.

QUEEN ELINOR    mother to King John.

CONSTANCE    mother to Arthur.

BLANCH of Spain    niece to King John. (BLANCH:)

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE:

    Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds,
    Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.
    (First Citizen:)
    (French Herald:)
    (English Herald:)
    (First Executioner:)
    (Messenger:)


SCENE    Partly in England, and partly in France.




    KING JOHN


ACT I



SCENE I    KING JOHN'S palace.


    [Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX,
    SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON]

KING JOHN    Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?

CHATILLON    Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France
    In my behavior to the majesty,
    The borrow'd majesty, of England here.

QUEEN ELINOR    A strange beginning: 'borrow'd majesty!'

KING JOHN    Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.

CHATILLON    Philip of France, in right and true behalf
    Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
    Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
    To this fair island and the territories,
    To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
    Desiring thee to lay aside the sword
    Which sways usurpingly these several titles,
    And put these same into young Arthur's hand,
    Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.

KING JOHN    What follows if we disallow of this?

CHATILLON    The proud control of fierce and bloody war,
    To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.

KING JOHN    Here have we war for war and blood for blood,
    Controlment for controlment: so answer France.

CHATILLON    Then take my king's defiance from my mouth,
    The farthest limit of my embassy.

KING JOHN    Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace:
    Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
    For ere thou canst report I will be there,
    The thunder of my cannon shall be heard:
    So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath
    And sullen presage of your own decay.
    An honourable conduct let him have:
    Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon.

    [Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE]

QUEEN ELINOR    What now, my son! have I not ever said
    How that ambitious Constance would not cease
    Till she had kindled France and all the world,
    Upon the right and party of her son?
    This might have been prevented and made whole
    With very easy arguments of love,
    Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
    With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.

KING JOHN    Our strong possession and our right for us.

QUEEN ELINOR    Your strong possession much more than your right,
    Or else it must go wrong with you and me:
    So much my conscience whispers in your ear,
    Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.

    [Enter a Sheriff]

ESSEX    My liege, here is the strangest controversy
    Come from country to be judged by you,
    That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men?

KING JOHN    Let them approach.
    Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
    This expedition's charge.

    [Enter ROBERT and the BASTARD]

            What men are you?

BASTARD    Your faithful subject I, a gentleman
    Born in Northamptonshire and eldest son,
    As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge,
    A soldier, by the honour-giving hand
    Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.

KING JOHN    What art thou?

ROBERT    The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.

KING JOHN    Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
    You came not of one mother then, it seems.

BASTARD    Most certain of one mother, mighty king;
    That is well known; and, as I think, one father:
    But for the certain knowledge of that truth
    I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother:
    Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.

QUEEN ELINOR    Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother
    And wound her honour with this diffidence.

BASTARD    I, madam? no, I have no reason for it;
    That is my brother's plea and none of mine;
    The which if he can prove, a' pops me out
    At least from fair five hundred pound a year:
    Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land!

KING JOHN    A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,
    Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?

BASTARD    I know not why, except to get the land.
    But once he slander'd me with bastardy:
    But whether I be as true begot or no,
    That still I lay upon my mother's head,
    But that I am as well begot, my liege,--
    Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!--
    Compare our faces and be judge yourself.
    If old sir Robert did beget us both
    And were our father and this son like him,
    O old sir Robert, father, on my knee
    I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!

KING JOHN    Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!

QUEEN ELINOR    He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face;
    The accent of his tongue affecteth him.
    Do you not read some tokens of my son
    In the large composition of this man?

KING JOHN    Mine eye hath well examined his parts
    And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,
    What doth move you to claim your brother's land?

BASTARD    Because he hath a half-face, like my father.
    With half that face would he have all my land:
    A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year!

ROBERT    My gracious liege, when that my father lived,
    Your brother did employ my father much,--

BASTARD    Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:
    Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother.

ROBERT    And once dispatch'd him in an embassy
    To Germany, there with the emperor
    To treat of high affairs touching that time.
    The advantage of his absence took the king
    And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's;
    Where how he did prevail I shame to speak,
    But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores
    Between my father and my mother lay,
    As I have heard my father speak himself,
    When this same lusty gentleman was got.
    Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
    His lands to me, and took it on his death
    That this my mother's son was none of his;
    And if he were, he came into the world
    Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.
    Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
    My father's land, as was my father's will.

KING JOHN    Sirrah, your brother is legitimate;
    Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him,
    And if she did play false, the fault was hers;
    Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
    That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,
    Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,
    Had of your father claim'd this son for his?
    In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept
    This calf bred from his cow from all the world;
    In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's,
    My brother might not claim him; nor your father,
    Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes;
    My mother's son did get your father's heir;
    Your father's heir must have your father's land.

ROBERT    Shall then my father's will be of no force
    To dispossess that child which is not his?

BASTARD    Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
    Than was his will to get me, as I think.

QUEEN ELINOR    Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge
    And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
    Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,
    Lord of thy presence and no land beside?

BASTARD    Madam, an if my brother had my shape,
    And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him;
    And if my legs were two such riding-rods,
    My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin
    That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose
    Lest men should say 'Look, where three-farthings goes!'
    And, to his shape, were heir to all this land,
    Would I might never stir from off this place,
    I would give it every foot to have this face;
    I would not be sir Nob in any case.

QUEEN ELINOR    I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune,
    Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?
    I am a soldier and now bound to France.

BASTARD    Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance.
    Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,
    Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear.
    Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.

QUEEN ELINOR    Nay, I would have you go before me thither.

BASTARD    Our country manners give our betters way.

KING JOHN    What is thy name?

BASTARD    Philip, my liege, so is my name begun,
    Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son.

KING JOHN    From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st:
    Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great,
    Arise sir Richard and Plantagenet.

BASTARD    Brother by the mother's side, give me your hand:
    My father gave me honour, yours gave land.
    Now blessed by the hour, by night or day,
    When I was got, sir Robert was away!

QUEEN ELINOR    The very spirit of Plantagenet!
    I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so.

BASTARD    Madam, by chance but not by truth; what though?
    Something about, a little from the right,
    In at the window, or else o'er the hatch:
    Who dares not stir by day must walk by night,
    And have is have, however men do catch:
    Near or far off, well won is still well shot,
    And I am I, howe'er I was begot.

KING JOHN    Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy desire;
    A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.
    Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed
    For France, for France, for it is more than need.

BASTARD    Brother, adieu: good fortune come to thee!
    For thou wast got i' the way of honesty.

    [Exeunt all but BASTARD]

    A foot of honour better than I was;
    But many a many foot of land the worse.
    Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.
    'Good den, sir Richard!'--'God-a-mercy, fellow!'--
    And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
    For new-made honour doth forget men's names;
    'Tis too respective and too sociable
    For your conversion. Now your traveller,
    He and his toothpick at my worship's mess,
    And when my knightly stomach is sufficed,
    Why then I suck my teeth and catechise
    My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,'
    Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,
    'I shall beseech you'--that is question now;
    And then comes answer like an Absey book:
    'O sir,' says answer, 'at your best command;
    At your employment; at your service, sir;'
    'No, sir,' says question, 'I, sweet sir, at yours:'
    And so, ere answer knows what question would,
    Saving in dialogue of compliment,
    And talking of the Alps and Apennines,
    The Pyrenean and the river Po,
    It draws toward supper in conclusion so.
    But this is worshipful society
    And fits the mounting spirit like myself,
    For he is but a bastard to the time
    That doth not smack of observation;
    And so am I, whether I smack or no;
    And not alone in habit and device,
    Exterior form, outward accoutrement,
    But from the inward motion to deliver
    Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth:
    Which, though I will not practise to deceive,
    Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
    For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.
    But who comes in such haste in riding-robes?
    What woman-post is this? hath she no husband
    That will take pains to blow a horn before her?

    [Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE and GURNEY]

    O me! it is my mother. How now, good lady!
    What brings you here to court so hastily?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE    Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he,
    That holds in chase mine honour up and down?

BASTARD    My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son?
    Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man?
    Is it sir Robert's son that you seek so?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE    Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,
    Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at sir Robert?
    He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou.

BASTARD    James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?

GURNEY    Good leave, good Philip.

BASTARD    Philip! sparrow: James,
    There's toys abroad: anon I'll tell thee more.

    [Exit GURNEY]

    Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son:
    Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
    Upon Good-Friday and ne'er broke his fast:
    Sir Robert could do well: marry, to confess,
    Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it:
    We know his handiwork: therefore, good mother,
    To whom am I beholding for these limbs?
    Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE    Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,
    That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?
    What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?

BASTARD    Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.
    What! I am dubb'd! I have it on my shoulder.
    But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son;
    I have disclaim'd sir Robert and my land;
    Legitimation, name and all is gone:
    Then, good my mother, let me know my father;
    Some proper man, I hope: who was it, mother?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE    Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?

BASTARD    As faithfully as I deny the devil.

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE    King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father:
    By long and vehement suit I was seduced
    To make room for him in my husband's bed:
    Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge!
    Thou art the issue of my dear offence,
    Which was so strongly urged past my defence.

BASTARD    Now, by this light, were I to get again,
    Madam, I would not wish a better father.
    Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,
    And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly:
    Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,
    Subjected tribute to commanding love,
    Against whose fury and unmatched force
    The aweless lion could not wage the fight,
    Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
    He that perforce robs lions of their hearts
    May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother,
    With all my heart I thank thee for my father!
    Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well
    When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
    Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin;
    And they shall say, when Richard me begot,
    If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin:
    Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not.

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT II



SCENE I    France. Before Angiers.


    [Enter AUSTRIA and forces, drums, etc. on one side:
    on the other KING PHILIP and his power; LEWIS,
    ARTHUR, CONSTANCE and attendants]

LEWIS    Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.
    Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
    Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart
    And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
    By this brave duke came early to his grave:
    And for amends to his posterity,
    At our importance hither is he come,
    To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf,
    And to rebuke the usurpation
    Of thy unnatural uncle, English John:
    Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.

ARTHUR    God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death
    The rather that you give his offspring life,
    Shadowing their right under your wings of war:
    I give you welcome with a powerless hand,
    But with a heart full of unstained love:
    Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke.

LEWIS    A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?

AUSTRIA    Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss,
    As seal to this indenture of my love,
    That to my home I will no more return,
    Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,
    Together with that pale, that white-faced shore,
    Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides
    And coops from other lands her islanders,
    Even till that England, hedged in with the main,
    That water-walled bulwark, still secure
    And confident from foreign purposes,
    Even till that utmost corner of the west
    Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy,
    Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

CONSTANCE    O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,
    Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength
    To make a more requital to your love!

AUSTRIA    The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords
    In such a just and charitable war.

KING PHILIP    Well then, to work: our cannon shall be bent
    Against the brows of this resisting town.
    Call for our chiefest men of discipline,
    To cull the plots of best advantages:
    We'll lay before this town our royal bones,
    Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood,
    But we will make it subject to this boy.

CONSTANCE    Stay for an answer to your embassy,
    Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood:
    My Lord Chatillon may from England bring,
    That right in peace which here we urge in war,
    And then we shall repent each drop of blood
    That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.

    [Enter CHATILLON]

KING PHILIP    A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish,
    Our messenger Chatillon is arrived!
    What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;
    We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak.

CHATILLON    Then turn your forces from this paltry siege
    And stir them up against a mightier task.
    England, impatient of your just demands,
    Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds,
    Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time
    To land his legions all as soon as I;
    His marches are expedient to this town,
    His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
    With him along is come the mother-queen,
    An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;
    With her her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain;
    With them a bastard of the king's deceased,
    And all the unsettled humours of the land,
    Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,
    With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens,
    Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,
    Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
    To make hazard of new fortunes here:
    In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits
    Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er
    Did nearer float upon the swelling tide,
    To do offence and scath in Christendom.

    [Drum beats]

    The interruption of their churlish drums
    Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand,
    To parley or to fight; therefore prepare.

KING PHILIP    How much unlook'd for is this expedition!

AUSTRIA    By how much unexpected, by so much
    We must awake endavour for defence;
    For courage mounteth with occasion:
    Let them be welcome then: we are prepared.

    [Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD,
    Lords, and forces]

KING JOHN    Peace be to France, if France in peace permit
    Our just and lineal entrance to our own;
    If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,
    Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct
    Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven.

KING PHILIP    Peace be to England, if that war return
    From France to England, there to live in peace.
    England we love; and for that England's sake
    With burden of our armour here we sweat.
    This toil of ours should be a work of thine;
    But thou from loving England art so far,
    That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king
    Cut off the sequence of posterity,
    Out-faced infant state and done a rape
    Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.
    Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face;
    These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his:
    This little abstract doth contain that large
    Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time
    Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.
    That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,
    And this his son; England was Geffrey's right
    And this is Geffrey's: in the name of God
    How comes it then that thou art call'd a king,
    When living blood doth in these temples beat,
    Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest?

KING JOHN    From whom hast thou this great commission, France,
    To draw my answer from thy articles?

KING PHILIP    From that supernal judge, that stirs good thoughts
    In any breast of strong authority,
    To look into the blots and stains of right:
    That judge hath made me guardian to this boy:
    Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong
    And by whose help I mean to chastise it.

KING JOHN    Alack, thou dost usurp authority.

KING PHILIP    Excuse; it is to beat usurping down.

QUEEN ELINOR    Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?

CONSTANCE    Let me make answer; thy usurping son.

QUEEN ELINOR    Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king,
    That thou mayst be a queen, and cheque the world!

