KING HENRY. My queen and son are gone to France for aid; And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither gone to crave the French King's sister To wife for Edward. If this news be true, Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost, For Warwick is a subtle orator, And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. By this account, then, Margaret may win him, For she's a woman to be pitied much. Her sighs will make a batt'ry in his breast, Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn, And Nero will be tainted with remorse To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give; She on his left side craving aid for Henry; He on his right asking a wife for Edward. She weeps and says her Henry is deposed; He smiles and says his Edward is installed; That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more; Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, And in conclusion wins the King from her With promise of his sister, and what else, To strengthen and support King Edward's place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn.


2 KEEPER. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings and queens?


KING HENRY. More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be; And men may talk of kings, and why not I?


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


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


2 KEEPER. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?


KING HENRY. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Not to be seen. My crown is called content; A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.


2 KEEPER. Well, if you be a king crowned with content, Your crown content and you must be contented To go along with us; for, as we think, You are the king King Edward hath deposed; And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, Will apprehend you as his enemy.


KING HENRY. But did you never swear, and break an oath?


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


KING HENRY. Where did you dwell when I was King of England?


2 KEEPER. Here in this country, where we now remain.


KING HENRY. I was anointed king at nine months old; My father and my grandfather were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me. And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?


1 KEEPER. No, for we were subjects but while you were king.


KING HENRY. Why, am I dead? Do I not breathe a man? Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear. Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust, Such is the lightness of you common men. But do not break your oaths; for of that sin My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. Go where you will, the King shall be commanded; And be you kings; command, and I'll obey.


1 KEEPER. We are true subjects to the King, King Edward.


KING HENRY. So would you be again to Henry If he were seated as King Edward is.


1 KEEPER. We charge you, in God's name and the King's To go with us unto the officers.


KING HENRY. In God's name, lead; your king's name be obeyed, And what God will, that let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto.


SCENE II. The Palace


Enter King Edward, Richard (Duke of Gloucester), George (Duke of Clarence) and Lady Grey.


KING EDWARD. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Albans field This lady's husband, Sir John Grey, was slain, His land then seized on by the conqueror. Her suit is now to repossess those lands, Which we in justice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his life.


RICHARD. Your Highness shall do well to grant her suit; It were dishonour to deny it her.


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


RICHARD. [Aside to George.] Yea, is it so? I see the lady hath a thing to grant Before the King will grant her humble suit.


GEORGE. [Aside to Richard.] He knows the game; how true he keeps the wind!


RICHARD. [Aside to George.] Silence!


KING EDWARD. Widow, we will consider of your suit, And come some other time to know our mind.


LADY GREY. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay. May it please your Highness to resolve me now, And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me.


RICHARD. [Aside to George.] Ay, widow? Then I'll warrant you all your lands, An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow.


GEORGE. [Aside to Richard.] I fear her not, unless she chance to fall.


RICHARD. [Aside to George.] God forbid that, for he'll take vantages.


KING EDWARD. How many children hast thou, widow? Tell me.


GEORGE. [Aside to Richard.] I think he means to beg a child of her.


RICHARD. [Aside to George.] Nay, whip me then; he'll rather give her two.


LADY GREY. Three, my most gracious lord.


RICHARD. [Aside to George.] You shall have four if you'll be ruled by him.


KING EDWARD. 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.


LADY GREY. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.


KING EDWARD. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit.


RICHARD. [Aside to George.] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have leave Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.


[Richard and George stand aside.]


KING EDWARD. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?


LADY GREY. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.


KING EDWARD. And would you not do much to do them good?


LADY GREY. To do them good I would sustain some harm.


KING EDWARD. Then get your husband's lands to do them good.


LADY GREY. Therefore I came unto your majesty.


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


LADY GREY. So shall you bind me to your Highness' service.


KING EDWARD. What service wilt thou do me if I give them?


LADY GREY. What you command that rests in me to do.


KING EDWARD. But you will take exceptions to my boon.


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


LADY GREY. Why, then, I will do what your Grace commands.


RICHARD. [Aside to George.] He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble.


GEORGE. [Aside to Richard.] As red as fire! Nay, then her wax must melt.


LADY GREY. Why stops my lord? Shall I not hear my task?


