The Third part of King Henry the Sixth

1I wonder how the king escaped our hands.

2While we pursued the horsemen of the north,

3He slily stole away and left his men:

4Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,

5Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,

6Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself,

7Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast,

8Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in

9Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.

10Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham,

11Is either slain or wounded dangerously;

12I cleft his beaver with a downright blow:

13That this is true, father, behold his blood.

14And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood,

15Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd.

16Speak thou for me and tell them what I did.

17Richard hath best deserved of all my sons.

18But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?

19Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt!

20Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head.

21And so do I. Victorious Prince of York,

22Before I see thee seated in that throne

23Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,

24I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close.

25This is the palace of the fearful king,

26And this the regal seat: possess it, York;

27For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs'

28Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will;

29For hither we have broken in by force.

30We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die.

31Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords;

32And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night.

33And when the king comes, offer no violence,

34Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.

35The queen this day here holds her parliament,

36But little thinks we shall be of her council:

37By words or blows here let us win our right.

38Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house.

39The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,

40Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king,

41And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice

42Hath made us by-words to our enemies.

43Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute;

44I mean to take possession of my right.

45Neither the king, nor he that loves him best,

46The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,

47Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells.

48I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares:

49Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.

50My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,

51Even in the chair of state: belike he means,

52Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,

53To aspire unto the crown and reign as king.

54Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father.

55And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge

56On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends.

57If I be not, heavens be revenged on me!

58The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.

59What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down:

60My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it.

61Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.

62Patience is for poltroons, such as he:

63He durst not sit there, had your father lived.

64My gracious lord, here in the parliament

65Let us assail the family of York.

66Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so.

67Ah, know you not the city favours them,

68And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?

69But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly.

70Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart,

71To make a shambles of the parliament-house!

72Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats

73Shall be the war that Henry means to use.

74Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne,

75and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;

76I am thy sovereign.

77I am thine.

78For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York.

79'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.

80Thy father was a traitor to the crown.

81Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown

82In following this usurping Henry.

83Whom should he follow but his natural king?

84True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York.

85And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne?

86It must and shall be so: content thyself.

87Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king.

88He is both king and Duke of Lancaster;

89And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.

90And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget

91That we are those which chased you from the field

92And slew your fathers, and with colours spread

93March'd through the city to the palace gates.

94Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;

95And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.

96Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,

97Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives

98Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.

99Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words,

100I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger

101As shall revenge his death before I stir.

102Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats!

103Will you we show our title to the crown?

104If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.

105What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?

106Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York;

107Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March:

108I am the son of Henry the Fifth,

109Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop

110And seized upon their towns and provinces.

111Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all.

112The lord protector lost it, and not I:

113When I was crown'd I was but nine months old.

114You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose.

115Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.

116Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.

117Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms,

118Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus.

119Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly.

120Sons, peace!

121Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak.

122Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords;

123And be you silent and attentive too,

124For he that interrupts him shall not live.

125Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne,

126Wherein my grandsire and my father sat?

127No: first shall war unpeople this my realm;

128Ay, and their colours, often borne in France,

129And now in England to our heart's great sorrow,

130Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords?

131My title's good, and better far than his.

132Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king.

133Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.

134'Twas by rebellion against his king.

135[Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.--

136Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?

137What then?

138An if he may, then am I lawful king;

139For Richard, in the view of many lords,

140Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth,

141Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

142He rose against him, being his sovereign,

143And made him to resign his crown perforce.

144Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,

145Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?

146No; for he could not so resign his crown

147But that the next heir should succeed and reign.

148Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?

149His is the right, and therefore pardon me.

150Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?

151My conscience tells me he is lawful king.

152[Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him.

153Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st,

154Think not that Henry shall be so deposed.

155Deposed he shall be, in despite of all.

156Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power,

157Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,

158Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,

159Can set the duke up in despite of me.

160King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,

161Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:

162May that ground gape and swallow me alive,

163Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!

164O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!

165Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.

166What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?

167Do right unto this princely Duke of York,

168Or I will fill the house with armed men,

169And over the chair of state, where now he sits,

170Write up his title with usurping blood.

171My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word:

172Let me for this my life-time reign as king.

173Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,

174And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest.

175I am content: Richard Plantagenet,

176Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.

177What wrong is this unto the prince your son!

178What good is this to England and himself!

179Base, fearful and despairing Henry!

180How hast thou injured both thyself and us!

181I cannot stay to hear these articles.

182Nor I.

183Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news.

184Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king,

185In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.

186Be thou a prey unto the house of York,

187And die in bands for this unmanly deed!

188In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome,

189Or live in peace abandon'd and despised!

190Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.

191They seek revenge and therefore will not yield.

192Ah, Exeter!

193Why should you sigh, my lord?

194Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son,

195Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.

196But be it as it may: I here entail

197The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever;

198Conditionally, that here thou take an oath

199To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,

200To honour me as thy king and sovereign,

201And neither by treason nor hostility

202To seek to put me down and reign thyself.

203This oath I willingly take and will perform.

204Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him.

205And long live thou and these thy forward sons!

206Now York and Lancaster are reconciled.

207Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes!

208Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle.

209And I'll keep London with my soldiers.

210And I to Norfolk with my followers.

211And I unto the sea from whence I came.

212And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court.

213Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger:

214I'll steal away.

215Exeter, so will I.

216Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee.

217Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.

218Who can be patient in such extremes?

219Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid

220And never seen thee, never borne thee son,

221Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father

222Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus?

223Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I,

224Or felt that pain which I did for him once,

225Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood,

226Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there,

227Rather than have that savage duke thine heir

228And disinherited thine only son.

229Father, you cannot disinherit me:

230If you be king, why should not I succeed?

231Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son:

232The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me.

233Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced?

234I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!

235Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me;

236And given unto the house of York such head

237As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.

238To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,

239What is it, but to make thy sepulchre

240And creep into it far before thy time?

241Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais;

242Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas;

243The duke is made protector of the realm;

244And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds

245The trembling lamb environed with wolves.

246Had I been there, which am a silly woman,

247The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes

248Before I would have granted to that act.

249But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour:

250And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself

251Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,

252Until that act of parliament be repeal'd

253Whereby my son is disinherited.

