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


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


KING HENRY. Come, Margaret. God, our hope, will succour us.


QUEEN MARGARET. [Aside.] My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceased.


KING HENRY. Farewell, my lord. Trust not the Kentish rebels.


BUCKINGHAM. Trust nobody, for fear you be betrayed.


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


SCENE V. London. The Tower


Enter Lord Scales upon the Tower, walking. Then enter two or three Citizens below.


SCALES. How now? Is Jack Cade slain?


1 CITIZEN. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have won the Bridge, killing all those that withstand them. The Lord Mayor craves aid of your honour from the Tower to defend the city from the rebels.


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


SCENE VI. London. Cannon Street


Enter Jack Cade and the rest, and strikes his staff on London Stone.


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


CADE. Knock him down there.


[They kill him.]


DICK. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call ye Jack Cade more. I think he hath a very fair warning. My lord, there's an army gathered together in Smithfield.


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


SCENE VII. London. Smithfield


Alarums. Matthew Gough is slain, and all the rest. Then enter Jack Cade with his company.


CADE. So, sirs. Now go some and pull down the Savoy; others to th' Inns of Court; down with them all.


DICK. I have a suit unto your lordship.


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


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


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


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


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


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


CADE. And henceforward all things shall be in common.


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


Enter George Bevis with the Lord Saye.


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


SAYE. What of that?


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


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


SAYE. You men of Kent—


DICK. What say you of Kent?


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


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


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


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


SAYE. Great men have reaching hands; oft have I struck Those that I never saw, and struck them dead.


GEORGE. O monstrous coward! What, to come behind folks?


SAYE. These cheeks are pale for watching for your good.


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


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


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


DICK. Why dost thou quiver, man?


SAYE. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.


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


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


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


ALL. It shall be done.


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


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


[Exeunt some with Lord Saye.]


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


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


CADE. Marry, presently.


Enter one with the heads.


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


SCENE VIII. Southwark


Alarum and retreat. Enter Cade and all his rabblement.


CADE. Up Fish Street! Down Saint Magnus' Corner! Kill and knock down! Throw them into Thames! [Sound a parley.] What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or parley when I command them kill?


Enter Buckingham and old Clifford attended.


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


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


ALL. God save the King! God save the King!


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


ALL. We'll follow Cade! We'll follow Cade!


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


ALL. A Clifford! A Clifford! We'll follow the King and Clifford.


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


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


[Exeunt some of them.]


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


SCENE IX. Kenilworth Castle


Sound trumpets. Enter King, Queen and Somerset on the terrace, aloft.


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


Enter Buckingham and old Clifford.


BUCKINGHAM. Health and glad tidings to your majesty!


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


Enter below multitudes with halters about their necks.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


[Here they fight and Cade falls.]


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


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


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


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


SCENE I. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath


Enter York and his army of Irish, with drum and colours.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


YORK. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?


BUCKINGHAM. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.


YORK. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers. Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves; Meet me tomorrow in Saint George's field, You shall have pay and everything you wish.


And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons, As pledges of my fealty and love, I'll send them all as willing as I live. Lands, goods, horse, armour, anything I have Is his to use, so Somerset may die.


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


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


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


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


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


Enter Iden with Cade's head.


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


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


IDEN. I was, an 't like your majesty.


KING HENRY. How art thou called? And what is thy degree?


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


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


KING HENRY. Iden, kneel down. [He kneels.] Rise up a knight. We give thee for reward a thousand marks, And will that thou henceforth attend on us.


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


KING HENRY. See, Buckingham, Somerset comes with the Queen. Go, bid her hide him quickly from the Duke.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


Enter old Clifford and his Son.


QUEEN MARGARET. And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.


CLIFFORD. Health and all happiness to my lord the King.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


Enter the Earls of Warwick and Salisbury.


CLIFFORD. Are these thy bears? We'll bait thy bears to death And manacle the bearherd in their chains, If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place.


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


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


YORK. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.


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


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


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


KING HENRY. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?