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


LADY GREY. That's soon performed, because I am a subject.


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


LADY GREY. I take my leave with many thousand thanks.


RICHARD. [Aside to George.] The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy.


KING EDWARD. But stay thee; 'tis the fruits of love I mean.


LADY GREY. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.


KING EDWARD. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, thinkst thou, I sue so much to get?


LADY GREY. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love which virtue begs, and virtue grants.


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


LADY GREY. Why, then, you mean not as I thought you did.


KING EDWARD. But now you partly may perceive my mind.


LADY GREY. My mind will never grant what I perceive Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright.


KING EDWARD. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.


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


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


LADY GREY. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower, For by that loss I will not purchase them.


KING EDWARD. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.


LADY GREY. Herein your Highness wrongs both them and me. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination Accords not with the sadness of my suit. Please you dismiss me either with ay or no.


KING EDWARD. Ay, if thou wilt say ay to my request; No, if thou dost say no to my demand.


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


RICHARD. [Aside to George.] The widow likes him not, she knits her brows.


GEORGE. [Aside to Richard.] He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.


KING EDWARD. [Aside.] Her looks doth argue her replete with modesty; Her words doth show her wit incomparable; All her perfections challenge sovereignty. One way or other, she is for a king, And she shall be my love, or else my queen.— Say that King Edward take thee for his queen?


LADY GREY. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord. I am a subject fit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a sovereign.


KING EDWARD. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee, I speak no more than what my soul intends; And that is to enjoy thee for my love.


LADY GREY. And that is more than I will yield unto. I know I am too mean to be your queen, And yet too good to be your concubine.


KING EDWARD. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen.


LADY GREY. 'Twill grieve your Grace my sons should call you father.


KING EDWARD. No more than when my daughters call thee mother. Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, Have other some. Why, 'tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons. Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.


RICHARD. [Aside to George.] The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.


GEORGE. [Aside to Richard.] When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift.


KING EDWARD. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.


Richard and George come forward.


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


KING EDWARD. You'd think it strange if I should marry her.


GEORGE. To whom, my lord?


KING EDWARD. Why, Clarence, to myself.


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


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


RICHARD. By so much is the wonder in extremes.


KING EDWARD. Well, jest on, brothers. I can tell you both Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.


NOBLEMAN. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.


KING EDWARD. See that he be conveyed unto the Tower. And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, To question of his apprehension. Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably.


[Exeunt all but Richard.]


RICHARD. Ay, Edward will use women honourably. Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for! And yet, between my soul's desire and me— The lustful Edward's title buried— Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, And all the unlooked-for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms ere I can place myself. A cold premeditation for my purpose! Why then I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying he'll lade it dry to have his way. So do I wish the crown, being so far off, And so I chide the means that keeps me from it; And so I say I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities. My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard, What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And 'witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought, and more unlikely Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns. Why, Love forswore me in my mother's womb, And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail Nature with some bribe To shrink mine arm up like a withered shrub; To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits Deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlicked bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be beloved? O monstrous fault to harbour such a thought! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me But to command, to check, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And, whiles I live, t' account this world but hell Until my misshaped trunk that bear this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home; And I, like one lost in a thorny wood, That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns, Seeking a way, and straying from the way, Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out, Torment myself to catch the English crown. And from that torment I will free myself, Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile, And cry "Content!" to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall, I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slyly than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.


SCENE III. France. The King's Palace


Flourish. Enter Lewis, the French King, his sister the Lady Bona, his Admiral called Bourbon, Prince Edward, Queen Margaret, and the Earl of Oxford. Lewis sits, and riseth up again.


KING LEWIS. Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret, Sit down with us. It ill befits thy state And birth that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit.


QUEEN MARGARET. No, mighty King of France. Now Margaret Must strike her sail and learn awhile to serve Where kings command. I was, I must confess, Great Albion's queen in former golden days; But now mischance hath trod my title down And with dishonour laid me on the ground, Where I must take like seat unto my fortune And to my humble seat conform myself.


KING LEWIS. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair?


QUEEN MARGARET. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears And stops my tongue, while heart is drowned in cares.


KING LEWIS. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, And sit thee by our side. Yield not thy neck


[Seats her by him.]


To Fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance. Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; It shall be eased if France can yield relief.