254The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours

255Will follow mine, if once they see them spread;

256And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace

257And utter ruin of the house of York.

258Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away;

259Our army is ready; come, we'll after them.

260Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

261Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone.

262Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

263Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.

264When I return with victory from the field

265I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her.

266Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.

267Poor queen! how love to me and to her son

268Hath made her break out into terms of rage!

269Revenged may she be on that hateful duke,

270Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,

271Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle

272Tire on the flesh of me and of my son!

273The loss of those three lords torments my heart:

274I'll write unto them and entreat them fair.

275Come, cousin you shall be the messenger.

276And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.

1Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.

2No, I can better play the orator.

3But I have reasons strong and forcible.

4Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife?

5What is your quarrel? how began it first?

6No quarrel, but a slight contention.

7About what?

8About that which concerns your grace and us;

9The crown of England, father, which is yours.

10Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead.

11Your right depends not on his life or death.

12Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now:

13By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,

14It will outrun you, father, in the end.

15I took an oath that he should quietly reign.

16But for a kingdom any oath may be broken:

17I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.

18No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn.

19I shall be, if I claim by open war.

20I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.

21Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.

22An oath is of no moment, being not took

23Before a true and lawful magistrate,

24That hath authority over him that swears:

25Henry had none, but did usurp the place;

26Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,

27Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.

28Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think

29How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;

30Within whose circuit is Elysium

31And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.

32Why do we finger thus? I cannot rest

33Until the white rose that I wear be dyed

34Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.

35Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.

36Brother, thou shalt to London presently,

37And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.

38Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk,

39And tell him privily of our intent.

40You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham,

41With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise:

42In them I trust; for they are soldiers,

43Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.

44While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more,

45But that I seek occasion how to rise,

46And yet the king not privy to my drift,

47Nor any of the house of Lancaster?

48But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post?

49The queen with all the northern earls and lords

50Intend here to besiege you in your castle:

51She is hard by with twenty thousand men;

52And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.

53Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them?

54Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;

55My brother Montague shall post to London:

56Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,

57Whom we have left protectors of the king,

58With powerful policy strengthen themselves,

59And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.

60Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not:

61And thus most humbly I do take my leave.

62Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,

63You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;

64The army of the queen mean to besiege us.

65She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field.

66What, with five thousand men?

67Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need:

68A woman's general; what should we fear?

69I hear their drums: let's set our men in order,

70And issue forth and bid them battle straight.

71Five men to twenty! though the odds be great,

72I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.

73Many a battle have I won in France,

74When as the enemy hath been ten to one:

75Why should I not now have the like success?

1Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?

2Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!

3Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.

4As for the brat of this accursed duke,

5Whose father slew my father, he shall die.

6And I, my lord, will bear him company.

7Soldiers, away with him!

8Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,

9Lest thou be hated both of God and man!

10How now! is he dead already? or is it fear

11That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.

12So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch

13That trembles under his devouring paws;

14And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,

15And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.

16Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,

17And not with such a cruel threatening look.

18Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.

19I am too mean a subject for thy wrath:

20Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.

21In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood

22Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.

23Then let my father's blood open it again:

24He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

25Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine

26Were not revenge sufficient for me;

27No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves

28And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,

29It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.

30The sight of any of the house of York

31Is as a fury to torment my soul;

32And till I root out their accursed line

33And leave not one alive, I live in hell.

34Therefore--

35O, let me pray before I take my death!

36To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!

37Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

38I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me?

39Thy father hath.

40But 'twas ere I was born.

41Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,

42Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,

43He be as miserably slain as I.

44Ah, let me live in prison all my days;

45And when I give occasion of offence,

46Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.

47No cause!

48Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.

49Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae!

50Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!

51And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade

52Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,

53Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.

1The army of the queen hath got the field:

2My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;

3And all my followers to the eager foe

4Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind

5Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.

6My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them:

7But this I know, they have demean'd themselves

8Like men born to renown by life or death.

9Three times did Richard make a lane to me.

10And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!'

11And full as oft came Edward to my side,

12With purple falchion, painted to the hilt

13In blood of those that had encounter'd him:

14And when the hardiest warriors did retire,

15Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!'

16And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb!

17A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!'

18With this, we charged again: but, out, alas!

19We bodged again; as I have seen a swan

20With bootless labour swim against the tide

21And spend her strength with over-matching waves.

22Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;

23And I am faint and cannot fly their fury:

24And were I strong, I would not shun their fury:

25The sands are number'd that make up my life;

26Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

27Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,

28I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:

29I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

30Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

31Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm,

32With downright payment, show'd unto my father.

33Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,

34And made an evening at the noontide prick.

35My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth

36A bird that will revenge upon you all:

37And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,

38Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.

39Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?

40So cowards fight when they can fly no further;

41So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;

42So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,

43Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

44O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,

45And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;

46And, if though canst for blushing, view this face,

47And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice

48Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this!

49I will not bandy with thee word for word,

50But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

51Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes

52I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.

53Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.

54Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much

55To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:

56What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,

57For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,

58When he might spurn him with his foot away?

59It is war's prize to take all vantages;

60And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

61Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

62So doth the cony struggle in the net.

63So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;

64So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd.

65What would your grace have done unto him now?

66Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,

67Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,

68That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,

69Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.

70What! was it you that would be England's king?

71Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,

72And made a preachment of your high descent?

73Where are your mess of sons to back you now?

74The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?

75And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,

76Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice

77Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?

78Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?

79Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood

80That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,

81Made issue from the bosom of the boy;

82And if thine eyes can water for his death,

83I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.

84Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,

85I should lament thy miserable state.

86I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.

87What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails

88That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?

89Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad;

90And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.

91Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.

92Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:

93York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.

94A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him:

95Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.

96Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!

97Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair,

98And this is he was his adopted heir.

99But how is it that great Plantagenet

100Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?

101As I bethink me, you should not be king

102Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.

103And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,

104And rob his temples of the diadem,

105Now in his life, against your holy oath?

106O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!

107Off with the crown, and with the crown his head;

108And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.

109That is my office, for my father's sake.

110Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes.

111She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,

112Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!

113How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex

114To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,

115Upon their woes whom fortune captivates!

116But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging,

117Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

118I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush.

119To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived,

120Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.

121Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,

122Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem,

123Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.

124Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?