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


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


QUEEN MARGARET. A subtle traitor needs no sophister.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


RICHARD. Fie, charity, for shame! Speak not in spite, For you shall sup with Jesu Christ tonight.


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


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


The sign of the Castle Inn is displayed. Alarums to the battle. Enter Warwick.


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


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


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


Enter old Clifford.


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


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


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


CLIFFORD. What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause?


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


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


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


CLIFFORD. My soul and body on the action both!


YORK. A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.


[They fight and Clifford falls.]


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


Enter young Clifford.


YOUNG CLIFFORD. Shame and confusion! All is on the rout, Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, Whom angry heavens do make their minister, Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly. He that is truly dedicate to war Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself Hath not essentially but by circumstance, The name of valour. [Sees his dead father.] O, let the vile world end And the premised flames of the last day Knit earth and heaven together! Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, Particularities and petty sounds To cease! Wast thou ordained, dear father, To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve The silver livery of advised age, And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight My heart is turned to stone, and while 'tis mine It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; No more will I their babes; tears virginal Shall be to me even as the dew to fire, And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. Henceforth I will not have to do with pity. Meet I an infant of the house of York, Into as many gobbets will I cut it As wild Medea young Absyrtus did. In cruelty will I seek out my fame.


[He takes him up on his back.]


Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house; As did Aeneas old Anchises bear, So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; But then Aeneas bare a living load, Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.


[Exit, bearing off his father.]


Enter Richard and Somerset to fight. Somerset is killed.


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


Fight. Excursions. Enter King, Queen and others.


QUEEN MARGARET. Away, my lord! You are slow, for shame, away!


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


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


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


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


SCENE III. Fields near Saint Albans


Alarum. Retreat. Enter York, Richard, Warwick and Soldiers with drum and colours.


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


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


Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought today.


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


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


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


ACT I Scene I. London. The Parliament House Scene II. Sandal Castle Scene III. Plains near Sandal Castle Scene IV. The Same


ACT II Scene I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire Scene II. Before York Scene III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire Scene IV. Another Part of the Field Scene V. Another Part of the Field Scene VI. Another Part of the Field


ACT III Scene I. A Forest in the North of England Scene II. The Palace Scene III. France. The King's Palace


ACT IV Scene I. London. The Palace Scene II. A Plain in Warwickshire Scene III. Edward's Camp near Warwick Scene IV. London. The Palace Scene V. A park near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire Scene VI. London. The Tower Scene VII. Before York Scene VIII. London. The Palace


ACT V Scene I. Coventry Scene II. A Field of Battle near Barnet Scene III. Another Part of the Field Scene IV. Plains near Tewkesbury Scene V. Another part of the Field Scene VI. London. The Tower Scene VII. London. The Palace


KING HENRY the Sixth QUEEN MARGARET PRINCE EDWARD, Prince of Wales, his son DUKE OF SOMERSET DUKE OF EXETER EARL OF OXFORD EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND EARL OF WESTMORELAND LORD CLIFFORD RICHARD PLANTAGENET, Duke of York EDWARD, Earl of March, afterwards King Edward IV., his son GEORGE, afterwards Duke of Clarence, his son RICHARD, afterwards Duke of Gloucester, his son EDMUND, Earl of Rutland, his son DUKE OF NORFOLK MARQUESS OF MONTAGUE EARL OF WARWICK EARL OF PEMBROKE LORD HASTINGS LORD STAFFORD SIR JOHN MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York SIR HUGH MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York LADY GREY, afterwards Queen Elizabeth to Edward IV EARL RIVERS, brother to Lady Grey HENRY, Earl of Richmond, a youth SIR WILLIAM STANLEY SIR JOHN MONTGOMERY SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE KING LEWIS the Eleventh, King of France BONA, sister to the French Queen Tutor to Rutland Mayor of York Lieutenant of the Tower A Nobleman Two Keepers A Huntsman A Son that has killed his father A Father that has killed his son


SCENE: England and France


SCENE I. London. The Parliament House


Alarum. Enter Duke of York, Edward, Richard, Norfolk, Montague, Warwick and Soldiers, all wearing the white rose.