QUEEN MARGARET. Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis That Henry, sole possessor of my love, Is, of a king, become a banished man And forced to live in Scotland a forlorn; While proud ambitious Edward, Duke of York, Usurps the regal title and the seat Of England's true-anointed lawful king. This is the cause that I, poor Margaret, With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir, Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; And if thou fail us, all our hope is done. Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help; Our people and our peers are both misled, Our treasure seized, our soldiers put to flight, And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.


KING LEWIS. Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm While we bethink a means to break it off.


QUEEN MARGARET. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.


KING LEWIS. The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee.


QUEEN MARGARET. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow. And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow.


KING LEWIS. What's he approacheth boldly to our presence?


QUEEN MARGARET. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.


KING LEWIS. Welcome, brave Warwick. What brings thee to France?


QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise, For this is he that moves both wind and tide.


WARWICK. From worthy Edward, king of Albion, My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, I come, in kindness and unfeigned love, First, to do greetings to thy royal person, And then to crave a league of amity, And lastly, to confirm that amity With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister, To England's king in lawful marriage.


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


WARWICK. [To Bona.] And, gracious madam, in our king's behalf, I am commanded, with your leave and favour, Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart, Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, Hath placed thy beauty's image and thy virtue.


QUEEN MARGARET. King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak Before you answer Warwick. His demand Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, But from deceit, bred by necessity; For how can tyrants safely govern home Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice, That Henry liveth still; but were he dead, Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son. Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour; For though usurpers sway the rule awhile, Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.


WARWICK. Injurious Margaret!


PRINCE EDWARD. And why not Queen?


WARWICK. Because thy father Henry did usurp, And thou no more art prince than she is queen.


OXFORD. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt, Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain; And after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest; And after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, Who by his prowess conquered all France. From these our Henry lineally descends.


WARWICK. Oxford, how haps it in this smooth discourse You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten? Methinks these peers of France should smile at that. But for the rest: you tell a pedigree Of threescore and two years, a silly time To make prescription for a kingdom's worth.


OXFORD. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege, Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years, And not bewray thy treason with a blush?


WARWICK. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? For shame! Leave Henry, and call Edward king.


OXFORD. Call him my king by whose injurious doom My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere, Was done to death? And more than so, my father, Even in the downfall of his mellowed years, When nature brought him to the door of death? No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm, This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.


WARWICK. And I the house of York.


KING LEWIS. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford, Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside While I use further conference with Warwick.


[They stand aloof.]


QUEEN MARGARET. Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not!


KING LEWIS. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience, Is Edward your true king? For I were loath To link with him that were not lawful chosen.


WARWICK. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.


KING LEWIS. But is he gracious in the people's eye?


WARWICK. The more that Henry was unfortunate.


KING LEWIS. Then further, all dissembling set aside, Tell me for truth the measure of his love Unto our sister Bona.


WARWICK. Such it seems As may beseem a monarch like himself. Myself have often heard him say and swear That this his love was an eternal plant, Whereof the root was fixed in virtue's ground, The leaves and fruit maintained with beauty's sun, Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.


KING LEWIS. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.


BONA. Your grant or your denial shall be mine. [To Warwick] Yet I confess that often ere this day, When I have heard your king's desert recounted, Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.


KING LEWIS. Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward's. And now forthwith shall articles be drawn Touching the jointure that your king must make, Which with her dowry shall be counterpoised. Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness That Bona shall be wife to the English king.


PRINCE EDWARD. To Edward, but not to the English king.


QUEEN MARGARET. Deceitful Warwick, it was thy device By this alliance to make void my suit. Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend.


KING LEWIS. And still is friend to him and Margaret. But if your title to the crown be weak, As may appear by Edward's good success, Then 'tis but reason that I be released From giving aid which late I promised. Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand That your estate requires and mine can yield.


WARWICK. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease, Where, having nothing, nothing can he lose. And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, You have a father able to maintain you, And better 'twere you troubled him than France.


QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, Proud setter up and puller down of kings! I will not hence till with my talk and tears, Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love; For both of you are birds of selfsame feather.


[Post blowing a horn within.]


KING LEWIS. Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.


Enter the Post.


POST. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you. Sent from your brother, Marquess Montague. These from our king unto your Majesty. And, madam, these for you, from whom I know not.