CONSTANCE    My bed was ever to thy son as true
    As thine was to thy husband; and this boy
    Liker in feature to his father Geffrey
    Than thou and John in manners; being as like
    As rain to water, or devil to his dam.
    My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think
    His father never was so true begot:
    It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.

QUEEN ELINOR    There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.

CONSTANCE    There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.

AUSTRIA    Peace!

BASTARD         Hear the crier.

AUSTRIA    What the devil art thou?

BASTARD    One that will play the devil, sir, with you,
    An a' may catch your hide and you alone:
    You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,
    Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard;
    I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right;
    Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith.

BLANCH    O, well did he become that lion's robe
    That did disrobe the lion of that robe!

BASTARD    It lies as sightly on the back of him
    As great Alcides' shows upon an ass:
    But, ass, I'll take that burthen from your back,
    Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.

AUSTRIA    What craker is this same that deafs our ears
    With this abundance of superfluous breath?

KING PHILIP    Lewis, determine what we shall do straight.

LEWIS    Women and fools, break off your conference.
    King John, this is the very sum of all;
    England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
    In right of Arthur do I claim of thee:
    Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms?

KING JOHN    My life as soon: I do defy thee, France.
    Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand;
    And out of my dear love I'll give thee more
    Than e'er the coward hand of France can win:
    Submit thee, boy.

QUEEN ELINOR                      Come to thy grandam, child.

CONSTANCE    Do, child, go to it grandam, child:
    Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will
    Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig:
    There's a good grandam.

ARTHUR    Good my mother, peace!
    I would that I were low laid in my grave:
    I am not worth this coil that's made for me.

QUEEN ELINOR    His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.

CONSTANCE    Now shame upon you, whether she does or no!
    His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames,
    Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes,
    Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee;
    Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed
    To do him justice and revenge on you.

QUEEN ELINOR    Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!

CONSTANCE    Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth!
    Call not me slanderer; thou and thine usurp
    The dominations, royalties and rights
    Of this oppressed boy: this is thy eld'st son's son,
    Infortunate in nothing but in thee:
    Thy sins are visited in this poor child;
    The canon of the law is laid on him,
    Being but the second generation
    Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.

KING JOHN    Bedlam, have done.

CONSTANCE                      I have but this to say,
    That he is not only plagued for her sin,
    But God hath made her sin and her the plague
    On this removed issue, plague for her
    And with her plague; her sin his injury,
    Her injury the beadle to her sin,
    All punish'd in the person of this child,
    And all for her; a plague upon her!

QUEEN ELINOR    Thou unadvised scold, I can produce
    A will that bars the title of thy son.

CONSTANCE    Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will:
    A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will!

KING PHILIP    Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate:
    It ill beseems this presence to cry aim
    To these ill-tuned repetitions.
    Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
    These men of Angiers: let us hear them speak
    Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.

    [Trumpet sounds. Enter certain Citizens upon the walls]

First Citizen    Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls?

KING PHILIP    'Tis France, for England.

KING JOHN    England, for itself.
    You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects--

KING PHILIP    You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects,
    Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle--

KING JOHN    For our advantage; therefore hear us first.
    These flags of France, that are advanced here
    Before the eye and prospect of your town,
    Have hither march'd to your endamagement:
    The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,
    And ready mounted are they to spit forth
    Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls:
    All preparation for a bloody siege
    All merciless proceeding by these French
    Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates;
    And but for our approach those sleeping stones,
    That as a waist doth girdle you about,
    By the compulsion of their ordinance
    By this time from their fixed beds of lime
    Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made
    For bloody power to rush upon your peace.
    But on the sight of us your lawful king,
    Who painfully with much expedient march
    Have brought a countercheque before your gates,
    To save unscratch'd your city's threatened cheeks,
    Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parle;
    And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,
    To make a shaking fever in your walls,
    They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke,
    To make a faithless error in your ears:
    Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,
    And let us in, your king, whose labour'd spirits,
    Forwearied in this action of swift speed,
    Crave harbourage within your city walls.

KING PHILIP    When I have said, make answer to us both.
    Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
    Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
    Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,
    Son to the elder brother of this man,
    And king o'er him and all that he enjoys:
    For this down-trodden equity, we tread
    In warlike march these greens before your town,
    Being no further enemy to you
    Than the constraint of hospitable zeal
    In the relief of this oppressed child
    Religiously provokes. Be pleased then
    To pay that duty which you truly owe
    To that owes it, namely this young prince:
    And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,
    Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up;
    Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent
    Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven;
    And with a blessed and unvex'd retire,
    With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised,
    We will bear home that lusty blood again
    Which here we came to spout against your town,
    And leave your children, wives and you in peace.
    But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,
    'Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls
    Can hide you from our messengers of war,
    Though all these English and their discipline
    Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.
    Then tell us, shall your city call us lord,
    In that behalf which we have challenged it?
    Or shall we give the signal to our rage
    And stalk in blood to our possession?

First Citizen    In brief, we are the king of England's subjects:
    For him, and in his right, we hold this town.

KING JOHN    Acknowledge then the king, and let me in.

First Citizen    That can we not; but he that proves the king,
    To him will we prove loyal: till that time
    Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.

KING JOHN    Doth not the crown of England prove the king?
    And if not that, I bring you witnesses,
    Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,--

BASTARD    Bastards, and else.

KING JOHN    To verify our title with their lives.

KING PHILIP    As many and as well-born bloods as those,--

BASTARD    Some bastards too.

KING PHILIP    Stand in his face to contradict his claim.

First Citizen    Till you compound whose right is worthiest,
    We for the worthiest hold the right from both.

KING JOHN    Then God forgive the sin of all those souls
    That to their everlasting residence,
    Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet,
    In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!

KING PHILIP    Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to arms!

BASTARD    Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since
    Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door,
    Teach us some fence!

    [To AUSTRIA]

        Sirrah, were I at home,
    At your den, sirrah, with your lioness
    I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide,
    And make a monster of you.

AUSTRIA    Peace! no more.

BASTARD    O tremble, for you hear the lion roar.

KING JOHN    Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth
    In best appointment all our regiments.

BASTARD    Speed then, to take advantage of the field.

KING PHILIP    It shall be so; and at the other hill
    Command the rest to stand. God and our right!

    [Exeunt]

    [Here after excursions, enter the Herald of France,
    with trumpets, to the gates]

French Herald    You men of Angiers, open wide your gates,
    And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in,
    Who by the hand of France this day hath made
    Much work for tears in many an English mother,
    Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground;
    Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
    Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth;
    And victory, with little loss, doth play
    Upon the dancing banners of the French,
    Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd,
    To enter conquerors and to proclaim
    Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours.

    [Enter English Herald, with trumpet]

English Herald    Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:
    King John, your king and England's doth approach,
    Commander of this hot malicious day:
    Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright,
    Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood;
    There stuck no plume in any English crest
    That is removed by a staff of France;
    Our colours do return in those same hands
    That did display them when we first march'd forth;
    And, like a troop of jolly huntsmen, come
    Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,
    Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes:
    Open your gates and gives the victors way.

First Citizen    Heralds, from off our towers we might behold,
    From first to last, the onset and retire
    Of both your armies; whose equality
    By our best eyes cannot be censured:
    Blood hath bought blood and blows have answered blows;
    Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power:
    Both are alike; and both alike we like.
    One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even,
    We hold our town for neither, yet for both.

    [Re-enter KING JOHN and KING PHILIP, with their
    powers, severally]

KING JOHN    France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?
    Say, shall the current of our right run on?
    Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment,
    Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell
    With course disturb'd even thy confining shores,
    Unless thou let his silver water keep
    A peaceful progress to the ocean.

KING PHILIP    England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood,
    In this hot trial, more than we of France;
    Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear,
    That sways the earth this climate overlooks,
    Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,
    We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear,
    Or add a royal number to the dead,
    Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss
    With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.

BASTARD    Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers,
    When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!
    O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;
    The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;
    And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,
    In undetermined differences of kings.
    Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?
    Cry, 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field,
    You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits!
    Then let confusion of one part confirm
    The other's peace: till then, blows, blood and death!

KING JOHN    Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?

KING PHILIP    Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king?

First Citizen    The king of England; when we know the king.

KING PHILIP    Know him in us, that here hold up his right.

KING JOHN    In us, that are our own great deputy
    And bear possession of our person here,
    Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.

First Citizen    A greater power then we denies all this;
    And till it be undoubted, we do lock
    Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates;
    King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved,
    Be by some certain king purged and deposed.

BASTARD    By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,
    And stand securely on their battlements,
    As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
    At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
    Your royal presences be ruled by me:
    Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,
    Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend
    Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town:
    By east and west let France and England mount
    Their battering cannon charged to the mouths,
    Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down
    The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city:
    I'ld play incessantly upon these jades,
    Even till unfenced desolation
    Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
    That done, dissever your united strengths,
    And part your mingled colours once again;
    Turn face to face and bloody point to point;
    Then, in a moment, Fortune shall cull forth
    Out of one side her happy minion,
    To whom in favour she shall give the day,
    And kiss him with a glorious victory.
    How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?
    Smacks it not something of the policy?

KING JOHN    Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,
    I like it well. France, shall we knit our powers
    And lay this Angiers even to the ground;
    Then after fight who shall be king of it?

BASTARD    An if thou hast the mettle of a king,
    Being wronged as we are by this peevish town,
    Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,
    As we will ours, against these saucy walls;
    And when that we have dash'd them to the ground,
    Why then defy each other and pell-mell
    Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell.

KING PHILIP    Let it be so. Say, where will you assault?

KING JOHN    We from the west will send destruction
    Into this city's bosom.

AUSTRIA    I from the north.

KING PHILIP                      Our thunder from the south
    Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.

BASTARD    O prudent discipline! From north to south:
    Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth:
    I'll stir them to it. Come, away, away!

First Citizen    Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay,
    And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league;
    Win you this city without stroke or wound;
    Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds,
    That here come sacrifices for the field:
    Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.

KING JOHN    Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear.

First Citizen    That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,
    Is niece to England: look upon the years
    Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid:
    If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,
    Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
    If zealous love should go in search of virtue,
    Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?
    If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
    Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch?
    Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,
    Is the young Dauphin every way complete:
    If not complete of, say he is not she;
    And she again wants nothing, to name want,
    If want it be not that she is not he:
    He is the half part of a blessed man,
    Left to be finished by such as she;
    And she a fair divided excellence,
    Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.
    O, two such silver currents, when they join,
    Do glorify the banks that bound them in;
    And two such shores to two such streams made one,
    Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,
    To these two princes, if you marry them.
    This union shall do more than battery can
    To our fast-closed gates; for at this match,
    With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,
    The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,
    And give you entrance: but without this match,
    The sea enraged is not half so deaf,
    Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
    More free from motion, no, not Death himself
    In moral fury half so peremptory,
    As we to keep this city.

BASTARD    Here's a stay
    That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death
    Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,
    That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas,
    Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
    As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!
    What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?
    He speaks plain cannon fire, and smoke and bounce;
    He gives the bastinado with his tongue:
    Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his
    But buffets better than a fist of France:
    Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words
    Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.

QUEEN ELINOR    Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;
    Give with our niece a dowry large enough:
    For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
    Thy now unsured assurance to the crown,
    That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
    The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
    I see a yielding in the looks of France;
    Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls
    Are capable of this ambition,
    Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath
    Of soft petitions, pity and remorse,
    Cool and congeal again to what it was.

First Citizen    Why answer not the double majesties
    This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?

KING PHILIP    Speak England first, that hath been forward first
    To speak unto this city: what say you?

KING JOHN    If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son,
    Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,'
    Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen:
    For Anjou and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
    And all that we upon this side the sea,
    Except this city now by us besieged,
    Find liable to our crown and dignity,
    Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich
    In titles, honours and promotions,
    As she in beauty, education, blood,
    Holds hand with any princess of the world.

KING PHILIP    What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face.

LEWIS    I do, my lord; and in her eye I find
    A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,
    The shadow of myself form'd in her eye:
    Which being but the shadow of your son,
    Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow:
    I do protest I never loved myself
    Till now infixed I beheld myself
    Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.

    [Whispers with BLANCH]

BASTARD    Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!
    Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow!
    And quarter'd in her heart! he doth espy
    Himself love's traitor: this is pity now,
    That hang'd and drawn and quartered, there should be
    In such a love so vile a lout as he.

BLANCH    My uncle's will in this respect is mine:
    If he see aught in you that makes him like,
    That any thing he sees, which moves his liking,
    I can with ease translate it to my will;
    Or if you will, to speak more properly,
    I will enforce it easily to my love.
    Further I will not flatter you, my lord,
    That all I see in you is worthy love,
    Than this; that nothing do I see in you,
    Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge,
    That I can find should merit any hate.

KING JOHN    What say these young ones? What say you my niece?

BLANCH    That she is bound in honour still to do
    What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.

KING JOHN    Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?

LEWIS    Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;
    For I do love her most unfeignedly.

KING JOHN    Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,
    Poictiers and Anjou, these five provinces,
    With her to thee; and this addition more,
    Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.
    Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal,
    Command thy son and daughter to join hands.

KING PHILIP    It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.

AUSTRIA    And your lips too; for I am well assured
    That I did so when I was first assured.

KING PHILIP    Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,
    Let in that amity which you have made;
    For at Saint Mary's chapel presently
    The rites of marriage shall be solemnized.
    Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?
    I know she is not, for this match made up
    Her presence would have interrupted much:
    Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows.

LEWIS    She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent.

KING PHILIP    And, by my faith, this league that we have made
    Will give her sadness very little cure.
    Brother of England, how may we content
    This widow lady? In her right we came;
    Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,
    To our own vantage.