WARWICK. I wonder how the King escaped our hands.


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


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


[Showing his bloody sword.]


MONTAGUE. And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood,


[To York, showing his.]


Whom I encountered as the battles joined.


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


[Throwing down the Duke of Somerset's head.]


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


WARWICK. The bloody parliament shall this be called, Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice Hath made us bywords to our enemies.


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


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


[Warwick leads York to the throne, who seats himself.]


Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, Northumberland, Westmoreland, Exeter and the rest, all wearing the red rose.


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


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


CLIFFORD. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.


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


KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.


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


NORTHUMBERLAND. Well hast thou spoken, cousin. Be it so.


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


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


KING HENRY. Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart, To make a shambles of the Parliament House! Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats Shall be the war that Henry means to use.


[They advance to the Duke.]


Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; I am thy sovereign.


YORK. I am thine.


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


YORK. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.


EXETER. Thy father was a traitor to the crown.


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


CLIFFORD. Whom should he follow but his natural king?


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


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


YORK. It must and shall be so. Content thyself.


WARWICK. Be Duke of Lancaster. Let him be king.


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


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


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


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


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


WARWICK. Poor Clifford, how I scorn his worthless threats!


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


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


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


KING HENRY. The Lord Protector lost it, and not I. When I was crowned I was but nine months old.


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


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


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


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


YORK. Sons, peace!


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


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


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


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


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


YORK. 'Twas by rebellion against his king.


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


YORK. What then?


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


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


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


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


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


EXETER. His is the right, and therefore pardon me.


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


EXETER. My conscience tells me he is lawful king.


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


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


WARWICK. Deposed he shall be, in despite of all.


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


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


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


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


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


[He stamps with his foot, and the Soldiers show themselves.]


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


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


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


CLIFFORD. What wrong is this unto the Prince your son!


WARWICK. What good is this to England and himself!


WESTMORELAND. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry!


CLIFFORD. How hast thou injured both thyself and us!


WESTMORELAND. I cannot stay to hear these articles.


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


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


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


CLIFFORD. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, Or live in peace abandoned and despised!


[Exeunt Westmoreland, Northumberland and Clifford.]


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


EXETER. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield.


WARWICK. Why should you sigh, my lord?


KING HENRY. Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son, Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. But be it as it may, [To York.] I here entail The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; Conditionally, that here thou take an oath To cease this civil war, and whilst I live, To honour me as thy king and sovereign, And neither by treason nor hostility To seek to put me down and reign thyself.


YORK. This oath I willingly take and will perform.


[Coming from the throne.]


WARWICK. Long live King Henry! Plantagenet, embrace him.


KING HENRY. And long live thou, and these thy forward sons!


YORK. Now York and Lancaster are reconciled.


EXETER. Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes!


Sennet. Here they come down.


YORK. Farewell, my gracious lord. I'll to my castle.


WARWICK. And I'll keep London with my soldiers.


NORFOLK. And I to Norfolk with my followers.


MONTAGUE. And I unto the sea from whence I came.


[Exeunt York and his Sons, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague and their Soldiers.]


KING HENRY. And I with grief and sorrow to the court.


Enter Queen Margaret and the Prince of Wales.


EXETER. Here comes the Queen, whose looks bewray her anger. I'll steal away.


KING HENRY. Exeter, so will I.


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


KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle Queen, and I will stay.


QUEEN MARGARET. Who can be patient in such extremes? Ah, wretched man, would I had died a maid, And never seen thee, never borne thee son, Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father. Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus? Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, Or felt that pain which I did for him once, Or nourished him as I did with my blood, Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, Rather than have made that savage duke thine heir And disinherited thine only son.


PRINCE EDWARD. Father, you cannot disinherit me. If you be king, why should not I succeed?


KING HENRY. Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son. The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforced me.


QUEEN MARGARET. Enforced thee! Art thou King, and wilt be forced? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch, Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me, And given unto the house of York such head As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, What is it but to make thy sepulchre And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is Chancellor and the lord of Calais; Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; The Duke is made Protector of the realm; And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safety finds The trembling lamb environed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have tossed me on their pikes Before I would have granted to that act. But thou prefer'st thy life before thine honour. And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repealed Whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours Will follow mine if once they see them spread; And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away: Our army is ready; come, we'll after them.