[They all read their letters.]


OXFORD. I like it well that our fair Queen and mistress Smiles at her news while Warwick frowns at his.


PRINCE EDWARD. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps as he were nettled. I hope all's for the best.


KING LEWIS. Warwick, what are thy news? And yours, fair Queen?


QUEEN MARGARET. Mine, such as fill my heart with unhoped joys.


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


KING LEWIS. What, has your king married the Lady Grey, And now, to soothe your forgery and his, Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? Is this th' alliance that he seeks with France? Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?


QUEEN MARGARET. I told your majesty as much before; This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty.


WARWICK. King Lewis, I here protest in sight of heaven, And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's— No more my king, for he dishonours me, But most himself, if he could see his shame. Did I forget that by the house of York My father came untimely to his death? Did I let pass th' abuse done to my niece? Did I impale him with the regal crown? Did I put Henry from his native right? And am I guerdoned at the last with shame? Shame on himself, for my desert is honour; And to repair my honour lost for him, I here renounce him and return to Henry. My noble Queen, let former grudges pass, And henceforth I am thy true servitor. I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona, And replant Henry in his former state.


QUEEN MARGARET. Warwick, these words have turned my hate to love; And I forgive and quite forget old faults, And joy that thou becom'st King Henry's friend.


WARWICK. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, That if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us With some few bands of chosen soldiers, I'll undertake to land them on our coast And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him; And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me, He's very likely now to fall from him For matching more for wanton lust than honour, Or than for strength and safety of our country.


BONA. Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged But by thy help to this distressed queen?


QUEEN MARGARET. Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?


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


WARWICK. And mine, fair Lady Bona, joins with yours.


KING LEWIS. And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's. Therefore, at last I firmly am resolved You shall have aid.


QUEEN MARGARET. Let me give humble thanks for all at once.


KING LEWIS. Then, England's messenger, return in post And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, That Lewis of France is sending over maskers To revel it with him and his new bride. Thou seest what's past; go fear thy king withal.


BONA. Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.


QUEEN MARGARET. Tell him my mourning weeds are laid aside, And I am ready to put armour on.


WARWICK. Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I'll uncrown him ere 't be long. There's thy reward; be gone.


KING LEWIS. But, Warwick, Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men, Shall cross the seas and bid false Edward battle; And, as occasion serves, this noble Queen And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt: What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?


WARWICK. This shall assure my constant loyalty: That if our Queen and this young prince agree, I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.


QUEEN MARGARET. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion. Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick, And with thy hand thy faith irrevocable That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.


PRINCE EDWARD. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it; And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand.


[He gives his hand to Warwick.]


KING LEWIS. Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied, And thou, Lord Bourbon, our High Admiral, Shall waft them over with our royal fleet. I long till Edward fall by war's mischance For mocking marriage with a dame of France.


[Exeunt all but Warwick.]


WARWICK. I came from Edward as ambassador, But I return his sworn and mortal foe. Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, But dreadful war shall answer his demand. Had he none else to make a stale but me? Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. I was the chief that raised him to the crown, And I'll be chief to bring him down again: Not that I pity Henry's misery, But seek revenge on Edward's mockery.


SCENE I. London. The Palace


Enter Richard (Duke of Gloucester), George (Duke of Clarence), Somerset and Montague.


RICHARD. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey? Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?


GEORGE. Alas, you know 'tis far from hence to France! How could he stay till Warwick made return?


SOMERSET. My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the King.


Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended; Lady Grey as Queen Elizabeth; Pembroke, Stafford, Hastings and others. Four stand on one side, and four on the other.


RICHARD. And his well-chosen bride.


GEORGE. I mind to tell him plainly what I think.


KING EDWARD. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice, That you stand pensive as half malcontent?


GEORGE. As well as Lewis of France or the Earl of Warwick, Which are so weak of courage and in judgment That they'll take no offence at our abuse.


KING EDWARD. Suppose they take offence without a cause, They are but Lewis and Warwick; I am Edward, Your King and Warwick's, and must have my will.


RICHARD. And shall have your will, because our King. Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.


KING EDWARD. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?


RICHARD. Not I. No, God forbid that I should wish them severed Whom God hath joined together. Ay, and 'twere pity To sunder them that yoke so well together.