125It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen,

126Unless the adage must be verified,

127That beggars mounted run their horse to death.

128'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;

129But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:

130'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired;

131The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:

132'Tis government that makes them seem divine;

133The want thereof makes thee abominable:

134Thou art as opposite to every good

135As the Antipodes are unto us,

136Or as the south to the septentrion.

137O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide!

138How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,

139To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,

140And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?

141Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible;

142Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.

143Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish:

144Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will:

145For raging wind blows up incessant showers,

146And when the rage allays, the rain begins.

147These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies:

148And every drop cries vengeance for his death,

149'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false

150Frenchwoman.

151Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so

152That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears.

153That face of his the hungry cannibals

154Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood:

155But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,

156O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.

157See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:

158This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy,

159And I with tears do wash the blood away.

160Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:

161And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,

162Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;

163Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,

164And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!'

165There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse;

166And in thy need such comfort come to thee

167As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!

168Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world:

169My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

170Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,

171I should not for my life but weep with him.

172To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

173What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?

174Think but upon the wrong he did us all,

175And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

176Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.

177And here's to right our gentle-hearted king.

178Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God!

179My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.

180Off with his head, and set it on York gates;

181So York may overlook the town of York.

1I wonder how our princely father 'scaped,

2Or whether he be 'scaped away or no

3From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit:

4Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;

5Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;

6Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard

7The happy tidings of his good escape.

8How fares my brother? why is he so sad?

9I cannot joy, until I be resolved

10Where our right valiant father is become.

11I saw him in the battle range about;

12And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.

13Methought he bore him in the thickest troop

14As doth a lion in a herd of neat;

15Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,

16Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry,

17The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.

18So fared our father with his enemies;

19So fled his enemies my warlike father:

20Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.

21See how the morning opes her golden gates,

22And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!

23How well resembles it the prime of youth,

24Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love!

25Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?

26Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;

27Not separated with the racking clouds,

28But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.

29See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,

30As if they vow'd some league inviolable:

31Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.

32In this the heaven figures some event.

33'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.

34I think it cites us, brother, to the field,

35That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,

36Each one already blazing by our meeds,

37Should notwithstanding join our lights together

38And over-shine the earth as this the world.

39Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear

40Upon my target three fair-shining suns.

41Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it,

42You love the breeder better than the male.

43But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell

44Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

45Ah, one that was a woful looker-on

46When as the noble Duke of York was slain,

47Your princely father and my loving lord!

48O, speak no more, for I have heard too much.

49Say how he died, for I will hear it all.

50Environed he was with many foes,

51And stood against them, as the hope of Troy

52Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy.

53But Hercules himself must yield to odds;

54And many strokes, though with a little axe,

55Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

56By many hands your father was subdued;

57But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm

58Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen,

59Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite,

60Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept,

61The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks

62A napkin steeped in the harmless blood

63Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain:

64And after many scorns, many foul taunts,

65They took his head, and on the gates of York

66They set the same; and there it doth remain,

67The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

68Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,

69Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.

70O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain

71The flower of Europe for his chivalry;

72And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,

73For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee.

74Now my soul's palace is become a prison:

75Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body

76Might in the ground be closed up in rest!

77For never henceforth shall I joy again,

78Never, O never shall I see more joy!

79I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture

80Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:

81Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen;

82For selfsame wind that I should speak withal

83Is kindling coals that fires all my breast,

84And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.

85To weep is to make less the depth of grief:

86Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me

87Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death,

88Or die renowned by attempting it.

89His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;

90His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

91Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,

92Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun:

93For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say;

94Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

95How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad?

96Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount

97Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance

98Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,

99The words would add more anguish than the wounds.

100O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!

101O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet,

102Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption,

103Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.

104Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears;

105And now, to add more measure to your woes,

106I come to tell you things sith then befall'n.

107After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,

108Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp,

109Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,

110Were brought me of your loss and his depart.

111I, then in London keeper of the king,

112Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,

113And very well appointed, as I thought,

114March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen,

115Bearing the king in my behalf along;

116For by my scouts I was advertised

117That she was coming with a full intent

118To dash our late decree in parliament

119Touching King Henry's oath and your succession.

120Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met

121Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought:

122But whether 'twas the coldness of the king,

123Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,

124That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen;

125Or whether 'twas report of her success;

126Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,

127Who thunders to his captives blood and death,

128I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth,

129Their weapons like to lightning came and went;

130Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight,

131Or like an idle thresher with a flail,

132Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.

133I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,

134With promise of high pay and great rewards:

135But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,

136And we in them no hope to win the day;

137So that we fled; the king unto the queen;

138Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself,

139In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you:

140For in the marches here we heard you were,

141Making another head to fight again.

142Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?

143And when came George from Burgundy to England?

144Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers;

145And for your brother, he was lately sent

146From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,

147With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

148'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:

149Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,

150But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.

151Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;

152For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine

153Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,

154And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,

155Were he as famous and as bold in war

156As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer.

157I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not:

158'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.

159But in this troublous time what's to be done?

160Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,

161And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,

162Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads?

163Or shall we on the helmets of our foes

164Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?

165If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords.

166Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out;

167And therefore comes my brother Montague.

168Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,

169With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,

170And of their feather many more proud birds,

171Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.

172He swore consent to your succession,

173His oath enrolled in the parliament;

174And now to London all the crew are gone,

175To frustrate both his oath and what beside

176May make against the house of Lancaster.

177Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:

178Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself,

179With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,

180Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,

181Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,

182Why, Via! to London will we march amain,

183And once again bestride our foaming steeds,

184And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!'

185But never once again turn back and fly.

186Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak:

187Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,

188That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay.

189Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;

190And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!--

191Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend!

192No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York:

193The next degree is England's royal throne;

194For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd

195In every borough as we pass along;

196And he that throws not up his cap for joy

197Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.

198King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,

199Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown,

200But sound the trumpets, and about our task.

201Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,

202As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,

203I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.

204Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us!

205How now! what news?

206The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,

207The queen is coming with a puissant host;

208And craves your company for speedy counsel.

209Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away.

1Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.

2Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy

3That sought to be encompass'd with your crown:

4Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

5Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck:

6To see this sight, it irks my very soul.

7Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,

8Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.