KING HENRY. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.


QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hast spoke too much already. Get thee gone.


KING HENRY. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?


QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, to be murdered by his enemies.


PRINCE EDWARD. When I return with victory from the field I'll see your Grace. Till then I'll follow her.


QUEEN MARGARET. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.


[Exeunt Queen Margaret and the Prince.]


KING HENRY. Poor queen! How love to me and to her son Hath made her break out into terms of rage! Revenged may she be on that hateful Duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my son. The loss of those three lords torments my heart. I'll write unto them and entreat them fair. Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.


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


SCENE II. Sandal Castle


Enter Edward, Richard and Montague.


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


EDWARD. No, I can better play the orator.


MONTAGUE. But I have reasons strong and forcible.


Enter the Duke of York.


YORK. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a strife? What is your quarrel? How began it first?


EDWARD. No quarrel, but a slight contention.


YORK. About what?


RICHARD. About that which concerns your Grace and us: The crown of England, father, which is yours.


YORK. Mine, boy? Not till King Henry be dead.


RICHARD. Your right depends not on his life or death.


EDWARD. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now. By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will outrun you, father, in the end.


YORK. I took an oath that he should quietly reign.


EDWARD. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken. I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.


RICHARD. No; God forbid your Grace should be forsworn.


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


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


YORK. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.


RICHARD. An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate That hath authority over him that swears. Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest Until the white rose that I wear be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.


YORK. Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk And tell him privily of our intent. You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise. In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. While you are thus employed, what resteth more But that I seek occasion how to rise, And yet the King not privy to my drift, Nor any of the house of Lancaster?


But stay. What news? Why com'st thou in such post?


MESSENGER. The Queen, with all the northern earls and lords Intend here to besiege you in your castle. She is hard by with twenty thousand men; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.


YORK. Ay, with my sword. What, think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague shall post to London. Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we have left protectors of the King, With powerful policy strengthen themselves, And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.


MONTAGUE. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not. And thus most humbly I do take my leave.


YORK. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the Queen mean to besiege us.


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


YORK. What, with five thousand men?


RICHARD. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. A woman's general; what should we fear?


EDWARD. I hear their drums. Let's set our men in order, And issue forth and bid them battle straight.


YORK. Five men to twenty! Though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France Whenas the enemy hath been ten to one. Why should I not now have the like success?


SCENE III. Plains near Sandal Castle


Alarums. Enter Rutland and his Tutor.


RUTLAND. Ah, whither shall I fly to scape their hands? Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes.


Enter Clifford and Soldiers.


CLIFFORD. Chaplain, away! Thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke Whose father slew my father, he shall die.


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


CLIFFORD. Soldiers, away with him!


TUTOR. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man.


[Exit, dragged off by Soldiers.]


CLIFFORD. How now? Is he dead already? Or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.


RUTLAND. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threat'ning look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath; Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.


CLIFFORD. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood Hath stopped the passage where thy words should enter.


RUTLAND. Then let my father's blood open it again; He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.


CLIFFORD. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me. No, if I digged up thy forefathers' graves And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul; And till I root out their accursed line And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore—


[Lifting his hand.]


RUTLAND. O, let me pray before I take my death! To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!


CLIFFORD. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.


RUTLAND. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay me?


CLIFFORD. Thy father hath.


RUTLAND. But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days, And when I give occasion of offence Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.


CLIFFORD. No cause? Thy father slew my father; therefore die.


[Clifford stabs him.]


CLIFFORD. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade Shall rust upon my weapon till thy blood, Congealed with this, do make me wipe off both.


SCENE IV. The Same


Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of York.


YORK. The army of the Queen hath got the field. My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back and fly like ships before the wind, Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them; But this I know, they have demeaned themselves Like men born to renown by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me, And thrice cried "Courage, father, fight it out!" And full as oft came Edward to my side With purple falchion painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encountered him; And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried "Charge, and give no foot of ground!" And cried "A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!" With this we charged again; but, out, alas! We budged again, as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching waves.