KING EDWARD. Setting your scorns and your mislike aside, Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey Should not become my wife and England's queen. And you too, Somerset and Montague, Speak freely what you think.


GEORGE. Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis Becomes your enemy for mocking him About the marriage of the Lady Bona.


RICHARD. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.


KING EDWARD. What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeased By such invention as I can devise?


MONTAGUE. Yet to have joined with France in such alliance Would more have strengthened this our commonwealth 'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage.


HASTINGS. Why, knows not Montague that of itself England is safe, if true within itself?


MONTAGUE. But the safer when 'tis backed with France.


HASTINGS. 'Tis better using France than trusting France. Let us be backed with God and with the seas Which He hath giv'n for fence impregnable, And with their helps only defend ourselves. In them and in ourselves our safety lies.


GEORGE. For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.


KING EDWARD. Ay, what of that? It was my will and grant; And for this once my will shall stand for law.


RICHARD. And yet, methinks, your Grace hath not done well To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales Unto the brother of your loving bride. She better would have fitted me or Clarence; But in your bride you bury brotherhood.


GEORGE. Or else you would not have bestowed the heir Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son, And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.


KING EDWARD. Alas, poor Clarence, is it for a wife That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.


GEORGE. In choosing for yourself you showed your judgment, Which being shallow, you shall give me leave To play the broker in mine own behalf; And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.


KING EDWARD. Leave me or tarry, Edward will be king, And not be tied unto his brother's will.


QUEEN ELIZABETH. My lords, before it pleased his Majesty To raise my state to title of a queen, Do me but right, and you must all confess That I was not ignoble of descent, And meaner than myself have had like fortune. But as this title honours me and mine, So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing, Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.


KING EDWARD. My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns. What danger or what sorrow can befall thee So long as Edward is thy constant friend And their true sovereign, whom they must obey? Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, Unless they seek for hatred at my hands; Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.


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


KING EDWARD. Now, messenger, what letters or what news From France?


POST. My sovereign liege, no letters, and few words, But such as I, without your special pardon, Dare not relate.


KING EDWARD. Go to, we pardon thee. Therefore, in brief, Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters?


POST. At my depart these were his very words: "Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, That Lewis of France is sending over maskers To revel it with him and his new bride."


KING EDWARD. Is Lewis so brave? Belike he thinks me Henry. But what said Lady Bona to my marriage?


POST. These were her words, uttered with mild disdain: "Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, I'll wear the willow garland for his sake."


KING EDWARD. I blame not her; she could say little less; She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen? For I have heard that she was there in place.


POST. "Tell him," quoth she "my mourning weeds are done, And I am ready to put armour on."


KING EDWARD. Belike she minds to play the Amazon. But what said Warwick to these injuries?


POST. He, more incensed against your Majesty Than all the rest, discharged me with these words: "Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I'll uncrown him ere 't be long."


KING EDWARD. Ha! Durst the traitor breathe out so proud words? Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarned. They shall have wars and pay for their presumption. But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?


POST. Ay, gracious sovereign, they are so linked in friendship That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter.


GEORGE. Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger. Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter; That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage I may not prove inferior to yourself. You that love me and Warwick, follow me.


[Exit George and Somerset follows.]


RICHARD. [Aside.] Not I. My thoughts aim at a further matter; I stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown.


KING EDWARD. Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick! Yet am I armed against the worst can happen, And haste is needful in this desperate case. Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf Go levy men and make prepare for war; They are already, or quickly will be, landed. Myself in person will straight follow you.


[Exeunt Pembroke and Stafford.]


But, ere I go, Hastings and Montague, Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance. Tell me if you love Warwick more than me. If it be so, then both depart to him. I rather wish you foes than hollow friends. But if you mind to hold your true obedience, Give me assurance with some friendly vow, That I may never have you in suspect.


MONTAGUE. So God help Montague as he proves true!


HASTINGS. And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause!


KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?


RICHARD. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.


KING EDWARD. Why, so! Then am I sure of victory. Now, therefore, let us hence, and lose no hour Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power.


SCENE II. A Plain in Warwickshire


Enter Warwick and Oxford in England, with French Soldiers.


WARWICK. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; The common people by numbers swarm to us.