9My gracious liege, this too much lenity

10And harmful pity must be laid aside.

11To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?

12Not to the beast that would usurp their den.

13Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?

14Not his that spoils her young before her face.

15Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?

16Not he that sets his foot upon her back.

17The smallest worm will turn being trodden on,

18And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.

19Ambitious York doth level at thy crown,

20Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows:

21He, but a duke, would have his son a king,

22And raise his issue, like a loving sire;

23Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son,

24Didst yield consent to disinherit him,

25Which argued thee a most unloving father.

26Unreasonable creatures feed their young;

27And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,

28Yet, in protection of their tender ones,

29Who hath not seen them, even with those wings

30Which sometime they have used with fearful flight,

31Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,

32Offer their own lives in their young's defence?

33For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!

34Were it not pity that this goodly boy

35Should lose his birthright by his father's fault,

36And long hereafter say unto his child,

37'What my great-grandfather and his grandsire got

38My careless father fondly gave away'?

39Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;

40And let his manly face, which promiseth

41Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart

42To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.

43Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,

44Inferring arguments of mighty force.

45But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear

46That things ill-got had ever bad success?

47And happy always was it for that son

48Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?

49I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;

50And would my father had left me no more!

51For all the rest is held at such a rate

52As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep

53Than in possession and jot of pleasure.

54Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know

55How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

56My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes are nigh,

57And this soft courage makes your followers faint.

58You promised knighthood to our forward son:

59Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently.

60Edward, kneel down.

61Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;

62And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right.

63My gracious father, by your kingly leave,

64I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,

65And in that quarrel use it to the death.

66Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

67Royal commanders, be in readiness:

68For with a band of thirty thousand men

69Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York;

70And in the towns, as they do march along,

71Proclaims him king, and many fly to him:

72Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.

73I would your highness would depart the field:

74The queen hath best success when you are absent.

75Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.

76Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.

77Be it with resolution then to fight.

78My royal father, cheer these noble lords

79And hearten those that fight in your defence:

80Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!'

81Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace,

82And set thy diadem upon my head;

83Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

84Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!

85Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms

86Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?

87I am his king, and he should bow his knee;

88I was adopted heir by his consent:

89Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,

90You, that are king, though he do wear the crown,

91Have caused him, by new act of parliament,

92To blot out me, and put his own son in.

93And reason too:

94Who should succeed the father but the son?

95Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!

96Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,

97Or any he the proudest of thy sort.

98'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?

99Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

100For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight.

101What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?

102Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak?

103When you and I met at Saint Alban's last,

104Your legs did better service than your hands.

105Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.

106You said so much before, and yet you fled.

107'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

108No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.

109Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.

110Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain

111The execution of my big-swoln heart

112Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

113I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child?

114Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,

115As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;

116But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed.

117Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.

118Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.

119I prithee, give no limits to my tongue:

120I am a king, and privileged to speak.

121My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here

122Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.

123Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword:

124By him that made us all, I am resolved

125that Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.

126Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?

127A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day,

128That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.

129If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;

130For York in justice puts his armour on.

131If that be right which Warwick says is right,

132There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

133Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;

134For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

135But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam;

136But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic,

137Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,

138As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.

139Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,

140Whose father bears the title of a king,--

141As if a channel should be call'd the sea,--

142Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,

143To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?

144A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns,

145To make this shameless callet know herself.

146Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,

147Although thy husband may be Menelaus;

148And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd

149By that false woman, as this king by thee.

150His father revell'd in the heart of France,

151And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop;

152And had he match'd according to his state,

153He might have kept that glory to this day;

154But when he took a beggar to his bed,

155And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day,

156Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him,

157That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,

158And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.

159For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride?

160Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;

161And we, in pity of the gentle king,

162Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

163But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,

164And that thy summer bred us no increase,

165We set the axe to thy usurping root;

166And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,

167Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,

168We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down,

169Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.

170And, in this resolution, I defy thee;

171Not willing any longer conference,

172Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak.

173Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave!

174And either victory, or else a grave.

175Stay, Edward.

176No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay:

177These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.

1Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,

2I lay me down a little while to breathe;

3For strokes received, and many blows repaid,

4Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,

5And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.

6Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death!

7For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.

8How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good?

9Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair;

10Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us:

11What counsel give you? whither shall we fly?

12Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;

13And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit.

14Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?

15Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,

16Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance;

17And in the very pangs of death he cried,

18Like to a dismal clangour heard from far,

19'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!'

20So, underneath the belly of their steeds,

21That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,

22The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

23Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:

24I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.

25Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,

26Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;

27And look upon, as if the tragedy

28Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?

29Here on my knee I vow to God above,

30I'll never pause again, never stand still,

31Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine

32Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

33O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;

34And in this vow do chain my soul to thine!

35And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,

36I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,

37Thou setter up and plucker down of kings,

38Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands

39That to my foes this body must be prey,

40Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,

41And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!

42Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,

43Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth.

44Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick,

45Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:

46I, that did never weep, now melt with woe

47That winter should cut off our spring-time so.

48Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell.

49Yet let us all together to our troops,

50And give them leave to fly that will not stay;

51And call them pillars that will stand to us;

52And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards

53As victors wear at the Olympian games:

54This may plant courage in their quailing breasts;

55For yet is hope of life and victory.

56Forslow no longer, make we hence amain.

1Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone:

2Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,

3And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,

4Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

5Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:

6This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York;

7And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;

8And here's the heart that triumphs in their death

9And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother

10To execute the like upon thyself;

11And so, have at thee!

12Nay Warwick, single out some other chase;

13For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.

1This battle fares like to the morning's war,

2When dying clouds contend with growing light,

3What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,

4Can neither call it perfect day nor night.

5Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea

6Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;

7Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea

8Forced to retire by fury of the wind:

9Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;

10Now one the better, then another best;

11Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,

12Yet neither conqueror nor conquered:

13So is the equal of this fell war.

14Here on this molehill will I sit me down.

15To whom God will, there be the victory!

16For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,

17Have chid me from the battle; swearing both

18They prosper best of all when I am thence.

19Would I were dead! if God's good will were so;

20For what is in this world but grief and woe?

21O God! methinks it were a happy life,

22To be no better than a homely swain;

23To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

24To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,

25Thereby to see the minutes how they run,

26How many make the hour full complete;

27How many hours bring about the day;

28How many days will finish up the year;

29How many years a mortal man may live.