KING JOHN    We will heal up all;
    For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne
    And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
    We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance;
    Some speedy messenger bid her repair
    To our solemnity: I trust we shall,
    If not fill up the measure of her will,
    Yet in some measure satisfy her so
    That we shall stop her exclamation.
    Go we, as well as haste will suffer us,
    To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp.

    [Exeunt all but the BASTARD]

BASTARD    Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
    John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole,
    Hath willingly departed with a part,
    And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,
    Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
    As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear
    With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
    That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith,
    That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,
    Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
    Who, having no external thing to lose
    But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that,
    That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity,
    Commodity, the bias of the world,
    The world, who of itself is peised well,
    Made to run even upon even ground,
    Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
    This sway of motion, this Commodity,
    Makes it take head from all indifferency,
    From all direction, purpose, course, intent:
    And this same bias, this Commodity,
    This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
    Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
    Hath drawn him from his own determined aid,
    From a resolved and honourable war,
    To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
    And why rail I on this Commodity?
    But for because he hath not woo'd me yet:
    Not that I have the power to clutch my hand,
    When his fair angels would salute my palm;
    But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
    Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
    Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail
    And say there is no sin but to be rich;
    And being rich, my virtue then shall be
    To say there is no vice but beggary.
    Since kings break faith upon commodity,
    Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee.

    [Exit]




    KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE I    The French King's pavilion.


    [Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY]

CONSTANCE    Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace!
    False blood to false blood join'd! gone to be friends!
    Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces?
    It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard:
    Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again:
    It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so:
    I trust I may not trust thee; for thy word
    Is but the vain breath of a common man:
    Believe me, I do not believe thee, man;
    I have a king's oath to the contrary.
    Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
    For I am sick and capable of fears,
    Oppress'd with wrongs and therefore full of fears,
    A widow, husbandless, subject to fears,
    A woman, naturally born to fears;
    And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,
    With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce,
    But they will quake and tremble all this day.
    What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
    Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?
    What means that hand upon that breast of thine?
    Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
    Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
    Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?
    Then speak again; not all thy former tale,
    But this one word, whether thy tale be true.

SALISBURY    As true as I believe you think them false
    That give you cause to prove my saying true.

CONSTANCE    O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
    Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die,
    And let belief and life encounter so
    As doth the fury of two desperate men
    Which in the very meeting fall and die.
    Lewis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?
    France friend with England, what becomes of me?
    Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight:
    This news hath made thee a most ugly man.

SALISBURY    What other harm have I, good lady, done,
    But spoke the harm that is by others done?

CONSTANCE    Which harm within itself so heinous is
    As it makes harmful all that speak of it.

ARTHUR    I do beseech you, madam, be content.

CONSTANCE    If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim,
    Ugly and slanderous to thy mother's womb,
    Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,
    Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,
    Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks,
    I would not care, I then would be content,
    For then I should not love thee, no, nor thou
    Become thy great birth nor deserve a crown.
    But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy,
    Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great:
    Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,
    And with the half-blown rose. But Fortune, O,
    She is corrupted, changed and won from thee;
    She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John,
    And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France
    To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,
    And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.
    France is a bawd to Fortune and King John,
    That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John!
    Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?
    Envenom him with words, or get thee gone
    And leave those woes alone which I alone
    Am bound to under-bear.

SALISBURY    Pardon me, madam,
    I may not go without you to the kings.

CONSTANCE    Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee:
    I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;
    For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop.
    To me and to the state of my great grief
    Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great
    That no supporter but the huge firm earth
    Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit;
    Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

    [Seats herself on the ground]

    [Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILLIP, LEWIS, BLANCH,
    QUEEN ELINOR, the BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and Attendants]

KING PHILIP    'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day
    Ever in France shall be kept festival:
    To solemnize this day the glorious sun
    Stays in his course and plays the alchemist,
    Turning with splendor of his precious eye
    The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold:
    The yearly course that brings this day about
    Shall never see it but a holiday.

CONSTANCE    A wicked day, and not a holy day!

    [Rising]

    What hath this day deserved? what hath it done,
    That it in golden letters should be set
    Among the high tides in the calendar?
    Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,
    This day of shame, oppression, perjury.
    Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
    Pray that their burthens may not fall this day,
    Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd:
    But on this day let seamen fear no wreck;
    No bargains break that are not this day made:
    This day, all things begun come to ill end,
    Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!

KING PHILIP    By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
    To curse the fair proceedings of this day:
    Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?

CONSTANCE    You have beguiled me with a counterfeit
    Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried,
    Proves valueless: you are forsworn, forsworn;
    You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
    But now in arms you strengthen it with yours:
    The grappling vigour and rough frown of war
    Is cold in amity and painted peace,
    And our oppression hath made up this league.
    Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured kings!
    A widow cries; be husband to me, heavens!
    Let not the hours of this ungodly day
    Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,
    Set armed discord 'twixt these perjured kings!
    Hear me, O, hear me!

AUSTRIA    Lady Constance, peace!

CONSTANCE    War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war
    O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame
    That bloody spoil: thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!
    Thou little valiant, great in villany!
    Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
    Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight
    But when her humorous ladyship is by
    To teach thee safety! thou art perjured too,
    And soothest up greatness. What a fool art thou,
    A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear
    Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,
    Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,
    Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend
    Upon thy stars, thy fortune and thy strength,
    And dost thou now fall over to my fores?
    Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
    And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

AUSTRIA    O, that a man should speak those words to me!

BASTARD    And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

AUSTRIA    Thou darest not say so, villain, for thy life.

BASTARD    And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

KING JOHN    We like not this; thou dost forget thyself.

    [Enter CARDINAL PANDULPH]

KING PHILIP    Here comes the holy legate of the pope.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!
    To thee, King John, my holy errand is.
    I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,
    And from Pope Innocent the legate here,
    Do in his name religiously demand
    Why thou against the church, our holy mother,
    So wilfully dost spurn; and force perforce
    Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop
    Of Canterbury, from that holy see?
    This, in our foresaid holy father's name,
    Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.

KING JOHN    What earthy name to interrogatories
    Can task the free breath of a sacred king?
    Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name
    So slight, unworthy and ridiculous,
    To charge me to an answer, as the pope.
    Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England
    Add thus much more, that no Italian priest
    Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;
    But as we, under heaven, are supreme head,
    So under Him that great supremacy,
    Where we do reign, we will alone uphold,
    Without the assistance of a mortal hand:
    So tell the pope, all reverence set apart
    To him and his usurp'd authority.

KING PHILIP    Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.

KING JOHN    Though you and all the kings of Christendom
    Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
    Dreading the curse that money may buy out;
    And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,
    Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,
    Who in that sale sells pardon from himself,
    Though you and all the rest so grossly led
    This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish,
    Yet I alone, alone do me oppose
    Against the pope and count his friends my foes.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    Then, by the lawful power that I have,
    Thou shalt stand cursed and excommunicate.
    And blessed shall he be that doth revolt
    From his allegiance to an heretic;
    And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,
    Canonized and worshipped as a saint,
    That takes away by any secret course
    Thy hateful life.

CONSTANCE                      O, lawful let it be
    That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!
    Good father cardinal, cry thou amen
    To my keen curses; for without my wrong
    There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse.

CONSTANCE    And for mine too: when law can do no right,
    Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong:
    Law cannot give my child his kingdom here,
    For he that holds his kingdom holds the law;
    Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,
    How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?

CARDINAL PANDULPH    Philip of France, on peril of a curse,
    Let go the hand of that arch-heretic;
    And raise the power of France upon his head,
    Unless he do submit himself to Rome.

QUEEN ELINOR    Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go thy hand.

CONSTANCE    Look to that, devil; lest that France repent,
    And by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul.

AUSTRIA    King Philip, listen to the cardinal.

BASTARD    And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs.

AUSTRIA    Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, Because--

BASTARD            Your breeches best may carry them.

KING JOHN    Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal?

CONSTANCE    What should he say, but as the cardinal?

LEWIS    Bethink you, father; for the difference
    Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome,
    Or the light loss of England for a friend:
    Forego the easier.

BLANCH                      That's the curse of Rome.

CONSTANCE    O Lewis, stand fast! the devil tempts thee here
    In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.

BLANCH    The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,
    But from her need.

CONSTANCE                      O, if thou grant my need,
    Which only lives but by the death of faith,
    That need must needs infer this principle,
    That faith would live again by death of need.
    O then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up;
    Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down!

KING JOHN    The king is moved, and answers not to this.

CONSTANCE    O, be removed from him, and answer well!

AUSTRIA    Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.

BASTARD    Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout.

KING PHILIP    I am perplex'd, and know not what to say.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    What canst thou say but will perplex thee more,
    If thou stand excommunicate and cursed?

KING PHILIP    Good reverend father, make my person yours,
    And tell me how you would bestow yourself.
    This royal hand and mine are newly knit,
    And the conjunction of our inward souls
    Married in league, coupled and linked together
    With all religious strength of sacred vows;
    The latest breath that gave the sound of words
    Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love
    Between our kingdoms and our royal selves,
    And even before this truce, but new before,
    No longer than we well could wash our hands
    To clap this royal bargain up of peace,
    Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over-stain'd
    With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint
    The fearful difference of incensed kings:
    And shall these hands, so lately purged of blood,
    So newly join'd in love, so strong in both,
    Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet?
    Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven,
    Make such unconstant children of ourselves,
    As now again to snatch our palm from palm,
    Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed
    Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,
    And make a riot on the gentle brow
    Of true sincerity? O, holy sir,
    My reverend father, let it not be so!
    Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose
    Some gentle order; and then we shall be blest
    To do your pleasure and continue friends.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    All form is formless, order orderless,
    Save what is opposite to England's love.
    Therefore to arms! be champion of our church,
    Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse,
    A mother's curse, on her revolting son.
    France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,
    A chafed lion by the mortal paw,
    A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
    Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.

KING PHILIP    I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    So makest thou faith an enemy to faith;
    And like a civil war set'st oath to oath,
    Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow
    First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd,
    That is, to be the champion of our church!
    What since thou sworest is sworn against thyself
    And may not be performed by thyself,
    For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss
    Is not amiss when it is truly done,
    And being not done, where doing tends to ill,
    The truth is then most done not doing it:
    The better act of purposes mistook
    Is to mistake again; though indirect,
    Yet indirection thereby grows direct,
    And falsehood falsehood cures, as fire cools fire
    Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd.
    It is religion that doth make vows kept;
    But thou hast sworn against religion,
    By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st,
    And makest an oath the surety for thy truth
    Against an oath: the truth thou art unsure
    To swear, swears only not to be forsworn;
    Else what a mockery should it be to swear!
    But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;
    And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear.
    Therefore thy later vows against thy first
    Is in thyself rebellion to thyself;
    And better conquest never canst thou make
    Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
    Against these giddy loose suggestions:
    Upon which better part our prayers come in,
    If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know
    The peril of our curses light on thee
    So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off,
    But in despair die under their black weight.

AUSTRIA    Rebellion, flat rebellion!

BASTARD    Will't not be?
    Will not a calfs-skin stop that mouth of thine?

LEWIS    Father, to arms!

BLANCH                      Upon thy wedding-day?
    Against the blood that thou hast married?
    What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men?
    Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,
    Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?
    O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new
    Is husband in my mouth! even for that name,
    Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,
    Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
    Against mine uncle.

CONSTANCE    O, upon my knee,
    Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
    Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
    Forethought by heaven!

BLANCH    Now shall I see thy love: what motive may
    Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?

CONSTANCE    That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
    His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!

LEWIS    I muse your majesty doth seem so cold,
    When such profound respects do pull you on.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    I will denounce a curse upon his head.

KING PHILIP    Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee.

CONSTANCE    O fair return of banish'd majesty!

QUEEN ELINOR    O foul revolt of French inconstancy!

KING JOHN    France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.

BASTARD    Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,
    Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue.

BLANCH    The sun's o'ercast with blood: fair day, adieu!
    Which is the side that I must go withal?
    I am with both: each army hath a hand;
    And in their rage, I having hold of both,
    They swirl asunder and dismember me.
    Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win;
    Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose;
    Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;
    Grandam, I will not wish thy fortunes thrive:
    Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose
    Assured loss before the match be play'd.

LEWIS    Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.

BLANCH    There where my fortune lives, there my life dies.

KING JOHN    Cousin, go draw our puissance together.

    [Exit BASTARD]

    France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath;
    A rage whose heat hath this condition,
    That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,
    The blood, and dearest-valued blood, of France.

KING PHILIP    Thy rage sham burn thee up, and thou shalt turn
    To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire:
    Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.

KING JOHN    No more than he that threats. To arms let's hie!

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE II    The same. Plains near Angiers.


    [Alarums, excursions. Enter the BASTARD, with
    AUSTRIA'S head]

BASTARD    Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot;
    Some airy devil hovers in the sky
    And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there,
    While Philip breathes.

    [Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT]

KING JOHN    Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up:
    My mother is assailed in our tent,
    And ta'en, I fear.

BASTARD                      My lord, I rescued her;
    Her highness is in safety, fear you not:
    But on, my liege; for very little pains
    Will bring this labour to an happy end.

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE III    The same.


    [Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter KING JOHN,
    QUEEN ELINOR, ARTHUR, the BASTARD, HUBERT,
    and Lords]

KING JOHN    [To QUEEN ELINOR]  So shall it be; your grace shall
    stay behind
    So strongly guarded.

    [To ARTHUR]

        Cousin, look not sad:
    Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will
    As dear be to thee as thy father was.

ARTHUR    O, this will make my mother die with grief!