[A short alarum within.]


Ah, hark, the fatal followers do pursue, And I am faint and cannot fly their fury; And were I strong, I would not shun their fury. The sands are numbered that makes up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end.


Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, the young Prince Edward and Soldiers.


Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage. I am your butt, and I abide your shot.


NORTHUMBERLAND. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.


CLIFFORD. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm With downright payment showed unto my father. Now Phaëthon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick.


YORK. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all; And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? What, multitudes, and fear?


CLIFFORD. So cowards fight when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.


YORK. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'errun my former time; And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.


CLIFFORD. I will not bandy with thee word for word, But buckle with thee blows twice two for one.


QUEEN MARGARET. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.


NORTHUMBERLAND. Hold, Clifford, do not honour him so much To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart. What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages, And ten to one is no impeach of valour.


[They lay hands on York, who struggles.]


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


NORTHUMBERLAND. So doth the cony struggle in the net.


YORK. So triumph thieves upon their conquered booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatched.


NORTHUMBERLAND. What would your Grace have done unto him now?


QUEEN MARGARET. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What, was it you that would be England's king? Was 't you that revelled in our parliament And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now, The wanton Edward and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York, I stained this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford with his rapier's point Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas, poor York, but that I hate thee deadly I should lament thy miserable state. I prithee grieve to make me merry, York; Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. What, hath thy fiery heart so parched thine entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; York cannot speak unless he wear a crown. A crown for York! And, lords, bow low to him. Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on.


[Putting a paper crown on his head.]


Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king. Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, And this is he was his adopted heir. But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crowned so soon and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink me, you should not be king Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death. And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath? O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable. Off with the crown, and, with the crown, his head; And whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.


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


QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes.


YORK. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph like an Amazonian trull Upon their woes whom Fortune captivates! But that thy face is vizard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But God he knows thy share thereof is small. 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired; The contrary doth make thee wondered at. 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable. Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the Septentrion. O tiger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide! How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bid'st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will; For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies, And every drop cries vengeance for his death 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.


NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.


YORK. That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touched, would not have stained with blood; But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears. This cloth thou dipped'st in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this; And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears And say "Alas, it was a piteous deed." There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse; And in thy need such comfort come to thee As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world, My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!


NORTHUMBERLAND. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him, To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.


QUEEN MARGARET. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.


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


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


YORK. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.


QUEEN MARGARET. Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York.


SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire


A march. Enter Edward and Richard and their power.


EDWARD. I wonder how our princely father scaped, Or whether he be scaped away or no From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit. Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; Or had he scaped, methinks we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my brother? Why is he so sad?


RICHARD. I cannot joy until I be resolved Where our right valiant father is become. I saw him in the battle range about, And watched him how he singled Clifford forth. Methought he bore him in the thickest troop As doth a lion in a herd of neat; Or as a bear, encompassed round with dogs, Who having pinched a few and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof and bark at him. So fared our father with his enemies; So fled his enemies my warlike father. Methinks 'tis pride enough to be his son. See how the morning opes her golden gates And takes her farewell of the glorious sun. How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimmed like a younker prancing to his love!


EDWARD. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?


RICHARD. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But severed in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see, they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vowed some league inviolable. Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event.


EDWARD. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think it cites us, brother, to the field, That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should notwithstanding join our lights together, And overshine the earth, as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair shining suns.


RICHARD. Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male.


Enter a Messenger, blowing.


But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?


MESSENGER. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on When as the noble Duke of York was slain, Your princely father and my loving lord.


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


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


MESSENGER. Environed he was with many foes, And stood against them as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks that would have entered Troy. But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hews down and fell the hardest-timbered oak. By many hands your father was subdued, But only slaughtered by the ireful arm Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen, Who crowned the gracious duke in high despite, Laughed in his face; and when with grief he wept, The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheeks A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain. And after many scorns, many foul taunts, They took his head, and on the gates of York They set the same; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that e'er I viewed.