Enter George (Duke of Clarence) and Somerset.


But see where Somerset and Clarence comes. Speak suddenly, my lords: are we all friends?


GEORGE. Fear not that, my lord.


WARWICK. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick; And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love; Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother, Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings. But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine. And now what rests but, in night's coverture, Thy brother being carelessly encamped, His soldiers lurking in the towns about, And but attended by a simple guard, We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? Our scouts have found the adventure very easy; That, as Ulysses and stout Diomede With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds, So we, well covered with the night's black mantle, At unawares may beat down Edward's guard, And seize himself. I say not, slaughter him, For I intend but only to surprise him. You that will follow me to this attempt, Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.


[They all cry "Henry!"]


Why then, let's on our way in silent sort, For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George!


SCENE III. Edward's Camp near Warwick


Enter three Watchmen to guard the King's tent.


1 WATCHMAN. Come on, my masters, each man take his stand. The King by this is set him down to sleep.


2 WATCHMAN. What, will he not to bed?


1 WATCHMAN. Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow Never to lie and take his natural rest Till Warwick or himself be quite suppressed.


2 WATCHMAN. Tomorrow, then, belike shall be the day, If Warwick be so near as men report.


3 WATCHMAN. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that That with the King here resteth in his tent?


1 WATCHMAN. 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the King's chiefest friend.


3 WATCHMAN. O, is it so? But why commands the King That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, While he himself keeps in the cold field?


2 WATCHMAN. 'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous.


3 WATCHMAN. Ay, but give me worship and quietness; I like it better than dangerous honour. If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 'Tis to be doubted he would waken him.


1 WATCHMAN. Unless our halberds did shut up his passage.


2 WATCHMAN. Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent But to defend his person from night-foes?


Enter Warwick, George (Duke of Clarence), Oxford, Somerset and French Soldiers, silent all.


WARWICK. This is his tent; and see where stand his guard. Courage, my masters! Honour now or never! But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.


1 WATCHMAN. Who goes there?


2 WATCHMAN. Stay, or thou diest.


[Warwick and the rest cry all, "Warwick! Warwick!" and set upon the guard, who fly, crying "Arm! Arm!" Warwick and the rest following them.]


The drum playing and trumpet sounding, enter Warwick, Somerset, and the rest, bringing the King out in his gown, sitting in a chair. Richard (Duke of Gloucester) and Hastings fly over the stage.


SOMERSET. What are they that fly there?


WARWICK. Richard and Hastings. Let them go. Here is the Duke.


KING EDWARD. The Duke? Why, Warwick, when we parted, Thou call'dst me king?


WARWICK. Ay, but the case is altered. When you disgraced me in my embassade, Then I degraded you from being king, And come now to create you Duke of York. Alas, how should you govern any kingdom That know not how to use ambassadors, Nor how to be contented with one wife, Nor how to use your brothers brotherly, Nor how to study for the people's welfare, Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies?


KING EDWARD. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too? Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down. Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance Of thee thyself and all thy complices, Edward will always bear himself as king. Though Fortune's malice overthrow my state, My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.


WARWICK. Then for his mind be Edward England's king;


[Takes off his crown.]


But Henry now shall wear the English crown And be true king indeed, thou but the shadow. My lord of Somerset, at my request, See that forthwith Duke Edward be conveyed Unto my brother, Archbishop of York. When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, I'll follow you and tell what answer Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him. Now, for a while farewell, good Duke of York.


[They begin to lead him out forcibly.]


KING EDWARD. What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide.


[Exit King Edward, led out; Somerset with him.]


OXFORD. What now remains, my lords, for us to do, But march to London with our soldiers?


WARWICK. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do, To free King Henry from imprisonment And see him seated in the regal throne.


Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers.


RIVERS. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?


QUEEN ELIZABETH. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward?


RIVERS. What, loss of some pitched battle against Warwick?


QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, but the loss of his own royal person.


RIVERS. Then is my sovereign slain?


QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner, Either betrayed by falsehood of his guard Or by his foe surprised at unawares; And, as I further have to understand, Is new committed to the Bishop of York, Fell Warwick's brother and by that our foe.


RIVERS. These news, I must confess, are full of grief; Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may. Warwick may lose that now hath won the day.