30When this is known, then to divide the times:

31So many hours must I tend my flock;

32So many hours must I take my rest;

33So many hours must I contemplate;

34So many hours must I sport myself;

35So many days my ewes have been with young;

36So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean:

37So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:

38So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,

39Pass'd over to the end they were created,

40Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

41Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!

42Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade

43To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,

44Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

45To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?

46O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.

47And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds,

48His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle.

49His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,

50All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

51Is far beyond a prince's delicates,

52His viands sparkling in a golden cup,

53His body couched in a curious bed,

54When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

55Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.

56This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,

57May be possessed with some store of crowns;

58And I, that haply take them from him now,

59May yet ere night yield both my life and them

60To some man else, as this dead man doth me.

61Who's this? O God! it is my father's face,

62Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.

63O heavy times, begetting such events!

64From London by the king was I press'd forth;

65My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man,

66Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;

67And I, who at his hands received my life, him

68Have by my hands of life bereaved him.

69Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!

70And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!

71My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;

72And no more words till they have flow'd their fill.

73O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!

74Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,

75Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.

76Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear;

77And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,

78Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief.

79Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,

80Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold:

81For I have bought it with an hundred blows.

82But let me see: is this our foeman's face?

83Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!

84Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,

85Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise,

86Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,

87Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart!

88O, pity, God, this miserable age!

89What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,

90Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural,

91This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!

92O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,

93And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!

94Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!

95O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!

96O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!

97The red rose and the white are on his face,

98The fatal colours of our striving houses:

99The one his purple blood right well resembles;

100The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth:

101Wither one rose, and let the other flourish;

102If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.

103How will my mother for a father's death

104Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied!

105How will my wife for slaughter of my son

106Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied!

107How will the country for these woful chances

108Misthink the king and not be satisfied!

109Was ever son so rued a father's death?

110Was ever father so bemoan'd his son?

111Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe?

112Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much.

113I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.

114These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;

115My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,

116For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go;

117My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;

118And so obsequious will thy father be,

119Even for the loss of thee, having no more,

120As Priam was for all his valiant sons.

121I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,

122For I have murdered where I should not kill.

123Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,

124Here sits a king more woful than you are.

125Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,

126And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:

127Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

128Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain:

129Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds

130Having the fearful flying hare in sight,

131With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,

132And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,

133Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.

134Away! for vengeance comes along with them:

135Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;

136Or else come after: I'll away before.

137Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter:

138Not that I fear to stay, but love to go

139Whither the queen intends. Forward; away!

1Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,

2Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.

3O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow

4More than my body's parting with my soul!

5My love and fear glued many friends to thee;

6And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts.

7Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York,

8The common people swarm like summer flies;

9And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?

10And who shines now but Henry's enemies?

11O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent

12That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds,

13Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!

14And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,

15Or as thy father and his father did,

16Giving no ground unto the house of York,

17They never then had sprung like summer flies;

18I and ten thousand in this luckless realm

19Had left no mourning widows for our death;

20And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.

21For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?

22And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?

23Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;

24No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:

25The foe is merciless, and will not pity;

26For at their hands I have deserved no pity.

27The air hath got into my deadly wounds,

28And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.

29Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;

30I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.

31Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause,

32And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.

33Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen,

34That led calm Henry, though he were a king,

35As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,

36Command an argosy to stem the waves.

37But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?

38No, 'tis impossible he should escape,

39For, though before his face I speak the words

40Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:

41And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.

42Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

43A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.

44See who it is: and, now the battle's ended,

45If friend or foe, let him be gently used.

46Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;

47Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch

48In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,

49But set his murdering knife unto the root

50From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,

51I mean our princely father, Duke of York.

52From off the gates of York fetch down the head,

53Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;

54Instead whereof let this supply the room:

55Measure for measure must be answered.

56Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,

57That nothing sung but death to us and ours:

58Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,

59And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.

60I think his understanding is bereft.

61Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?

62Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,

63And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.

64O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth:

65'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,

66Because he would avoid such bitter taunts

67Which in the time of death he gave our father.

68If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.

69Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.

70Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

71Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.

72While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.

73Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.

74Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee.

75Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?

76They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont.

77What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard

78When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.

79I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul,

80If this right hand would buy two hour's life,

81That I in all despite might rail at him,

82This hand should chop it off, and with the

83issuing blood

84Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst

85York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

86Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head,

87And rear it in the place your father's stands.

88And now to London with triumphant march,

89There to be crowned England's royal king:

90From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,

91And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen:

92So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;

93And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread

94The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again;

95For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,

96Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.

97First will I see the coronation;

98And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea,

99To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.

100Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;

101For in thy shoulder do I build my seat,

102And never will I undertake the thing

103Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.

104Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,

105And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself,

106Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.

107Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester;

108For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous.

109Tut, that's a foolish observation:

110Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London,

111To see these honours in possession.

1Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves;

2For through this laund anon the deer will come;

3And in this covert will we make our stand,

4Culling the principal of all the deer.

5I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.

6That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow

7Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.

8Here stand we both, and aim we at the best:

9And, for the time shall not seem tedious,

10I'll tell thee what befell me on a day

11In this self-place where now we mean to stand.

12Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past.

13From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,

14To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.

15No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;

16Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,

17Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed:

18No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,

19No humble suitors press to speak for right,

20No, not a man comes for redress of thee;

21For how can I help them, and not myself?

22Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee:

23This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.

24Let me embrace thee, sour adversity,

25For wise men say it is the wisest course.

26Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

27Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.

28My queen and son are gone to France for aid;

29And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick

30Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister

31To wife for Edward: if this news be true,

32Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost;

33For Warwick is a subtle orator,

34And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.

35By this account then Margaret may win him;

36For she's a woman to be pitied much:

37Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;

38Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;

39The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn;

40And Nero will be tainted with remorse,

41To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears.

42Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give;

43She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry,

44He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.

45She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed;

46He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd;

47That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more;

48Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,

49Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,

50And in conclusion wins the king from her,

51With promise of his sister, and what else,

52To strengthen and support King Edward's place.

53O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,

54Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn!

55Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?