EDWARD. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. O Clifford, boisterous Clifford, thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry; And treacherously hast thou vanquished him, For hand to hand he would have vanquished thee. Now my soul's palace is become a prison. Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body Might in the ground be closed up in rest! For never henceforth shall I joy again; Never, O, never, shall I see more joy!


RICHARD. I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart; Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen, For selfsame wind that I should speak withal Is kindling coals that fires all my breast And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. To weep is to make less the depth of grief: Tears, then, for babes; blows and revenge for me! Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it.


EDWARD. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; His dukedom and his chair with me is left.


RICHARD. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun; For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say, Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.


March. Enter Warwick, Marquess Montague and their army.


WARWICK. How now, fair lords! What fare? What news abroad?


RICHARD. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!


EDWARD. O, Warwick, Warwick, that Plantagenet Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.


WARWICK. Ten days ago I drowned these news in tears, And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss and his depart. I, then in London, keeper of the King, Mustered my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as I thought, Marched toward Saint Albans to intercept the Queen, Bearing the King in my behalf along; For by my scouts I was advertised That she was coming with a full intent To dash our late decree in Parliament Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. Short tale to make, we at Saint Albans met, Our battles joined, and both sides fiercely fought. But, whether 'twas the coldness of the King, Who looked full gently on his warlike Queen, That robbed my soldiers of their heated spleen, Or whether 'twas report of her success; Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went; Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. I cheered them up with justice of our cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards, But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we in them no hope to win the day; So that we fled: the King unto the Queen; Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you; For in the Marches here we heard you were, Making another head to fight again.


EDWARD. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to England?


WARWICK. Some six miles off the Duke is with the soldiers; And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war.


RICHARD. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled. Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.


WARWICK. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Were he as famous and as bold in war As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer.


RICHARD. I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not. 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords.


WARWICK. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out, And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting Queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many moe proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting King like wax. He swore consent to your succession, His oath enrolled in the Parliament; And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his oath and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong. Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, via, to London will we march amain, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry "Charge upon our foes!" But never once again turn back and fly.


RICHARD. Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak. Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day That cries "Retire," if Warwick bid him stay.


EDWARD. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou fail'st—as God forbid the hour!— Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend!


WARWICK. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York. The next degree is England's royal throne; For King of England shalt thou be proclaimed In every borough as we pass along, And he that throws not up his cap for joy Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets and about our task.


RICHARD. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.


EDWARD. Then strike up, drums! God and Saint George for us!


WARWICK. How now, what news?


MESSENGER. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The Queen is coming with a puissant host, And craves your company for speedy counsel.


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


SCENE II. Before York


Flourish. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince of Wales, Clifford and Northumberland with drums and trumpets.


QUEEN MARGARET. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompassed with your crown. Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?


KING HENRY. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wrack! To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'Tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.


CLIFFORD. My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York did level at thy crown, Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows. He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue like a loving sire; Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them, even with those wings Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climbed unto their nest, Offering their own lives in their young's defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent. Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, And long hereafter say unto his child, "What my great-grandfather and grandsire got, My careless father fondly gave away?" Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy, And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.


KING HENRY. Full well hath Clifford played the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear That things ill got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind, And would my father had left me no more; For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession any jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York, would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!


QUEEN MARGARET. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son. Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.— Edward, kneel down.


KING HENRY. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson: draw thy sword in right.


PRINCE EDWARD. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death.


CLIFFORD. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.


MESSENGER. Royal commanders, be in readiness; For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York, And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him. Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.


CLIFFORD. I would your highness would depart the field. The Queen hath best success when you are absent.


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


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


NORTHUMBERLAND. Be it with resolution then to fight.


PRINCE EDWARD. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence. Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry "Saint George!"


March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague and Soldiers.


EDWARD. Now, perjured Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace And set thy diadem upon my head, Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?


QUEEN MARGARET. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?


EDWARD. I am his king, and he should bow his knee. I was adopted heir by his consent. Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caused him by new act of Parliament To blot out me and put his own son in.