KING JOHN    [To the BASTARD]  Cousin, away for England!
    haste before:
    And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
    Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels
    Set at liberty: the fat ribs of peace
    Must by the hungry now be fed upon:
    Use our commission in his utmost force.

BASTARD    Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back,
    When gold and silver becks me to come on.
    I leave your highness. Grandam, I will pray,
    If ever I remember to be holy,
    For your fair safety; so, I kiss your hand.

ELINOR    Farewell, gentle cousin.

KING JOHN    Coz, farewell.

    [Exit the BASTARD]

QUEEN ELINOR    Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.

KING JOHN    Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
    We owe thee much! within this wall of flesh
    There is a soul counts thee her creditor
    And with advantage means to pay thy love:
    And my good friend, thy voluntary oath
    Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
    Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,
    But I will fit it with some better time.
    By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed
    To say what good respect I have of thee.

HUBERT    I am much bounden to your majesty.

KING JOHN    Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,
    But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,
    Yet it shall come from me to do thee good.
    I had a thing to say, but let it go:
    The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,
    Attended with the pleasures of the world,
    Is all too wanton and too full of gawds
    To give me audience: if the midnight bell
    Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
    Sound on into the drowsy race of night;
    If this same were a churchyard where we stand,
    And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs,
    Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
    Had baked thy blood and made it heavy-thick,
    Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
    Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes
    And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
    A passion hateful to my purposes,
    Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
    Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
    Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
    Without eyes, ears and harmful sound of words;
    Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
    I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
    But, ah, I will not! yet I love thee well;
    And, by my troth, I think thou lovest me well.

HUBERT    So well, that what you bid me undertake,
    Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
    By heaven, I would do it.

KING JOHN    Do not I know thou wouldst?
    Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
    On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend,
    He is a very serpent in my way;
    And whereso'er this foot of mine doth tread,
    He lies before me: dost thou understand me?
    Thou art his keeper.

HUBERT    And I'll keep him so,
    That he shall not offend your majesty.

KING JOHN    Death.

HUBERT    My lord?

KING JOHN           A grave.

HUBERT                      He shall not live.

KING JOHN    Enough.
    I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee;
    Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
    Remember. Madam, fare you well:
    I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.

ELINOR    My blessing go with thee!

KING JOHN    For England, cousin, go:
    Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
    With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho!

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE IV    The same. KING PHILIP'S tent.


    [Enter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, CARDINAL PANDULPH,
    and Attendants]

KING PHILIP    So, by a roaring tempest on the flood,
    A whole armado of convicted sail
    Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well.

KING PHILIP    What can go well, when we have run so ill?
    Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?
    Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain?
    And bloody England into England gone,
    O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?

LEWIS    What he hath won, that hath he fortified:
    So hot a speed with such advice disposed,
    Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
    Doth want example: who hath read or heard
    Of any kindred action like to this?

KING PHILIP    Well could I bear that England had this praise,
    So we could find some pattern of our shame.

    [Enter CONSTANCE]

    Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
    Holding the eternal spirit against her will,
    In the vile prison of afflicted breath.
    I prithee, lady, go away with me.

CONSTANCE    Lo, now I now see the issue of your peace.

KING PHILIP    Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance!

CONSTANCE    No, I defy all counsel, all redress,
    But that which ends all counsel, true redress,
    Death, death; O amiable lovely death!
    Thou odouriferous stench! sound rottenness!
    Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
    Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
    And I will kiss thy detestable bones
    And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows
    And ring these fingers with thy household worms
    And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust
    And be a carrion monster like thyself:
    Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smilest
    And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love,
    O, come to me!

KING PHILIP                      O fair affliction, peace!

CONSTANCE    No, no, I will not, having breath to cry:
    O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
    Then with a passion would I shake the world;
    And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy
    Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
    Which scorns a modern invocation.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.

CONSTANCE    Thou art not holy to belie me so;
    I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;
    My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;
    Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:
    I am not mad: I would to heaven I were!
    For then, 'tis like I should forget myself:
    O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
    Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
    And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal;
    For being not mad but sensible of grief,
    My reasonable part produces reason
    How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
    And teaches me to kill or hang myself:
    If I were mad, I should forget my son,
    Or madly think a babe of clouts were he:
    I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
    The different plague of each calamity.

KING PHILIP    Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note
    In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
    Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen,
    Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
    Do glue themselves in sociable grief,
    Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
    Sticking together in calamity.

CONSTANCE    To England, if you will.

KING PHILIP    Bind up your hairs.

CONSTANCE    Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?
    I tore them from their bonds and cried aloud
    'O that these hands could so redeem my son,
    As they have given these hairs their liberty!'
    But now I envy at their liberty,
    And will again commit them to their bonds,
    Because my poor child is a prisoner.
    And, father cardinal, I have heard you say
    That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:
    If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
    For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
    To him that did but yesterday suspire,
    There was not such a gracious creature born.
    But now will canker-sorrow eat my bud
    And chase the native beauty from his cheek
    And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
    As dim and meagre as an ague's fit,
    And so he'll die; and, rising so again,
    When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
    I shall not know him: therefore never, never
    Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    You hold too heinous a respect of grief.

CONSTANCE    He talks to me that never had a son.

KING PHILIP    You are as fond of grief as of your child.

CONSTANCE    Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
    Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
    Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
    Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
    Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
    Then, have I reason to be fond of grief?
    Fare you well: had you such a loss as I,
    I could give better comfort than you do.
    I will not keep this form upon my head,
    When there is such disorder in my wit.
    O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
    My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
    My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!

    [Exit]

KING PHILIP    I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.

    [Exit]

LEWIS    There's nothing in this world can make me joy:
    Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale
    Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;
    And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste
    That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    Before the curing of a strong disease,
    Even in the instant of repair and health,
    The fit is strongest; evils that take leave,
    On their departure most of all show evil:
    What have you lost by losing of this day?

LEWIS    All days of glory, joy and happiness.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    If you had won it, certainly you had.
    No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,
    She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
    'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost
    In this which he accounts so clearly won:
    Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner?

LEWIS    As heartily as he is glad he hath him.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
    Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;
    For even the breath of what I mean to speak
    Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
    Out of the path which shall directly lead
    Thy foot to England's throne; and therefore mark.
    John hath seized Arthur; and it cannot be
    That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
    The misplaced John should entertain an hour,
    One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.
    A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand
    Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd;
    And he that stands upon a slippery place
    Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up:
    That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall;
    So be it, for it cannot be but so.

LEWIS    But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?

CARDINAL PANDULPH    You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,
    May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

LEWIS    And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    How green you are and fresh in this old world!
    John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;
    For he that steeps his safety in true blood
    Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.
    This act so evilly born shall cool the hearts
    Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,
    That none so small advantage shall step forth
    To cheque his reign, but they will cherish it;
    No natural exhalation in the sky,
    No scope of nature, no distemper'd day,
    No common wind, no customed event,
    But they will pluck away his natural cause
    And call them meteors, prodigies and signs,
    Abortives, presages and tongues of heaven,
    Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

LEWIS    May be he will not touch young Arthur's life,
    But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
    If that young Arthur be not gone already,
    Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts
    Of all his people shall revolt from him
    And kiss the lips of unacquainted change
    And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath
    Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
    Methinks I see this hurly all on foot:
    And, O, what better matter breeds for you
    Than I have named! The bastard Faulconbridge
    Is now in England, ransacking the church,
    Offending charity: if but a dozen French
    Were there in arms, they would be as a call
    To train ten thousand English to their side,
    Or as a little snow, tumbled about,
    Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,
    Go with me to the king: 'tis wonderful
    What may be wrought out of their discontent,
    Now that their souls are topful of offence.
    For England go: I will whet on the king.

LEWIS    Strong reasons make strong actions: let us go:
    If you say ay, the king will not say no.

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT IV



SCENE I    A room in a castle.


    [Enter HUBERT and Executioners]

HUBERT    Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand
    Within the arras: when I strike my foot
    Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
    And bind the boy which you shall find with me
    Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

First Executioner    I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

HUBERT    Uncleanly scruples! fear not you: look to't.

    [Exeunt Executioners]

    Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

    [Enter ARTHUR]

ARTHUR    Good morrow, Hubert.

HUBERT    Good morrow, little prince.

ARTHUR    As little prince, having so great a title
    To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.

HUBERT    Indeed, I have been merrier.

ARTHUR    Mercy on me!
    Methinks no body should be sad but I:
    Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
    Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
    Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
    So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
    I should be as merry as the day is long;
    And so I would be here, but that I doubt
    My uncle practises more harm to me:
    He is afraid of me and I of him:
    Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
    No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven
    I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

HUBERT    [Aside]  If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
    He will awake my mercy which lies dead:
    Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.

ARTHUR    Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
    In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
    That I might sit all night and watch with you:
    I warrant I love you more than you do me.

HUBERT    [Aside]  His words do take possession of my bosom.
    Read here, young Arthur.

    [Showing a paper]

    [Aside]

           How now, foolish rheum!
    Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
    I must be brief, lest resolution drop
    Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.
    Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?

ARTHUR    Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:
    Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?

HUBERT    Young boy, I must.

ARTHUR                      And will you?

HUBERT    And I will.

ARTHUR    Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
    I knit my handercher about your brows,
    The best I had, a princess wrought it me,
    And I did never ask it you again;
    And with my hand at midnight held your head,
    And like the watchful minutes to the hour,
    Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time,
    Saying, 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'
    Or 'What good love may I perform for you?'
    Many a poor man's son would have lien still
    And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
    But you at your sick service had a prince.
    Nay, you may think my love was crafty love
    And call it cunning: do, an if you will:
    If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill,
    Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes?
    These eyes that never did nor never shall
    So much as frown on you.

HUBERT    I have sworn to do it;
    And with hot irons must I burn them out.

ARTHUR    Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!
    The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
    Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears
    And quench his fiery indignation
    Even in the matter of mine innocence;
    Nay, after that, consume away in rust
    But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
    Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
    An if an angel should have come to me
    And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
    I would not have believed him,--no tongue but Hubert's.

HUBERT    Come forth.

    [Stamps]

    [Re-enter Executioners, with a cord, irons, &c]

    Do as I bid you do.

ARTHUR    O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out
    Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

HUBERT    Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.

ARTHUR    Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough?
    I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
    For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
    Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away,
    And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
    I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
    Nor look upon the iron angerly:
    Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
    Whatever torment you do put me to.

HUBERT    Go, stand within; let me alone with him.

First Executioner    I am best pleased to be from such a deed.

    [Exeunt Executioners]

ARTHUR    Alas, I then have chid away my friend!
    He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart:
    Let him come back, that his compassion may
    Give life to yours.

HUBERT    Come, boy, prepare yourself.

ARTHUR    Is there no remedy?

HUBERT    None, but to lose your eyes.

ARTHUR    O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours,
    A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
    Any annoyance in that precious sense!
    Then feeling what small things are boisterous there,
    Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

HUBERT    Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue.

ARTHUR    Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
    Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
    Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert;
    Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
    So I may keep mine eyes: O, spare mine eyes.
    Though to no use but still to look on you!
    Lo, by my truth, the instrument is cold
    And would not harm me.

HUBERT    I can heat it, boy.

ARTHUR    No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with grief,
    Being create for comfort, to be used
    In undeserved extremes: see else yourself;
    There is no malice in this burning coal;
    The breath of heaven has blown his spirit out
    And strew'd repentent ashes on his head.

HUBERT    But with my breath I can revive it, boy.

ARTHUR    An if you do, you will but make it blush
    And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert:
    Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes;
    And like a dog that is compell'd to fight,
    Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
    All things that you should use to do me wrong
    Deny their office: only you do lack
    That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,
    Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.

HUBERT    Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye
    For all the treasure that thine uncle owes:
    Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy,
    With this same very iron to burn them out.

ARTHUR    O, now you look like Hubert! all this while
    You were disguised.

HUBERT    Peace; no more. Adieu.
    Your uncle must not know but you are dead;
    I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports:
    And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure,
    That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
    Will not offend thee.

ARTHUR    O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.

HUBERT    Silence; no more: go closely in with me:
    Much danger do I undergo for thee.

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT IV



SCENE II    KING JOHN'S palace.


    [Enter KING JOHN, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other Lords]

KING JOHN    Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,
    And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.

PEMBROKE    This 'once again,' but that your highness pleased,
    Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before,
    And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off,
    The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;
    Fresh expectation troubled not the land
    With any long'd-for change or better state.

SALISBURY    Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp,
    To guard a title that was rich before,
    To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
    To throw a perfume on the violet,
    To smooth the ice, or add another hue
    Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
    To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
    Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

PEMBROKE    But that your royal pleasure must be done,
    This act is as an ancient tale new told,
    And in the last repeating troublesome,
    Being urged at a time unseasonable.

SALISBURY    In this the antique and well noted face
    Of plain old form is much disfigured;
    And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,
    It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,
    Startles and frights consideration,
    Makes sound opinion sick and truth suspected,
    For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.

PEMBROKE    When workmen strive to do better than well,
    They do confound their skill in covetousness;
    And oftentimes excusing of a fault
    Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse,
    As patches set upon a little breach
    Discredit more in hiding of the fault
    Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.

SALISBURY    To this effect, before you were new crown'd,
    We breathed our counsel: but it pleased your highness
    To overbear it, and we are all well pleased,
    Since all and every part of what we would
    Doth make a stand at what your highness will.

KING JOHN    Some reasons of this double coronation
    I have possess'd you with and think them strong;
    And more, more strong, then lesser is my fear,
    I shall indue you with: meantime but ask
    What you would have reform'd that is not well,
    And well shall you perceive how willingly
    I will both hear and grant you your requests.