56More than I seem, and less than I was born to:

57A man at least, for less I should not be;

58And men may talk of kings, and why not I?

59Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

60Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

61But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?

62My crown is in my heart, not on my head;

63Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,

64Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:

65A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

66Well, if you be a king crown'd with content,

67Your crown content and you must be contented

68To go along with us; for as we think,

69You are the king King Edward hath deposed;

70And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance

71Will apprehend you as his enemy.

72But did you never swear, and break an oath?

73No, never such an oath; nor will not now.

74Where did you dwell when I was King of England?

75Here in this country, where we now remain.

76I was anointed king at nine months old;

77My father and my grandfather were kings,

78And you were sworn true subjects unto me:

79And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?

80No;

81For we were subjects but while you were king.

82Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man?

83Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear!

84Look, as I blow this feather from my face,

85And as the air blows it to me again,

86Obeying with my wind when I do blow,

87And yielding to another when it blows,

88Commanded always by the greater gust;

89Such is the lightness of you common men.

90But do not break your oaths; for of that sin

91My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.

92Go where you will, the king shall be commanded;

93And be you kings, command, and I'll obey.

94We are true subjects to the king, King Edward.

95So would you be again to Henry,

96If he were seated as King Edward is.

97We charge you, in God's name, and the king's,

98To go with us unto the officers.

99In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd:

100And what God will, that let your king perform;

101And what he will, I humbly yield unto.

1Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field

2This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain,

3His lands then seized on by the conqueror:

4Her suit is now to repossess those lands;

5Which we in justice cannot well deny,

6Because in quarrel of the house of York

7The worthy gentleman did lose his life.

8Your highness shall do well to grant her suit;

9It were dishonour to deny it her.

10It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.

11[Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so?

12I see the lady hath a thing to grant,

13Before the king will grant her humble suit.

14[Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game: how true

15he keeps the wind!

16[Aside to CLARENCE] Silence!

17Widow, we will consider of your suit;

18And come some other time to know our mind.

19Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay:

20May it please your highness to resolve me now;

21And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.

22[Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant

23you all your lands,

24An if what pleases him shall pleasure you.

25Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow.

26[Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she

27chance to fall.

28[Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that! for he'll

29take vantages.

30How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.

31[Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a

32child of her.

33[Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, whip me then: he'll rather

34give her two.

35Three, my most gracious lord.

36[Aside to CLARENCE] You shall have four, if you'll

37be ruled by him.

38'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.

39Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.

40Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit.

41[Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, good leave have you; for

42you will have leave,

43Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.

44Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?

45Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.

46And would you not do much to do them good?

47To do them good, I would sustain some harm.

48Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.

49Therefore I came unto your majesty.

50I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.

51So shall you bind me to your highness' service.

52What service wilt thou do me, if I give them?

53What you command, that rests in me to do.

54But you will take exceptions to my boon.

55No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.

56Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.

57Why, then I will do what your grace commands.

58[Aside to CLARENCE] He plies her hard; and much rain

59wears the marble.

60[Aside to GLOUCESTER] As red as fire! nay, then

61her wax must melt.

62Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task?

63An easy task; 'tis but to love a king.

64That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.

65Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.

66I take my leave with many thousand thanks.

67[Aside to CLARENCE] The match is made; she seals it

68with a curtsy.

69But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean.

70The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.

71Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.

72What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get?

73My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;

74That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.

75No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.

76Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.

77But now you partly may perceive my mind.

78My mind will never grant what I perceive

79Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.

80To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.

81To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.

82Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.

83Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;

84For by that loss I will not purchase them.

85Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.

86Herein your highness wrongs both them and me.

87But, mighty lord, this merry inclination

88Accords not with the sadness of my suit:

89Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.'

90Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request;

91No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand.

92Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.

93[Aside to CLARENCE] The widow likes him not, she

94knits her brows.

95[Aside to GLOUCESTER] He is the bluntest wooer in

96Christendom.

97[Aside] Her looks do argue her replete with modesty;

98Her words do show her wit incomparable;

99All her perfections challenge sovereignty:

100One way or other, she is for a king;

101And she shall be my love, or else my queen.--

102Say that King Edward take thee for his queen?

103'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord:

104I am a subject fit to jest withal,

105But far unfit to be a sovereign.

106Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee

107I speak no more than what my soul intends;

108And that is, to enjoy thee for my love.

109And that is more than I will yield unto:

110I know I am too mean to be your queen,

111And yet too good to be your concubine.

112You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen.

113'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father.

114No more than when my daughters call thee mother.

115Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;

116And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor,

117Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing

118To be the father unto many sons.

119Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.

120[Aside to CLARENCE] The ghostly father now hath done

121his shrift.

122[Aside to GLOUCESTER] When he was made a shriver,

123'twas for shift.

124Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.

125The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.

126You'll think it strange if I should marry her.

127To whom, my lord?

128Why, Clarence, to myself.

129That would be ten days' wonder at the least.

130That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.

131By so much is the wonder in extremes.

132Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both

133Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.

134My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,

135And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.

136See that he be convey'd unto the Tower:

137And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,

138To question of his apprehension.

139Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably.

140Ay, Edward will use women honourably.

141Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all,

142That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,

143To cross me from the golden time I look for!

144And yet, between my soul's desire and me--

145The lustful Edward's title buried--

146Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,

147And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies,

148To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:

149A cold premeditation for my purpose!

150Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty;

151Like one that stands upon a promontory,

152And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,

153Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,

154And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,

155Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way:

156So do I wish the crown, being so far off;

157And so I chide the means that keeps me from it;

158And so I say, I'll cut the causes off,

159Flattering me with impossibilities.

160My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,

161Unless my hand and strength could equal them.

162Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;

163What other pleasure can the world afford?

164I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,

165And deck my body in gay ornaments,

166And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.

167O miserable thought! and more unlikely

168Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!

169Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb:

170And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,

171She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,

172To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;

173To make an envious mountain on my back,

174Where sits deformity to mock my body;

175To shape my legs of an unequal size;

176To disproportion me in every part,

177Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp

178That carries no impression like the dam.

179And am I then a man to be beloved?

180O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!

181Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,

182But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such

183As are of better person than myself,

184I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,

185And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell,

186Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head

187Be round impaled with a glorious crown.