CLIFFORD. And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son?


RICHARD. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!


CLIFFORD. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee, Or any he, the proudest of thy sort.


RICHARD. 'Twas you that killed young Rutland, was it not?


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


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


WARWICK. What sayst thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?


QUEEN MARGARET. Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick, dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands.


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


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


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


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


RICHARD. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.


CLIFFORD. I slew thy father; call'st thou him a child?


RICHARD. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland, But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed.


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


QUEEN MARGARET. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.


KING HENRY. I prithee, give no limits to my tongue. I am a king, and privileged to speak.


CLIFFORD. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.


RICHARD. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword. By Him that made us all, I am resolved That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.


EDWARD. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts today That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.


WARWICK. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on.


PRINCE EDWARD. If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but everything is right.


RICHARD. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For well I wot thou hast thy mother's tongue.


QUEEN MARGARET. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam, But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, Marked by the Destinies to be avoided, As venom toads or lizards' dreadful stings.


RICHARD. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king, As if a channel should be called the sea, Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?


EDWARD. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns To make this shameless callet know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus; And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wronged By that false woman as this king by thee. His father revelled in the heart of France, And tamed the King, and made the Dauphin stoop; And had he matched according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But when he took a beggar to his bed And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day, Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him That washed his father's fortunes forth of France And heaped sedition on his crown at home. For what hath broached this tumult but thy pride? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipped our claim until another age.


GEORGE. But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root; And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike, We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.


EDWARD. And in this resolution I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference, Since thou deniest the gentle King to speak. Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave; And either victory or else a grave!


EDWARD. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay. These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.


SCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire


Alarums. Excursions. Enter Warwick.


WARWICK. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe; For strokes received, and many blows repaid, Have robbed my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile.


EDWARD. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death; For this world frowns and Edward's sun is clouded.


WARWICK. How now, my lord, what hap? What hope of good?


GEORGE. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke and ruin follows us. What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly?


EDWARD. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit.


RICHARD. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broached with the steely point of Clifford's lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, "Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my death!" So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stained their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.


WARWICK. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood; I'll kill my horse because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses whiles the foe doth rage, And look upon, as if the tragedy Were played in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above I'll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine, Or Fortune given me measure of revenge.


EDWARD. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine, And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, Beseeching Thee, if with Thy will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that Thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul. Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth.


RICHARD. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms. I, that did never weep, now melt with woe That winter should cut off our spring-time so.


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


GEORGE. Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay, And call them pillars that will stand to us; And if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games. This may plant courage in their quailing breasts, For yet is hope of life and victory. Forslow no longer; make we hence amain.


SCENE IV. Another Part of the Field


Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford.


RICHARD. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone. Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environed with a brazen wall.


CLIFFORD. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone. This is the hand that stabbed thy father York, And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart that triumphs in their death And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother To execute the like upon thyself; And so have at thee!


They fight. Warwick comes; Clifford flies.


RICHARD. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.


SCENE V. Another Part of the Field


KING HENRY. This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light, What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea Forced to retire by fury of the wind. Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; Now one the better, then another best, Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror nor conquered. So is the equal poise of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory! For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, Have chid me from the battle, swearing both They prosper best of all when I am thence. Would I were dead, if God's good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe? O God! Methinks it were a happy life To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours brings about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece. So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Passed over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this! How sweet, how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds looking on their silly sheep Than doth a rich embroidered canopy To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates— His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.


Alarum. Enter a Son that hath killed his father, bringing in the dead body.


SON. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns; And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me. Who's this? O God! It is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have killed. O heavy times, begetting such events! From London by the King was I pressed forth; My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, pressed by his master; And I, who at his hands received my life, Have by my hands of life bereaved him. Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did; And pardon, father, for I knew not thee. My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks, And no more words till they have flowed their fill.


KING HENRY. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears and break o'ercharged with grief.


Enter a Father who has killed his son, with the body in his arms.


FATHER. Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold, For I have bought it with an hundred blows. But let me see: is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no; it is mine only son! Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye! See, see what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart! O, pity, God, this miserable age! What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!