PEMBROKE    Then I, as one that am the tongue of these,
    To sound the purpose of all their hearts,
    Both for myself and them, but, chief of all,
    Your safety, for the which myself and them
    Bend their best studies, heartily request
    The enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint
    Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent
    To break into this dangerous argument,--
    If what in rest you have in right you hold,
    Why then your fears, which, as they say, attend
    The steps of wrong, should move you to mew up
    Your tender kinsman and to choke his days
    With barbarous ignorance and deny his youth
    The rich advantage of good exercise?
    That the time's enemies may not have this
    To grace occasions, let it be our suit
    That you have bid us ask his liberty;
    Which for our goods we do no further ask
    Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,
    Counts it your weal he have his liberty.

    [Enter HUBERT]

KING JOHN    Let it be so: I do commit his youth
    To your direction. Hubert, what news with you?

    [Taking him apart]

PEMBROKE    This is the man should do the bloody deed;
    He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine:
    The image of a wicked heinous fault
    Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
    Does show the mood of a much troubled breast;
    And I do fearfully believe 'tis done,
    What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.

SALISBURY    The colour of the king doth come and go
    Between his purpose and his conscience,
    Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set:
    His passion is so ripe, it needs must break.

PEMBROKE    And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence
    The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.

KING JOHN    We cannot hold mortality's strong hand:
    Good lords, although my will to give is living,
    The suit which you demand is gone and dead:
    He tells us Arthur is deceased to-night.

SALISBURY    Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past cure.

PEMBROKE    Indeed we heard how near his death he was
    Before the child himself felt he was sick:
    This must be answer'd either here or hence.

KING JOHN    Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?
    Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
    Have I commandment on the pulse of life?

SALISBURY    It is apparent foul play; and 'tis shame
    That greatness should so grossly offer it:
    So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell.

PEMBROKE    Stay yet, Lord Salisbury; I'll go with thee,
    And find the inheritance of this poor child,
    His little kingdom of a forced grave.
    That blood which owed the breadth of all this isle,
    Three foot of it doth hold: bad world the while!
    This must not be thus borne: this will break out
    To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt.

    [Exeunt Lords]

KING JOHN    They burn in indignation. I repent:
    There is no sure foundation set on blood,
    No certain life achieved by others' death.

    [Enter a Messenger]

    A fearful eye thou hast: where is that blood
    That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?
    So foul a sky clears not without a storm:
    Pour down thy weather: how goes all in France?

Messenger    From France to England. Never such a power
    For any foreign preparation
    Was levied in the body of a land.
    The copy of your speed is learn'd by them;
    For when you should be told they do prepare,
    The tidings come that they are all arrived.

KING JOHN    O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?
    Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care,
    That such an army could be drawn in France,
    And she not hear of it?

Messenger    My liege, her ear
    Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April died
    Your noble mother: and, as I hear, my lord,
    The Lady Constance in a frenzy died
    Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue
    I idly heard; if true or false I know not.

KING JOHN    Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
    O, make a league with me, till I have pleased
    My discontented peers! What! mother dead!
    How wildly then walks my estate in France!
    Under whose conduct came those powers of France
    That thou for truth givest out are landed here?

Messenger    Under the Dauphin.

KING JOHN                      Thou hast made me giddy
    With these ill tidings.

    [Enter the BASTARD and PETER of Pomfret]

          Now, what says the world
    To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff
    My head with more ill news, for it is full.

BASTARD    But if you be afeard to hear the worst,
    Then let the worst unheard fall on your bead.

KING JOHN    Bear with me cousin, for I was amazed
    Under the tide: but now I breathe again
    Aloft the flood, and can give audience
    To any tongue, speak it of what it will.

BASTARD    How I have sped among the clergymen,
    The sums I have collected shall express.
    But as I travell'd hither through the land,
    I find the people strangely fantasied;
    Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams,
    Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear:
    And here a prophet, that I brought with me
    From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
    With many hundreds treading on his heels;
    To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes,
    That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,
    Your highness should deliver up your crown.

KING JOHN    Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?

PETER    Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.

KING JOHN    Hubert, away with him; imprison him;
    And on that day at noon whereon he says
    I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd.
    Deliver him to safety; and return,
    For I must use thee.

    [Exeunt HUBERT with PETER]

        O my gentle cousin,
    Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arrived?

BASTARD    The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it:
    Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,
    With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,
    And others more, going to seek the grave
    Of Arthur, who they say is kill'd to-night
    On your suggestion.

KING JOHN    Gentle kinsman, go,
    And thrust thyself into their companies:
    I have a way to win their loves again;
    Bring them before me.

BASTARD    I will seek them out.

KING JOHN    Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.
    O, let me have no subject enemies,
    When adverse foreigners affright my towns
    With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!
    Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels,
    And fly like thought from them to me again.

BASTARD    The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.

    [Exit]

KING JOHN    Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman.
    Go after him; for he perhaps shall need
    Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
    And be thou he.

Messenger                      With all my heart, my liege.

    [Exit]

KING JOHN    My mother dead!

    [Re-enter HUBERT]

HUBERT    My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night;
    Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about
    The other four in wondrous motion.

KING JOHN    Five moons!

HUBERT    Old men and beldams in the streets
    Do prophesy upon it dangerously:
    Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths:
    And when they talk of him, they shake their heads
    And whisper one another in the ear;
    And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist,
    Whilst he that hears makes fearful action,
    With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
    I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
    The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
    With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
    Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,
    Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste
    Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,
    Told of a many thousand warlike French
    That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent:
    Another lean unwash'd artificer
    Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur's death.

KING JOHN    Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears?
    Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
    Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had a mighty cause
    To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.

HUBERT    No had, my lord! why, did you not provoke me?

KING JOHN    It is the curse of kings to be attended
    By slaves that take their humours for a warrant
    To break within the bloody house of life,
    And on the winking of authority
    To understand a law, to know the meaning
    Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns
    More upon humour than advised respect.

HUBERT    Here is your hand and seal for what I did.

KING JOHN    O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth
    Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
    Witness against us to damnation!
    How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
    Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,
    A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
    Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame,
    This murder had not come into my mind:
    But taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,
    Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
    Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,
    I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
    And thou, to be endeared to a king,
    Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.

HUBERT    My lord--

KING JOHN    Hadst thou but shook thy head or made a pause
    When I spake darkly what I purposed,
    Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
    As bid me tell my tale in express words,
    Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,
    And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me:
    But thou didst understand me by my signs
    And didst in signs again parley with sin;
    Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,
    And consequently thy rude hand to act
    The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name.
    Out of my sight, and never see me more!
    My nobles leave me; and my state is braved,
    Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers:
    Nay, in the body of this fleshly land,
    This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
    Hostility and civil tumult reigns
    Between my conscience and my cousin's death.

HUBERT    Arm you against your other enemies,
    I'll make a peace between your soul and you.
    Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine
    Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,
    Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
    Within this bosom never enter'd yet
    The dreadful motion of a murderous thought;
    And you have slander'd nature in my form,
    Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,
    Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
    Than to be butcher of an innocent child.

KING JOHN    Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,
    Throw this report on their incensed rage,
    And make them tame to their obedience!
    Forgive the comment that my passion made
    Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
    And foul imaginary eyes of blood
    Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
    O, answer not, but to my closet bring
    The angry lords with all expedient haste.
    I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT IV



SCENE III    Before the castle.


    [Enter ARTHUR, on the walls]

ARTHUR    The wall is high, and yet will I leap down:
    Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!
    There's few or none do know me: if they did,
    This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite.
    I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.
    If I get down, and do not break my limbs,
    I'll find a thousand shifts to get away:
    As good to die and go, as die and stay.

    [Leaps down]

    O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones:
    Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!

    [Dies]

    [Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT]

SALISBURY    Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury:
    It is our safety, and we must embrace
    This gentle offer of the perilous time.

PEMBROKE    Who brought that letter from the cardinal?

SALISBURY    The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,
    Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love
    Is much more general than these lines import.

BIGOT    To-morrow morning let us meet him then.

SALISBURY    Or rather then set forward; for 'twill be
    Two long days' journey, lords, or ere we meet.

    [Enter the BASTARD]

BASTARD    Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!
    The king by me requests your presence straight.

SALISBURY    The king hath dispossess'd himself of us:
    We will not line his thin bestained cloak
    With our pure honours, nor attend the foot
    That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks.
    Return and tell him so: we know the worst.

BASTARD    Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best.

SALISBURY    Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.

BASTARD    But there is little reason in your grief;
    Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now.

PEMBROKE    Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.

BASTARD    'Tis true, to hurt his master, no man else.

SALISBURY    This is the prison. What is he lies here?

    [Seeing ARTHUR]

PEMBROKE    O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!
    The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.

SALISBURY    Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
    Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.

BIGOT    Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,
    Found it too precious-princely for a grave.

SALISBURY    Sir Richard, what think you? have you beheld,
    Or have you read or heard? or could you think?
    Or do you almost think, although you see,
    That you do see? could thought, without this object,
    Form such another? This is the very top,
    The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
    Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
    The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,
    That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage
    Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

PEMBROKE    All murders past do stand excused in this:
    And this, so sole and so unmatchable,
    Shall give a holiness, a purity,
    To the yet unbegotten sin of times;
    And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
    Exampled by this heinous spectacle.

BASTARD    It is a damned and a bloody work;
    The graceless action of a heavy hand,
    If that it be the work of any hand.

SALISBURY    If that it be the work of any hand!
    We had a kind of light what would ensue:
    It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;
    The practise and the purpose of the king:
    From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
    Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
    And breathing to his breathless excellence
    The incense of a vow, a holy vow,
    Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
    Never to be infected with delight,
    Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
    Till I have set a glory to this hand,
    By giving it the worship of revenge.


PEMBROKE    |
    |  Our souls religiously confirm thy words.
BIGOT    |


    [Enter HUBERT]

HUBERT    Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you:
    Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you.

SALISBURY    O, he is old and blushes not at death.
    Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!

HUBERT    I am no villain.

SALISBURY                      Must I rob the law?

    [Drawing his sword]

BASTARD    Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.

SALISBURY    Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin.

HUBERT    Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;
    By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours:
    I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
    Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
    Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
    Your worth, your greatness and nobility.

BIGOT    Out, dunghill! darest thou brave a nobleman?

HUBERT    Not for my life: but yet I dare defend
    My innocent life against an emperor.

SALISBURY    Thou art a murderer.

HUBERT    Do not prove me so;
    Yet I am none: whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
    Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.

PEMBROKE    Cut him to pieces.

BASTARD                      Keep the peace, I say.

SALISBURY    Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.

BASTARD    Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury:
    If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
    Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
    I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;
    Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
    That you shall think the devil is come from hell.

BIGOT    What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?
    Second a villain and a murderer?

HUBERT    Lord Bigot, I am none.

BIGOT    Who kill'd this prince?

HUBERT    'Tis not an hour since I left him well:
    I honour'd him, I loved him, and will weep
    My date of life out for his sweet life's loss.

SALISBURY    Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
    For villany is not without such rheum;
    And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
    Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
    Away with me, all you whose souls abhor
    The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;
    For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

BIGOT    Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!

PEMBROKE    There tell the king he may inquire us out.

    [Exeunt Lords]

BASTARD    Here's a good world! Knew you of this fair work?
    Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
    Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
    Art thou damn'd, Hubert.

HUBERT    Do but hear me, sir.

BASTARD    Ha! I'll tell thee what;
    Thou'rt damn'd as black--nay, nothing is so black;
    Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer:
    There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
    As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.

HUBERT    Upon my soul--

BASTARD                      If thou didst but consent
    To this most cruel act, do but despair;
    And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread
    That ever spider twisted from her womb
    Will serve to strangle thee, a rush will be a beam
    To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,
    Put but a little water in a spoon,
    And it shall be as all the ocean,
    Enough to stifle such a villain up.
    I do suspect thee very grievously.

HUBERT    If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,
    Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
    Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
    Let hell want pains enough to torture me.
    I left him well.

BASTARD                      Go, bear him in thine arms.
    I am amazed, methinks, and lose my way
    Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
    How easy dost thou take all England up!
    From forth this morsel of dead royalty,
    The life, the right and truth of all this realm
    Is fled to heaven; and England now is left
    To tug and scamble and to part by the teeth
    The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.
    Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty
    Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest
    And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
    Now powers from home and discontents at home
    Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,
    As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast,
    The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
    Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
    Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child
    And follow me with speed: I'll to the king:
    A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
    And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.

    [Exeunt]



    KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE I    KING JOHN'S palace.


    [Enter KING JOHN, CARDINAL PANDULPH, and Attendants]

KING JOHN    Thus have I yielded up into your hand
    The circle of my glory.

    [Giving the crown]

CARDINAL PANDULPH    Take again
    From this my hand, as holding of the pope
    Your sovereign greatness and authority.

KING JOHN    Now keep your holy word: go meet the French,
    And from his holiness use all your power
    To stop their marches 'fore we are inflamed.
    Our discontented counties do revolt;
    Our people quarrel with obedience,
    Swearing allegiance and the love of soul
    To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.
    This inundation of mistemper'd humour
    Rests by you only to be qualified:
    Then pause not; for the present time's so sick,
    That present medicine must be minister'd,
    Or overthrow incurable ensues.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    It was my breath that blew this tempest up,
    Upon your stubborn usage of the pope;
    But since you are a gentle convertite,
    My tongue shall hush again this storm of war
    And make fair weather in your blustering land.
    On this Ascension-day, remember well,
    Upon your oath of service to the pope,
    Go I to make the French lay down their arms.