188And yet I know not how to get the crown,

189For many lives stand between me and home:

190And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood,

191That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns,

192Seeking a way and straying from the way;

193Not knowing how to find the open air,

194But toiling desperately to find it out,--

195Torment myself to catch the English crown:

196And from that torment I will free myself,

197Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.

198Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile,

199And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart,

200And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,

201And frame my face to all occasions.

202I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;

203I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;

204I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,

205Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,

206And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.

207I can add colours to the chameleon,

208Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,

209And set the murderous Machiavel to school.

210Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?

211Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.

1Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,

2Sit down with us: it ill befits thy state

3And birth, that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit.

4No, mighty King of France: now Margaret

5Must strike her sail and learn awhile to serve

6Where kings command. I was, I must confess,

7Great Albion's queen in former golden days:

8But now mischance hath trod my title down,

9And with dishonour laid me on the ground;

10Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,

11And to my humble seat conform myself.

12Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair?

13From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears

14And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.

15Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,

16And sit thee by our side:

17Yield not thy neck

18To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind

19Still ride in triumph over all mischance.

20Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;

21It shall be eased, if France can yield relief.

22Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts

23And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.

24Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis,

25That Henry, sole possessor of my love,

26Is of a king become a banish'd man,

27And forced to live in Scotland a forlorn;

28While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York

29Usurps the regal title and the seat

30Of England's true-anointed lawful king.

31This is the cause that I, poor Margaret,

32With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir,

33Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid;

34And if thou fail us, all our hope is done:

35Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help;

36Our people and our peers are both misled,

37Our treasures seized, our soldiers put to flight,

38And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.

39Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm,

40While we bethink a means to break it off.

41The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.

42The more I stay, the more I'll succor thee.

43O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.

44And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow!

45What's he approacheth boldly to our presence?

46Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.

47Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France?

48Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;

49For this is he that moves both wind and tide.

50From worthy Edward, King of Albion,

51My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,

52I come, in kindness and unfeigned love,

53First, to do greetings to thy royal person;

54And then to crave a league of amity;

55And lastly, to confirm that amity

56With a nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant

57That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,

58To England's king in lawful marriage.

59[Aside] If that go forward, Henry's hope is done.

60[To BONA] And, gracious madam, in our king's behalf,

61I am commanded, with your leave and favour,

62Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue

63To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart;

64Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears,

65Hath placed thy beauty's image and thy virtue.

66King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak,

67Before you answer Warwick. His demand

68Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,

69But from deceit bred by necessity;

70For how can tyrants safely govern home,

71Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?

72To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice,

73That Henry liveth still: but were he dead,

74Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son.

75Look, therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage

76Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour;

77For though usurpers sway the rule awhile,

78Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.

79Injurious Margaret!

80And why not queen?

81Because thy father Henry did usurp;

82And thou no more are prince than she is queen.

83Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt,

84Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain;

85And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,

86Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest;

87And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth,

88Who by his prowess conquered all France:

89From these our Henry lineally descends.

90Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse,

91You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost

92All that which Henry Fifth had gotten?

93Methinks these peers of France should smile at that.

94But for the rest, you tell a pedigree

95Of threescore and two years; a silly time

96To make prescription for a kingdom's worth.

97Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege,

98Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years,

99And not bewray thy treason with a blush?

100Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right,

101Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree?

102For shame! leave Henry, and call Edward king.

103Call him my king by whose injurious doom

104My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere,

105Was done to death? and more than so, my father,

106Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years,

107When nature brought him to the door of death?

108No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm,

109This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.

110And I the house of York.

111Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford,

112Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside,

113While I use further conference with Warwick.

114Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not!

115Now Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience,

116Is Edward your true king? for I were loath

117To link with him that were not lawful chosen.

118Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.

119But is he gracious in the people's eye?

120The more that Henry was unfortunate.

121Then further, all dissembling set aside,

122Tell me for truth the measure of his love

123Unto our sister Bona.

124Such it seems

125As may beseem a monarch like himself.

126Myself have often heard him say and swear

127That this his love was an eternal plant,

128Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground,

129The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun,

130Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,

131Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.

132Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.

133Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine:

134Yet I confess that often ere this day,

135When I have heard your king's desert recounted,

136Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.

137Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward's;

138And now forthwith shall articles be drawn

139Touching the jointure that your king must make,

140Which with her dowry shall be counterpoised.

141Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness

142That Bona shall be wife to the English king.

143To Edward, but not to the English king.

144Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device

145By this alliance to make void my suit:

146Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend.

147And still is friend to him and Margaret:

148But if your title to the crown be weak,

149As may appear by Edward's good success,

150Then 'tis but reason that I be released

151From giving aid which late I promised.

152Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand

153That your estate requires and mine can yield.

154Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease,

155Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.

156And as for you yourself, our quondam queen,

157You have a father able to maintain you;

158And better 'twere you troubled him than France.

159Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, peace,

160Proud setter up and puller down of kings!

161I will not hence, till, with my talk and tears,

162Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold

163Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love;

164For both of you are birds of selfsame feather.

165Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.

166[To WARWICK] My lord ambassador, these letters are for you,

167Sent from your brother, Marquess Montague:

168These from our king unto your majesty:

169And, madam, these for you; from whom I know not.

170I like it well that our fair queen and mistress

171Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.

172Nay, mark how Lewis stamps, as he were nettled:

173I hope all's for the best.

174Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, fair queen?

175Mine, such as fill my heart with unhoped joys.

176Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent.

177What! has your king married the Lady Grey!

178And now, to soothe your forgery and his,

179Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?

180Is this the alliance that he seeks with France?

181Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?

182I told your majesty as much before:

183This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty.

184King Lewis, I here protest, in sight of heaven,

185And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss,

186That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's,

187No more my king, for he dishonours me,

188But most himself, if he could see his shame.

189Did I forget that by the house of York

190My father came untimely to his death?

191Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece?

192Did I impale him with the regal crown?

193Did I put Henry from his native right?

194And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame?

195Shame on himself! for my desert is honour:

196And to repair my honour lost for him,

197I here renounce him and return to Henry.