KING HENRY. Woe above woe, grief more than common grief! O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses; The one his purple blood right well resembles, The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth. Wither one rose, and let the other flourish! If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.


SON. How will my mother for a father's death Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied!


FATHER. How will my wife for slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied!


KING HENRY. How will the country for these woeful chances Misthink the King and not be satisfied!


SON. Was ever son so rued a father's death?


FATHER. Was ever father so bemoaned his son?


KING HENRY. Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow, mine ten times so much.


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


FATHER. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; And so obsequious will thy father be, Even for the loss of thee, having no more, As Priam was for all his valiant sons. I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, For I have murdered where I should not kill.


KING HENRY. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woeful than you are.


Alarums. Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince of Wales and Exeter.


PRINCE EDWARD. Fly, father, fly, for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull. Away, for death doth hold us in pursuit.


QUEEN MARGARET. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain. Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Having the fearful flying hare in sight, With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steel grasped in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.


EXETER. Away, for vengeance comes along with them. Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed, Or else come after; I'll away before.


KING HENRY. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter; Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the Queen intends. Forward; away!


SCENE VI. Another Part of the Field


A loud alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded.


CLIFFORD. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which whiles it lasted gave King Henry light. O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow More than my body's parting with my soul! My love and fear glued many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melts, Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York. The common people swarm like summer flies; And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? And who shines now but Henry's enemies? O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent That Phaëthon should check thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorched the earth! And, Henry, hadst thou swayed as kings should do, Or as thy father and his father did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm Had left no mourning widows for our death, And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight. The foe is merciless and will not pity, For at their hands I have deserved no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. Come, York and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; I stabbed your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.


[He faints.]


Alarum and retreat. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Montague, Warwick and Soldiers.


EDWARD. Now breathe we, lords. Good fortune bids us pause And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, filled with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?


WARWICK. No, 'tis impossible he should escape; For, though before his face I speak the words, Your brother Richard marked him for the grave, And whereso'er he is, he's surely dead.


[Clifford groans and dies.]


RICHARD. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.


EDWARD. See who it is; and, now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used.


RICHARD. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford, Who, not contented that he lopped the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, I mean our princely father, Duke of York.


WARWICK. From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; Instead whereof let this supply the room. Measure for measure must be answered.


EDWARD. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours; Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.


[Soldiers bring the body forward.]


WARWICK. I think his understanding is bereft. Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees nor hears us, what we say.


RICHARD. O, would he did, and so, perhaps, he doth! 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father.


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


RICHARD. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.


EDWARD. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.


WARWICK. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.


GEORGE. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.


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


EDWARD. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.


GEORGE. Where's Captain Margaret to fence you now?


WARWICK. They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont.


RICHARD. What, not an oath? Nay then, the world goes hard When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul, If this right hand would buy but two hours' life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain whose unstaunched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy.


WARWICK. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands. And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal king; From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen. So shalt thou sinew both these lands together, And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scattered foe that hopes to rise again; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation, And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.


EDWARD. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, And never will I undertake the thing Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester; And George, of Clarence. Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.


RICHARD. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester, For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous.


WARWICK. Tut, that's a foolish observation. Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London, To see these honours in possession.


SCENE I. A Forest in the North of England


Enter two Keepers with crossbows in their hands.


1 KEEPER. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves, For through this laund anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer.


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


1 KEEPER. That cannot be; the noise of thy crossbow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best; And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day In this self place where now we mean to stand.


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


Enter King Henry, disguised, with a prayer-book.


KING HENRY. From Scotland am I stolen, even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; Thy place is filled, thy sceptre wrung from thee, Thy balm washed off wherewith thou wast anointed. No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, No humble suitors press to speak for right, No, not a man comes for redress of thee; For how can I help them and not myself?


1 KEEPER. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee. This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.


KING HENRY. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, For wise men say it is the wisest course.


2 KEEPER. Why linger we? Let us lay hands upon him.


1 KEEPER. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.