    [Exit]

KING JOHN    Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet
    Say that before Ascension-day at noon
    My crown I should give off? Even so I have:
    I did suppose it should be on constraint:
    But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.

    [Enter the BASTARD]

BASTARD    All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out
    But Dover castle: London hath received,
    Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:
    Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
    To offer service to your enemy,
    And wild amazement hurries up and down
    The little number of your doubtful friends.

KING JOHN    Would not my lords return to me again,
    After they heard young Arthur was alive?

BASTARD    They found him dead and cast into the streets,
    An empty casket, where the jewel of life
    By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away.

KING JOHN    That villain Hubert told me he did live.

BASTARD    So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
    But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
    Be great in act, as you have been in thought;
    Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
    Govern the motion of a kingly eye:
    Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
    Threaten the threatener and outface the brow
    Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,
    That borrow their behaviors from the great,
    Grow great by your example and put on
    The dauntless spirit of resolution.
    Away, and glister like the god of war,
    When he intendeth to become the field:
    Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
    What, shall they seek the lion in his den,
    And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
    O, let it not be said: forage, and run
    To meet displeasure farther from the doors,
    And grapple with him ere he comes so nigh.

KING JOHN    The legate of the pope hath been with me,
    And I have made a happy peace with him;
    And he hath promised to dismiss the powers
    Led by the Dauphin.

BASTARD    O inglorious league!
    Shall we, upon the footing of our land,
    Send fair-play orders and make compromise,
    Insinuation, parley and base truce
    To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy,
    A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields,
    And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
    Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
    And find no cheque? Let us, my liege, to arms:
    Perchance the cardinal cannot make your peace;
    Or if he do, let it at least be said
    They saw we had a purpose of defence.

KING JOHN    Have thou the ordering of this present time.

BASTARD    Away, then, with good courage! yet, I know,
    Our party may well meet a prouder foe.

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE II    LEWIS's camp at St. Edmundsbury.


    [Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE,
    BIGOT, and Soldiers]

LEWIS    My Lord Melun, let this be copied out,
    And keep it safe for our remembrance:
    Return the precedent to these lords again;
    That, having our fair order written down,
    Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes,
    May know wherefore we took the sacrament
    And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.

SALISBURY    Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
    And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
    A voluntary zeal and an unurged faith
    To your proceedings; yet believe me, prince,
    I am not glad that such a sore of time
    Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt,
    And heal the inveterate canker of one wound
    By making many. O, it grieves my soul,
    That I must draw this metal from my side
    To be a widow-maker! O, and there
    Where honourable rescue and defence
    Cries out upon the name of Salisbury!
    But such is the infection of the time,
    That, for the health and physic of our right,
    We cannot deal but with the very hand
    Of stern injustice and confused wrong.
    And is't not pity, O my grieved friends,
    That we, the sons and children of this isle,
    Were born to see so sad an hour as this;
    Wherein we step after a stranger march
    Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
    Her enemies' ranks,--I must withdraw and weep
    Upon the spot of this enforced cause,--
    To grace the gentry of a land remote,
    And follow unacquainted colours here?
    What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove!
    That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
    Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,
    And grapple thee unto a pagan shore;
    Where these two Christian armies might combine
    The blood of malice in a vein of league,
    And not to spend it so unneighbourly!

LEWIS    A noble temper dost thou show in this;
    And great affections wrestling in thy bosom
    Doth make an earthquake of nobility.
    O, what a noble combat hast thou fought
    Between compulsion and a brave respect!
    Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
    That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks:
    My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
    Being an ordinary inundation;
    But this effusion of such manly drops,
    This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
    Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amazed
    Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
    Figured quite o'er with burning meteors.
    Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
    And with a great heart heave away the storm:
    Commend these waters to those baby eyes
    That never saw the giant world enraged;
    Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
    Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
    Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
    Into the purse of rich prosperity
    As Lewis himself: so, nobles, shall you all,
    That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.
    And even there, methinks, an angel spake:

    [Enter CARDINAL PANDULPH]

    Look, where the holy legate comes apace,
    To give us warrant from the hand of heaven
    And on our actions set the name of right
    With holy breath.

CARDINAL PANDULPH                      Hail, noble prince of France!
    The next is this, King John hath reconciled
    Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,
    That so stood out against the holy church,
    The great metropolis and see of Rome:
    Therefore thy threatening colours now wind up;
    And tame the savage spirit of wild war,
    That like a lion foster'd up at hand,
    It may lie gently at the foot of peace,
    And be no further harmful than in show.

LEWIS    Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back:
    I am too high-born to be propertied,
    To be a secondary at control,
    Or useful serving-man and instrument,
    To any sovereign state throughout the world.
    Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
    Between this chastised kingdom and myself,
    And brought in matter that should feed this fire;
    And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
    With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
    You taught me how to know the face of right,
    Acquainted me with interest to this land,
    Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;
    And come ye now to tell me John hath made
    His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
    I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,
    After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
    And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back
    Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
    Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne,
    What men provided, what munition sent,
    To underprop this action? Is't not I
    That undergo this charge? who else but I,
    And such as to my claim are liable,
    Sweat in this business and maintain this war?
    Have I not heard these islanders shout out
    'Vive le roi!' as I have bank'd their towns?
    Have I not here the best cards for the game,
    To win this easy match play'd for a crown?
    And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
    No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    You look but on the outside of this work.

LEWIS    Outside or inside, I will not return
    Till my attempt so much be glorified
    As to my ample hope was promised
    Before I drew this gallant head of war,
    And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world,
    To outlook conquest and to win renown
    Even in the jaws of danger and of death.

    [Trumpet sounds]

    What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

    [Enter the BASTARD, attended]

BASTARD    According to the fair play of the world,
    Let me have audience; I am sent to speak:
    My holy lord of Milan, from the king
    I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;
    And, as you answer, I do know the scope
    And warrant limited unto my tongue.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
    And will not temporize with my entreaties;
    He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.

BASTARD    By all the blood that ever fury breathed,
    The youth says well. Now hear our English king;
    For thus his royalty doth speak in me.
    He is prepared, and reason too he should:
    This apish and unmannerly approach,
    This harness'd masque and unadvised revel,
    This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops,
    The king doth smile at; and is well prepared
    To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,
    From out the circle of his territories.
    That hand which had the strength, even at your door,
    To cudgel you and make you take the hatch,
    To dive like buckets in concealed wells,
    To crouch in litter of your stable planks,
    To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks,
    To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out
    In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake
    Even at the crying of your nation's crow,
    Thinking his voice an armed Englishman;
    Shall that victorious hand be feebled here,
    That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
    No: know the gallant monarch is in arms
    And like an eagle o'er his aery towers,
    To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.
    And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
    You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
    Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;
    For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids
    Like Amazons come tripping after drums,
    Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,
    Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts
    To fierce and bloody inclination.

LEWIS    There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;
    We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;
    We hold our time too precious to be spent
    With such a brabbler.

CARDINAL PANDULPH    Give me leave to speak.

BASTARD    No, I will speak.

LEWIS                      We will attend to neither.
    Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war
    Plead for our interest and our being here.

BASTARD    Indeed your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
    And so shall you, being beaten: do but start
    An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
    And even at hand a drum is ready braced
    That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;
    Sound but another, and another shall
    As loud as thine rattle the welkin's ear
    And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand,
    Not trusting to this halting legate here,
    Whom he hath used rather for sport than need
    Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
    A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day
    To feast upon whole thousands of the French.

LEWIS    Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.

BASTARD    And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE III    The field of battle.


    [Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT]

KING JOHN    How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.

HUBERT    Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty?

KING JOHN    This fever, that hath troubled me so long,
    Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick!

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,
    Desires your majesty to leave the field
    And send him word by me which way you go.

KING JOHN    Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.

Messenger    Be of good comfort; for the great supply
    That was expected by the Dauphin here,
    Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands.
    This news was brought to Richard but even now:
    The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

KING JOHN    Ay me! this tyrant fever burns me up,
    And will not let me welcome this good news.
    Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight;
    Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE IV    Another part of the field.


    [Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT]

SALISBURY    I did not think the king so stored with friends.

PEMBROKE    Up once again; put spirit in the French:
    If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

SALISBURY    That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
    In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

PEMBROKE    They say King John sore sick hath left the field.

    [Enter MELUN, wounded]

MELUN    Lead me to the revolts of England here.

SALISBURY    When we were happy we had other names.

PEMBROKE    It is the Count Melun.

SALISBURY    Wounded to death.

MELUN    Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;
    Unthread the rude eye of rebellion
    And welcome home again discarded faith.
    Seek out King John and fall before his feet;
    For if the French be lords of this loud day,
    He means to recompense the pains you take
    By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn
    And I with him, and many moe with me,
    Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;
    Even on that altar where we swore to you
    Dear amity and everlasting love.

SALISBURY    May this be possible? may this be true?

MELUN    Have I not hideous death within my view,
    Retaining but a quantity of life,
    Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
    Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?
    What in the world should make me now deceive,
    Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
    Why should I then be false, since it is true
    That I must die here and live hence by truth?
    I say again, if Lewis do win the day,
    He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
    Behold another day break in the east:
    But even this night, whose black contagious breath
    Already smokes about the burning crest
    Of the old, feeble and day-wearied sun,
    Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,
    Paying the fine of rated treachery
    Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
    If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
    Commend me to one Hubert with your king:
    The love of him, and this respect besides,
    For that my grandsire was an Englishman,
    Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
    In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
    From forth the noise and rumour of the field,
    Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
    In peace, and part this body and my soul
    With contemplation and devout desires.

SALISBURY    We do believe thee: and beshrew my soul
    But I do love the favour and the form
    Of this most fair occasion, by the which
    We will untread the steps of damned flight,
    And like a bated and retired flood,
    Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
    Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd
    And cabby run on in obedience
    Even to our ocean, to our great King John.
    My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
    For I do see the cruel pangs of death
    Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight;
    And happy newness, that intends old right.

    [Exeunt, leading off MELUN]




    KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE V    The French camp.


    [Enter LEWIS and his train]

LEWIS    The sun of heaven methought was loath to set,
    But stay'd and made the western welkin blush,
    When English measure backward their own ground
    In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,
    When with a volley of our needless shot,
    After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
    And wound our tattering colours clearly up,
    Last in the field, and almost lords of it!

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    Where is my prince, the Dauphin?

LEWIS    Here: what news?

Messenger    The Count Melun is slain; the English lords
    By his persuasion are again fall'n off,
    And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,
    Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.

LEWIS    Ah, foul shrewd news! beshrew thy very heart!
    I did not think to be so sad to-night
    As this hath made me. Who was he that said
    King John did fly an hour or two before
    The stumbling night did part our weary powers?

Messenger    Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

LEWIS    Well; keep good quarter and good care to-night:
    The day shall not be up so soon as I,
    To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE VI    An open place in the neighbourhood of Swinstead Abbey.


    [Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally]

HUBERT    Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.

BASTARD    A friend. What art thou?

HUBERT    Of the part of England.

BASTARD    Whither dost thou go?

HUBERT    What's that to thee? why may not I demand
    Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?

BASTARD    Hubert, I think?

HUBERT                      Thou hast a perfect thought:
    I will upon all hazards well believe
    Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well.
    Who art thou?

BASTARD                      Who thou wilt: and if thou please,
    Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
    I come one way of the Plantagenets.

HUBERT    Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night
    Have done me shame: brave soldier, pardon me,
    That any accent breaking from thy tongue
    Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

BASTARD    Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?

HUBERT    Why, here walk I in the black brow of night,
    To find you out.

BASTARD                      Brief, then; and what's the news?

HUBERT    O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
    Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible.

BASTARD    Show me the very wound of this ill news:
    I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

HUBERT    The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk:
    I left him almost speechless; and broke out
    To acquaint you with this evil, that you might
    The better arm you to the sudden time,
    Than if you had at leisure known of this.

BASTARD    How did he take it? who did taste to him?

HUBERT    A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
    Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king
    Yet speaks and peradventure may recover.

BASTARD    Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty?

HUBERT    Why, know you not? the lords are all come back,
    And brought Prince Henry in their company;
    At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,
    And they are all about his majesty.

BASTARD    Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
    And tempt us not to bear above our power!
    I'll tell tree, Hubert, half my power this night,
    Passing these flats, are taken by the tide;
    These Lincoln Washes have devoured them;
    Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
    Away before: conduct me to the king;
    I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.

    [Exeunt]




    KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE VII    The orchard in Swinstead Abbey.


    [Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT]

PRINCE HENRY    It is too late: the life of all his blood
    Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain,
    Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,
    Doth by the idle comments that it makes
    Foretell the ending of mortality.

    [Enter PEMBROKE]

PEMBROKE    His highness yet doth speak, and holds belief
    That, being brought into the open air,
    It would allay the burning quality
    Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

PRINCE HENRY    Let him be brought into the orchard here.
    Doth he still rage?

    [Exit BIGOT]

PEMBROKE    He is more patient
    Than when you left him; even now he sung.

PRINCE HENRY    O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes
    In their continuance will not feel themselves.
    Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
    Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now
    Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
    With many legions of strange fantasies,
    Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
    Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death
    should sing.
    I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
    Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
    And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
    His soul and body to their lasting rest.

SALISBURY    Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born
    To set a form upon that indigest
    Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.

    [Enter Attendants, and BIGOT, carrying KING JOHN in a chair]

KING JOHN    Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;
    It would not out at windows nor at doors.
    There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
    That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
    I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
    Upon a parchment, and against this fire
    Do I shrink up.