198My noble queen, let former grudges pass,

199And henceforth I am thy true servitor:

200I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona,

201And replant Henry in his former state.

202Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love;

203And I forgive and quite forget old faults,

204And joy that thou becomest King Henry's friend.

205So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,

206That, if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us

207With some few bands of chosen soldiers,

208I'll undertake to land them on our coast

209And force the tyrant from his seat by war.

210'Tis not his new-made bride shall succor him:

211And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me,

212He's very likely now to fall from him,

213For matching more for wanton lust than honour,

214Or than for strength and safety of our country.

215Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged

216But by thy help to this distressed queen?

217Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live,

218Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?

219My quarrel and this English queen's are one.

220And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours.

221And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's.

222Therefore at last I firmly am resolved

223You shall have aid.

224Let me give humble thanks for all at once.

225Then, England's messenger, return in post,

226And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,

227That Lewis of France is sending over masquers

228To revel it with him and his new bride:

229Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal.

230Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,

231I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.

232Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside,

233And I am ready to put armour on.

234Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,

235And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.

236There's thy reward: be gone.

237But, Warwick,

238Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men,

239Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle;

240And, as occasion serves, this noble queen

241And prince shall follow with a fresh supply.

242Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt,

243What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?

244This shall assure my constant loyalty,

245That if our queen and this young prince agree,

246I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy

247To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.

248Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion.

249Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous,

250Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick;

251And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable,

252That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.

253Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it;

254And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand.

255Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied,

256And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high admiral,

257Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet.

258I long till Edward fall by war's mischance,

259For mocking marriage with a dame of France.

260I came from Edward as ambassador,

261But I return his sworn and mortal foe:

262Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,

263But dreadful war shall answer his demand.

264Had he none else to make a stale but me?

265Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.

266I was the chief that raised him to the crown,

267And I'll be chief to bring him down again:

268Not that I pity Henry's misery,

269But seek revenge on Edward's mockery.

1Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you

2Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey?

3Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?

4Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France;

5How could he stay till Warwick made return?

6My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the king.

7And his well-chosen bride.

8I mind to tell him plainly what I think.

9Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice,

10That you stand pensive, as half malcontent?

11As well as Lewis of France, or the Earl of Warwick,

12Which are so weak of courage and in judgment

13That they'll take no offence at our abuse.

14Suppose they take offence without a cause,

15They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward,

16Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will.

17And shall have your will, because our king:

18Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

19Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?

20Not I:

21No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd

22Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 'twere pity

23To sunder them that yoke so well together.

24Setting your scorns and your mislike aside,

25Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey

26Should not become my wife and England's queen.

27And you too, Somerset and Montague,

28Speak freely what you think.

29Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis

30Becomes your enemy, for mocking him

31About the marriage of the Lady Bona.

32And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,

33Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.

34What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeased

35By such invention as I can devise?

36Yet, to have join'd with France in such alliance

37Would more have strengthen'd this our commonwealth

38'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage.

39Why, knows not Montague that of itself

40England is safe, if true within itself?

41But the safer when 'tis back'd with France.

42'Tis better using France than trusting France:

43Let us be back'd with God and with the seas

44Which He hath given for fence impregnable,

45And with their helps only defend ourselves;

46In them and in ourselves our safety lies.

47For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves

48To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.

49Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant;

50And for this once my will shall stand for law.

51And yet methinks your grace hath not done well,

52To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales

53Unto the brother of your loving bride;

54She better would have fitted me or Clarence:

55But in your bride you bury brotherhood.

56Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir

57Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son,

58And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.

59Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife

60That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.

61In choosing for yourself, you show'd your judgment,

62Which being shallow, you give me leave

63To play the broker in mine own behalf;

64And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.

65Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king,

66And not be tied unto his brother's will.

67My lords, before it pleased his majesty

68To raise my state to title of a queen,

69Do me but right, and you must all confess

70That I was not ignoble of descent;

71And meaner than myself have had like fortune.

72But as this title honours me and mine,

73So your dislike, to whom I would be pleasing,

74Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.

75My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns:

76What danger or what sorrow can befall thee,

77So long as Edward is thy constant friend,

78And their true sovereign, whom they must obey?

79Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too,

80Unless they seek for hatred at my hands;

81Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe,

82And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.

83[Aside] I hear, yet say not much, but think the more.

84Now, messenger, what letters or what news

85From France?

86My sovereign liege, no letters; and few words,

87But such as I, without your special pardon,

88Dare not relate.

89Go to, we pardon thee: therefore, in brief,

90Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them.

91What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters?

92At my depart, these were his very words:

93'Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king,

94That Lewis of France is sending over masquers

95To revel it with him and his new bride.'

96Is Lewis so brave? belike he thinks me Henry.

97But what said Lady Bona to my marriage?

98These were her words, utter'd with mad disdain:

99'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,

100I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.'

101I blame not her, she could say little less;

102She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen?

103For I have heard that she was there in place.

104'Tell him,' quoth she, 'my mourning weeds are done,

105And I am ready to put armour on.'

106Belike she minds to play the Amazon.

107But what said Warwick to these injuries?

108He, more incensed against your majesty

109Than all the rest, discharged me with these words:

110'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,

111And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.'

112Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?

113Well I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd:

114They shall have wars and pay for their presumption.

115But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?

116Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in

117friendship

118That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter.

119Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger.

120Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast,

121For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter;

122That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage

123I may not prove inferior to yourself.

124You that love me and Warwick, follow me.

125[Aside] Not I:

126My thoughts aim at a further matter; I

127Stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown.

128Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!

129Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen;

130And haste is needful in this desperate case.

131Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf

132Go levy men, and make prepare for war;

133They are already, or quickly will be landed:

134Myself in person will straight follow you.

135But, ere I go, Hastings and Montague,

136Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest,

137Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance:

138Tell me if you love Warwick more than me?

139If it be so, then both depart to him;

140I rather wish you foes than hollow friends:

141But if you mind to hold your true obedience,

142Give me assurance with some friendly vow,

143That I may never have you in suspect.

144So God help Montague as he proves true!

145And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause!

146Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?

147Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.

148Why, so! then am I sure of victory.

149Now therefore let us hence; and lose no hour,

150Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power.