PRINCE HENRY                      How fares your majesty?

KING JOHN    Poison'd,--ill fare--dead, forsook, cast off:
    And none of you will bid the winter come
    To thrust his icy fingers in my maw,
    Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
    Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the north
    To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips
    And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much,
    I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait
    And so ingrateful, you deny me that.

PRINCE HENRY    O that there were some virtue in my tears,
    That might relieve you!

KING JOHN    The salt in them is hot.
    Within me is a hell; and there the poison
    Is as a fiend confined to tyrannize
    On unreprievable condemned blood.

    [Enter the BASTARD]

BASTARD    O, I am scalded with my violent motion,
    And spleen of speed to see your majesty!

KING JOHN    O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
    The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd,
    And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail
    Are turned to one thread, one little hair:
    My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
    Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
    And then all this thou seest is but a clod
    And module of confounded royalty.

BASTARD    The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
    Where heaven He knows how we shall answer him;
    For in a night the best part of my power,
    As I upon advantage did remove,
    Were in the Washes all unwarily
    Devoured by the unexpected flood.

    [KING JOHN dies]

SALISBURY    You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.
    My liege! my lord! but now a king, now thus.

PRINCE HENRY    Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
    What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
    When this was now a king, and now is clay?

BASTARD    Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind
    To do the office for thee of revenge,
    And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,
    As it on earth hath been thy servant still.
    Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres,
    Where be your powers? show now your mended faiths,
    And instantly return with me again,
    To push destruction and perpetual shame
    Out of the weak door of our fainting land.
    Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
    The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

SALISBURY    It seems you know not, then, so much as we:
    The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,
    Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,
    And brings from him such offers of our peace
    As we with honour and respect may take,
    With purpose presently to leave this war.

BASTARD    He will the rather do it when he sees
    Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.

SALISBURY    Nay, it is in a manner done already;
    For many carriages he hath dispatch'd
    To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel
    To the disposing of the cardinal:
    With whom yourself, myself and other lords,
    If you think meet, this afternoon will post
    To consummate this business happily.

BASTARD    Let it be so: and you, my noble prince,
    With other princes that may best be spared,
    Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

PRINCE HENRY    At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
    For so he will'd it.

BASTARD    Thither shall it then:
    And happily may your sweet self put on
    The lineal state and glory of the land!
    To whom with all submission, on my knee
    I do bequeath my faithful services
    And true subjection everlastingly.

SALISBURY    And the like tender of our love we make,
    To rest without a spot for evermore.

PRINCE HENRY    I have a kind soul that would give you thanks
    And knows not how to do it but with tears.

BASTARD    O, let us pay the time but needful woe,
    Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.
    This England never did, nor never shall,
    Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
    But when it first did help to wound itself.
    Now these her princes are come home again,
    Come the three corners of the world in arms,
    And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
    If England to itself do rest but true.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY IV


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY    the Fourth. (KING HENRY IV:)


HENRY,
Prince of Wales    (PRINCE HENRY:)    |
        | sons of the King
JOHN of Lancaster    (LANCASTER:)    |


WESTMORELAND:

SIR WALTER BLUNT:

THOMAS PERCY    Earl of Worcester. (EARL OF WORCESTER:)

HENRY PERCY    Earl of Northumberland. (NORTHUMBERLAND:)

HENRY PERCY    surnamed HOTSPUR, his son. (HOTSPUR:)

EDMUND MORTIMER    Earl of March. (MORTIMER:)

RICHARD SCROOP    Archbishop of York. (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)

ARCHIBALD    Earl of Douglas. (DOUGLAS:)

OWEN GLENDOWER:

SIR RICHARD VERNON    (VERNON:)

SIR JOHN FALSTAFF    (FALSTAFF:)

SIR MICHAEL    a friend to the Archbishop of York.

POINS:

GADSHILL:

PETO:

BARDOLPH:

FRANCIS    a waiter.

LADY PERCY    wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.

LADY MORTIMER    daughter to Glendower,
    and wife to Mortimer.

MISTRESS QUICKLY    hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. (Hostess:)

    Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain,
    Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, Attendants,
    and an Ostler.
    (Sheriff:)
    (Vintner:)
    (Chamberlain:)
    (First Carrier:)
    (Second Carrier:)
    (First Traveller:)
    (Servant:)
    (Messenger:)
    (Ostler:)



SCENE    England.




    1 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE I    London. The palace.


    [Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL
    of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others]

KING HENRY IV    So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
    Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
    And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
    To be commenced in strands afar remote.
    No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
    Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
    Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields,
    Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs
    Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
    Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
    All of one nature, of one substance bred,
    Did lately meet in the intestine shock
    And furious close of civil butchery
    Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,
    March all one way and be no more opposed
    Against acquaintance, kindred and allies:
    The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
    No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
    As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
    Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
    We are impressed and engaged to fight,
    Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
    Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb
    To chase these pagans in those holy fields
    Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet
    Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
    For our advantage on the bitter cross.
    But this our purpose now is twelve month old,
    And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go:
    Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
    Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
    What yesternight our council did decree
    In forwarding this dear expedience.

WESTMORELAND    My liege, this haste was hot in question,
    And many limits of the charge set down
    But yesternight: when all athwart there came
    A post from Wales loaden with heavy news;
    Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,
    Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
    Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
    Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
    A thousand of his people butchered;
    Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
    Such beastly shameless transformation,
    By those Welshwomen done as may not be
    Without much shame retold or spoken of.

KING HENRY IV    It seems then that the tidings of this broil
    Brake off our business for the Holy Land.

WESTMORELAND    This match'd with other did, my gracious lord;
    For more uneven and unwelcome news
    Came from the north and thus it did import:
    On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
    Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald,
    That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
    At Holmedon met,
    Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour,
    As by discharge of their artillery,
    And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
    For he that brought them, in the very heat
    And pride of their contention did take horse,
    Uncertain of the issue any way.

KING HENRY IV    Here is a dear, a true industrious friend,
    Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse.
    Stain'd with the variation of each soil
    Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
    And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
    The Earl of Douglas is discomfited:
    Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,
    Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
    On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
    Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son
    To beaten Douglas; and the Earl of Athol,
    Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith:
    And is not this an honourable spoil?
    A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?

WESTMORELAND    In faith,
    It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

KING HENRY IV    Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest me sin
    In envy that my Lord Northumberland
    Should be the father to so blest a son,
    A son who is the theme of honour's tongue;
    Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
    Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride:
    Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
    See riot and dishonour stain the brow
    Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved
    That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
    In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
    And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!
    Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
    But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,
    Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
    Which he in this adventure hath surprised,
    To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
    I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.

WESTMORELAND    This is his uncle's teaching; this is Worcester,
    Malevolent to you in all aspects;
    Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
    The crest of youth against your dignity.

KING HENRY IV    But I have sent for him to answer this;
    And for this cause awhile we must neglect
    Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
    Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
    Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords:
    But come yourself with speed to us again;
    For more is to be said and to be done
    Than out of anger can be uttered.

WESTMORELAND    I will, my liege.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE II    London. An apartment of the Prince's.


    [Enter the PRINCE OF WALES and FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF    Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?

PRINCE HENRY    Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack
    and unbuttoning thee after supper and sleeping upon
    benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to
    demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know.
    What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the
    day? Unless hours were cups of sack and minutes
    capons and clocks the tongues of bawds and dials the
    signs of leaping-houses and the blessed sun himself
    a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no
    reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand
    the time of the day.

FALSTAFF    Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take
    purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not
    by Phoebus, he,'that wandering knight so fair.' And,
    I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as, God
    save thy grace,--majesty I should say, for grace
    thou wilt have none,--

PRINCE HENRY    What, none?

FALSTAFF    No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to
    prologue to an egg and butter.

PRINCE HENRY    Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

FALSTAFF    Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not
    us that are squires of the night's body be called
    thieves of the day's beauty: let us be Diana's
    foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the
    moon; and let men say we be men of good government,
    being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and
    chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.

PRINCE HENRY    Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the
    fortune of us that are the moon's men doth ebb and
    flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is,
    by the moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of gold
    most resolutely snatched on Monday night and most
    dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with
    swearing 'Lay by' and spent with crying 'Bring in;'
    now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder
    and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

FALSTAFF    By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And is not my
    hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?

PRINCE HENRY    As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And
    is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

FALSTAFF    How now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips and
    thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a
    buff jerkin?

PRINCE HENRY    Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

FALSTAFF    Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a
    time and oft.

PRINCE HENRY    Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

FALSTAFF    No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.

PRINCE HENRY    Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch;
    and where it would not, I have used my credit.

FALSTAFF    Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent
    that thou art heir apparent--But, I prithee, sweet
    wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when
    thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is
    with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do
    not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.

PRINCE HENRY    No; thou shalt.

FALSTAFF    Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.

PRINCE HENRY    Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have
    the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.

FALSTAFF    Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my
    humour as well as waiting in the court, I can tell
    you.

PRINCE HENRY    For obtaining of suits?

FALSTAFF    Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman
    hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy
    as a gib cat or a lugged bear.

PRINCE HENRY    Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.

FALSTAFF    Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

PRINCE HENRY    What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of
    Moor-ditch?

FALSTAFF    Thou hast the most unsavoury similes and art indeed
    the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young
    prince. But, Hal, I prithee, trouble me no more
    with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a
    commodity of good names were to be bought. An old
    lord of the council rated me the other day in the
    street about you, sir, but I marked him not; and yet
    he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not; and
    yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.

PRINCE HENRY    Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the
    streets, and no man regards it.

FALSTAFF    O, thou hast damnable iteration and art indeed able
    to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon
    me, Hal; God forgive thee for it! Before I knew
    thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man
    should speak truly, little better than one of the
    wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give
    it over: by the Lord, and I do not, I am a villain:
    I'll be damned for never a king's son in
    Christendom.

PRINCE HENRY    Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?

FALSTAFF    'Zounds, where thou wilt, lad; I'll make one; an I
    do not, call me villain and baffle me.

PRINCE HENRY    I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying
    to purse-taking.

FALSTAFF    Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a
    man to labour in his vocation.

    [Enter POINS]

    Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a
    match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what
    hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the
    most omnipotent villain that ever cried 'Stand' to
    a true man.

PRINCE HENRY    Good morrow, Ned.

POINS    Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse?
    what says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Jack! how
    agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou
    soldest him on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira
    and a cold capon's leg?

PRINCE HENRY    Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have
    his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of
    proverbs: he will give the devil his due.

POINS    Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.

PRINCE HENRY    Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

POINS    But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four
    o'clock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going
    to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders
    riding to London with fat purses: I have vizards
    for you all; you have horses for yourselves:
    Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke
    supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap: we may do it
    as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff
    your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry
    at home and be hanged.

FALSTAFF    Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home and go not,
    I'll hang you for going.

POINS    You will, chops?

FALSTAFF    Hal, wilt thou make one?

PRINCE HENRY    Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.

FALSTAFF    There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good
    fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood
    royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.

PRINCE HENRY    Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.

FALSTAFF    Why, that's well said.

PRINCE HENRY    Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.

FALSTAFF    By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.

PRINCE HENRY    I care not.

POINS    Sir John, I prithee, leave the prince and me alone:
    I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure
    that he shall go.

FALSTAFF    Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him
    the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may
    move and what he hears may be believed, that the
    true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a false
    thief; for the poor abuses of the time want
    countenance. Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap.

PRINCE HENRY    Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer!

    [Exit Falstaff]

POINS    Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us
    to-morrow: I have a jest to execute that I cannot
    manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto and Gadshill
    shall rob those men that we have already waylaid:
    yourself and I will not be there; and when they
    have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut
    this head off from my shoulders.

PRINCE HENRY    How shall we part with them in setting forth?

POINS    Why, we will set forth before or after them, and
    appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at
    our pleasure to fail, and then will they adventure
    upon the exploit themselves; which they shall have
    no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.

PRINCE HENRY    Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our
    horses, by our habits and by every other
    appointment, to be ourselves.

POINS    Tut! our horses they shall not see: I'll tie them
    in the wood; our vizards we will change after we
    leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram
    for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

PRINCE HENRY    Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.

POINS    Well, for two of them, I know them to be as
    true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the
    third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll
    forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the
    incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will
    tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at
    least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what
    extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this
    lies the jest.

PRINCE HENRY    Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things
    necessary and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap;
    there I'll sup. Farewell.

POINS    Farewell, my lord.

    [Exit Poins]

PRINCE HENRY    I know you all, and will awhile uphold
    The unyoked humour of your idleness:
    Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
    Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
    To smother up his beauty from the world,
    That, when he please again to be himself,
    Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
    By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
    Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.
    If all the year were playing holidays,
    To sport would be as tedious as to work;
    But when they seldom come, they wish'd for come,
    And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
    So, when this loose behavior I throw off
    And pay the debt I never promised,
    By how much better than my word I am,
    By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
    And like bright metal on a sullen ground,
    My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
    Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
    Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
    I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
    Redeeming time when men think least I will.

    [Exit]




    1 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE III    London. The palace.


    [Enter the KING, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR,
    SIR WALTER BLUNT, with others]

KING HENRY IV    My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
    Unapt to stir at these indignities,
    And you have found me; for accordingly
    You tread upon my patience: but be sure
    I will from henceforth rather be myself,
    Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition;
    Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
    And therefore lost that title of respect
    Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.

EARL OF WORCESTER    Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
    The scourge of greatness to be used on it;
    And that same greatness too which our own hands
    Have holp to make so portly.

NORTHUMBERLAND    My lord.--

KING HENRY IV    Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see
    Danger and disobedience in thine eye:
    O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,
    And majesty might never yet endure
    The moody frontier of a servant brow.
    You have good leave to leave us: when we need
    Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.

    [Exit Worcester]

    You were about to speak.

    [To North]

NORTHUMBERLAND    Yea, my good lord.
    Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded,
    Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,
    Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
    As is deliver'd to your majesty:
    Either envy, therefore, or misprison
    Is guilty of this fault and not my son.

HOTSPUR    My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
    But I remember, when the fight was done,
    When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,
    Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
    Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd,
    Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd
    Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home;
    He was perfumed like a milliner;
    And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
    A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
    He gave his nose and took't away again;
    Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
    Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and talk'd,
    And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
    He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
    To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
    Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
    With many holiday and lady terms
    He question'd me; amongst the rest, demanded
    My prisoners in your majesty's behalf.
    I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,
    To be so pester'd with a popinjay,
    Out of my grief and my impatience,
    Answer'd neglectingly I know not what,
    He should or he should not; for he made me mad
    To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet
    And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman
    Of guns and drums and wounds,--God save the mark!--
    And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth
    Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;
    And that it was great pity, so it was,
    This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd
    Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
    Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
    So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,
    He would himself have been a soldier.
    This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
    I answer'd indirectly, as I said;
    And I beseech you, let not his report
    Come current for an accusation
    Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

SIR WALTER BLUNT    The circumstance consider'd, good my lord,
    Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said
    To such a person and in such a place,
    At such a time, with all the rest retold,
    May reasonably die and never rise
    To do him wrong or any way impeach
    What then he said, so he unsay it now.

KING HENRY IV    Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,
    But with proviso and exception,
    That we at our own charge shall ransom straight
    His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;
    Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
    The lives of those that he did lead to fight
    Against that great magician, damn'd Glendower,
    Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March
    Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,
    Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?
    Shall we but treason? and indent with fears,
    When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
    No, on the barren mountains let him starve;
    For I shall never hold that man my friend
    Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
    To ransom home revolted Mortimer.

HOTSPUR    Revolted Mortimer!
    He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,
    But by the chance of war; to prove that true
    Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,
    Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took
    When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
    In single opposition, hand to hand,
    He did confound the best part of an hour
    In changing hardiment with great Glendower:
    Three times they breathed and three times did
    they drink,
    Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
    Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,
    Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
    And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank,
    Bloodstained with these valiant combatants.
    Never did base and rotten policy
    Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
    Nor could the noble Mortimer
    Receive so many, and all willingly:
    Then let not him be slander'd with revolt.

KING HENRY IV    Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him;
    He never did encounter with Glendower:
    I tell thee,
    He durst as well have met the devil alone
    As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
    Art thou not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth
    Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer:
    Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
    Or you shall hear in such a kind from me
    As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland,
    We licence your departure with your son.
    Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.

    [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train]

HOTSPUR    An if the devil come and roar for them,
    I will not send them: I will after straight
    And tell him so; for I will ease my heart,
    Albeit I make a hazard of my head.

NORTHUMBERLAND    What, drunk with choler? stay and pause awhile:
    Here comes your uncle.

    [Re-enter WORCESTER]

HOTSPUR    Speak of Mortimer!
    'Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul
    Want mercy, if I do not join with him:
    Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins,
    And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,
    But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer
    As high in the air as this unthankful king,
    As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad.

EARL OF WORCESTER    Who struck this heat up after I was gone?

HOTSPUR    He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;
    And when I urged the ransom once again
    Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,
    And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
    Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.

EARL OF WORCESTER    I cannot blame him: was not he proclaim'd
    By Richard that dead is the next of blood?

NORTHUMBERLAND    He was; I heard the proclamation:
    And then it was when the unhappy king,
    --Whose wrongs in us God pardon!--did set forth
    Upon his Irish expedition;
    From whence he intercepted did return
    To be deposed and shortly murdered.

EARL OF WORCESTER    And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth
    Live scandalized and foully spoken of.

HOTSPUR    But soft, I pray you; did King Richard then
    Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
    Heir to the crown?

NORTHUMBERLAND    He did; myself did hear it.

HOTSPUR    Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,
    That wished him on the barren mountains starve.
    But shall it be that you, that set the crown
    Upon the head of this forgetful man
    And for his sake wear the detested blot
    Of murderous subornation, shall it be,
    That you a world of curses undergo,
    Being the agents, or base second means,
    The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?
    O, pardon me that I descend so low,
    To show the line and the predicament
    Wherein you range under this subtle king;
    Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,
    Or fill up chronicles in time to come,
    That men of your nobility and power
    Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,
    As both of you--God pardon it!--have done,
    To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,
    An plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?
    And shall it in more shame be further spoken,
    That you are fool'd, discarded and shook off
    By him for whom these shames ye underwent?
    No; yet time serves wherein you may redeem
    Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves
    Into the good thoughts of the world again,
    Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt
    Of this proud king, who studies day and night
    To answer all the debt he owes to you
    Even with the bloody payment of your deaths:
    Therefore, I say--

EARL OF WORCESTER                      Peace, cousin, say no more:
    And now I will unclasp a secret book,
    And to your quick-conceiving discontents
    I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,
    As full of peril and adventurous spirit
    As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud
    On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

HOTSPUR    If he fall in, good night! or sink or swim:
    Send danger from the east unto the west,
    So honour cross it from the north to south,
    And let them grapple: O, the blood more stirs
    To rouse a lion than to start a hare!

NORTHUMBERLAND    Imagination of some great exploit
    Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.

HOTSPUR    By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,
    To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon,
    Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
    Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
    And pluck up drowned honour by the locks;
    So he that doth redeem her thence might wear
    Without corrival, all her dignities:
    But out upon this half-faced fellowship!

EARL OF WORCESTER    He apprehends a world of figures here,
    But not the form of what he should attend.
    Good cousin, give me audience for a while.

HOTSPUR    I cry you mercy.

EARL OF WORCESTER                      Those same noble Scots
    That are your prisoners,--

HOTSPUR    I'll keep them all;
    By God, he shall not have a Scot of them;
    No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not:
    I'll keep them, by this hand.

EARL OF WORCESTER    You start away
    And lend no ear unto my purposes.
    Those prisoners you shall keep.

HOTSPUR    Nay, I will; that's flat:
    He said he would not ransom Mortimer;
    Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer;
    But I will find him when he lies asleep,
    And in his ear I'll holla 'Mortimer!'
    Nay,
    I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
    Nothing but 'Mortimer,' and give it him
    To keep his anger still in motion.

EARL OF WORCESTER    Hear you, cousin; a word.

HOTSPUR    All studies here I solemnly defy,
    Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:
    And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales,
    But that I think his father loves him not
    And would be glad he met with some mischance,
    I would have him poison'd with a pot of ale.

EARL OF WORCESTER    Farewell, kinsman: I'll talk to you
    When you are better temper'd to attend.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool
    Art thou to break into this woman's mood,
    Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!

HOTSPUR    Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourged with rods,
    Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear
    Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
    In Richard's time,--what do you call the place?--
    A plague upon it, it is in Gloucestershire;
    'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept,
    His uncle York; where I first bow'd my knee
    Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,--
    'Sblood!--
    When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND    At Berkley castle.

HOTSPUR    You say true:
    Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
    This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
    Look,'when his infant fortune came to age,'
    And 'gentle Harry Percy,' and 'kind cousin;'
    O, the devil take such cozeners! God forgive me!
    Good uncle, tell your tale; I have done.

EARL OF WORCESTER    Nay, if you have not, to it again;
    We will stay your leisure.

HOTSPUR    I have done, i' faith.

EARL OF WORCESTER    Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
    Deliver them up without their ransom straight,
    And make the Douglas' son your only mean
    For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons
    Which I shall send you written, be assured,
    Will easily be granted. You, my lord,

    [To Northumberland]

    Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
    Shall secretly into the bosom creep
    Of that same noble prelate, well beloved,
    The archbishop.

HOTSPUR    Of York, is it not?

EARL OF WORCESTER    True; who bears hard
    His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.
    I speak not this in estimation,
    As what I think might be, but what I know
    Is ruminated, plotted and set down,
    And only stays but to behold the face
    Of that occasion that shall bring it on.

HOTSPUR    I smell it: upon my life, it will do well.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Before the game is afoot, thou still let'st slip.

HOTSPUR    Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot;
    And then the power of Scotland and of York,
    To join with Mortimer, ha?

EARL OF WORCESTER    And so they shall.

HOTSPUR    In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.

EARL OF WORCESTER    And 'tis no little reason bids us speed,
    To save our heads by raising of a head;
    For, bear ourselves as even as we can,
    The king will always think him in our debt,
    And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,
    Till he hath found a time to pay us home:
    And see already how he doth begin
    To make us strangers to his looks of love.

HOTSPUR    He does, he does: we'll be revenged on him.

EARL OF WORCESTER    Cousin, farewell: no further go in this
    Than I by letters shall direct your course.
    When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,
    I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer;
    Where you and Douglas and our powers at once,
    As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,
    To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,
    Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

NORTHUMBERLAND    Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust.

HOTSPUR    Uncle, Adieu: O, let the hours be short
    Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE I    Rochester. An inn yard.


    [Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand]

First Carrier    Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I'll be
    hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and
    yet our horse not packed. What, ostler!

Ostler    [Within]   Anon, anon.

First Carrier    I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks
    in the point; poor jade, is wrung in the withers out
    of all cess.

    [Enter another Carrier]

Second Carrier    Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that
    is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this
    house is turned upside down since Robin Ostler died.

First Carrier    Poor fellow, never joyed since the price of oats
    rose; it was the death of him.

Second Carrier    I think this be the most villanous house in all
    London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench.

First Carrier    Like a tench! by the mass, there is ne'er a king
    christen could be better bit than I have been since
    the first cock.

Second Carrier    Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we
    leak in your chimney; and your chamber-lie breeds
    fleas like a loach.

First Carrier    What, ostler! come away and be hanged!

Second Carrier    I have a gammon of bacon and two razors of ginger,
    to be delivered as far as Charing-cross.

First Carrier    God's body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite
    starved. What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou
    never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An
    'twere not as good deed as drink, to break the pate
    on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged!
    hast thou no faith in thee?

    [Enter GADSHILL]

GADSHILL    Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?

First Carrier    I think it be two o'clock.

GADSHILL    I pray thee lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding
    in the stable.

First Carrier    Nay, by God, soft; I know a trick worth two of that, i' faith.

GADSHILL    I pray thee, lend me thine.

Second Carrier    Ay, when? can'st tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth
    he? marry, I'll see thee hanged first.

GADSHILL    Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?

Second Carrier    Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant
    thee. Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the
    gentleman: they will along with company, for they
    have great charge.

    [Exeunt carriers]

GADSHILL    What, ho! chamberlain!

Chamberlain    [Within]  At hand, quoth pick-purse.

GADSHILL    That's even as fair as--at hand, quoth the
    chamberlain; for thou variest no more from picking
    of purses than giving direction doth from labouring;
    thou layest the plot how.

    [Enter Chamberlain]

Chamberlain    Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that
    I told you yesternight: there's a franklin in the
    wild of Kent hath brought three hundred marks with
    him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his
    company last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one
    that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what.
    They are up already, and call for eggs and butter;
    they will away presently.

GADSHILL    Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas'
    clerks, I'll give thee this neck.

Chamberlain    No, I'll none of it: I pray thee keep that for the
    hangman; for I know thou worshippest St. Nicholas
    as truly as a man of falsehood may.

GADSHILL    What talkest thou to me of the hangman? if I hang,
    I'll make a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang, old
    Sir John hangs with me, and thou knowest he is no
    starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans that thou
    dreamest not of, the which for sport sake are
    content to do the profession some grace; that would,
    if matters should be looked into, for their own
    credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with no
    foot-land rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers,
    none of these mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worms;
    but with nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters and
    great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will
    strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than
    drink, and drink sooner than pray: and yet, zounds,
    I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the
    commonwealth; or rather, not pray to her, but prey
    on her, for they ride up and down on her and make
    her their boots.

Chamberlain    What, the commonwealth their boots? will she hold
    out water in foul way?

GADSHILL    She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. We
    steal as in a castle, cocksure; we have the receipt
    of fern-seed, we walk invisible.

Chamberlain    Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to
    the night than to fern-seed for your walking invisible.

GADSHILL    Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our
    purchase, as I am a true man.

Chamberlain    Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.

GADSHILL    Go to; 'homo' is a common name to all men. Bid the
    ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell,
    you muddy knave.

    [Exeunt]




    1 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE II    The highway, near Gadshill.


    [Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS]

POINS    Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's
    horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.

PRINCE HENRY    Stand close.

    [Enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF    Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!

PRINCE HENRY    Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost
    thou keep!

FALSTAFF    Where's Poins, Hal?

PRINCE HENRY    He is walked up to the top of the hill: I'll go seek him.

FALSTAFF    I am accursed to rob in that thief's company: the
    rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know
    not where. If I travel but four foot by the squier
    further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt
    not but to die a fair death for all this, if I
    'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have
    forsworn his company hourly any time this two and
    twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the
    rogue's company. If the rascal hath not given me
    medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged; it
    could not be else: I have drunk medicines. Poins!
    Hal! a plague upon you both! Bardolph! Peto!
    I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An 'twere
    not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man and to
    leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that
    ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven
    ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me;
    and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough:
    a plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!

    [They whistle]

    Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you
    rogues; give me my horse, and be hanged!

PRINCE HENRY    Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine ear close
    to the ground and list if thou canst hear th