QUEEN ELIZABETH. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay; And I the rather wean me from despair For love of Edward's offspring in my womb. This is it that makes me bridle passion And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross, Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown King Edward's fruit, true heir to th' English crown.


RIVERS. But, madam, where is Warwick then become?


QUEEN ELIZABETH. I am informed that he comes towards London To set the crown once more on Henry's head. Guess thou the rest: King Edward's friends must down. But to prevent the tyrant's violence— For trust not him that hath once broken faith— I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary To save at least the heir of Edward's right. There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly. If Warwick take us, we are sure to die.


SCENE V. A park near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire


Enter Richard (Duke of Gloucester), Lord Hastings, Sir William Stanley and others.


RICHARD. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley, Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither Into this chiefest thicket of the park. Thus stands the case: you know our King, my brother, Is prisoner to the Bishop here, at whose hands He hath good usage and great liberty, And often but attended with weak guard, Comes hunting this way to disport himself. I have advertised him by secret means That if about this hour he make this way, Under the colour of his usual game, He shall here find his friends with horse and men To set him free from his captivity.


Enter King Edward and a Huntsman with him.


HUNTSMAN. This way, my lord, for this way lies the game.


KING EDWARD. Nay, this way, man. See where the huntsmen stand. Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest, Stand you thus close to steal the Bishop's deer?


RICHARD. Brother, the time and case requireth haste; Your horse stands ready at the park corner.


KING EDWARD. But whither shall we then?


HASTINGS. To Lynn, my lord, and shipped from thence to Flanders.


RICHARD. Well guessed, believe me, for that was my meaning.


KING EDWARD. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.


RICHARD. But wherefore stay we? 'Tis no time to talk.


KING EDWARD. Huntsman, what sayst thou? Wilt thou go along?


HUNTSMAN. Better do so than tarry and be hanged.


RICHARD. Come then, away! Let's ha' no more ado.


KING EDWARD. Bishop, farewell; shield thee from Warwick's frown, And pray that I may repossess the crown.


SCENE VI. London. The Tower


Enter King Henry, George (Duke of Clarence), Warwick, Somerset, young Richmond, Oxford, Montague, and Lieutenant of the Tower.


KING HENRY. Master Lieutenant, now that God and friends Have shaken Edward from the regal seat And turned my captive state to liberty, My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys, At our enlargement what are thy due fees?


LIEUTENANT. Subjects may challenge nothing of their sovereigns; But if an humble prayer may prevail, I then crave pardon of your Majesty.


KING HENRY. For what, lieutenant? For well using me? Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness, For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure; Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds Conceive when, after many moody thoughts, At last by notes of household harmony They quite forget their loss of liberty. But, Warwick, after God thou sett'st me free, And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee; He was the author, thou the instrument. Therefore, that I may conquer Fortune's spite, By living low where Fortune cannot hurt me, And that the people of this blessed land May not be punished with my thwarting stars, Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, I here resign my government to thee, For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.


WARWICK. Your Grace hath still been famed for virtuous, And now may seem as wise as virtuous By spying and avoiding Fortune's malice, For few men rightly temper with the stars; Yet in this one thing let me blame your Grace, For choosing me when Clarence is in place.


GEORGE. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, To whom the heavens in thy nativity Adjudged an olive branch and laurel crown, As likely to be blest in peace and war; And therefore I yield thee my free consent.


WARWICK. And I choose Clarence only for Protector.


KING HENRY. Warwick and Clarence, give me both your hands. Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts, That no dissension hinder government. I make you both Protectors of this land, While I myself will lead a private life And in devotion spend my latter days, To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise.


WARWICK. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will?


GEORGE. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent, For on thy fortune I repose myself.


WARWICK. Why, then, though loath, yet I must be content. We'll yoke together, like a double shadow To Henry's body, and supply his place; I mean, in bearing weight of government, While he enjoys the honour and his ease. And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a traitor And all his lands and goods be confiscate.


GEORGE. What else? And that succession be determined.


WARWICK. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.


KING HENRY. But with the first of all your chief affairs Let me entreat—for I command no more— That Margaret your Queen and my son Edward Be sent for to return from France with speed; For till I see them here, by doubtful fear My joy of liberty is half eclipsed.


GEORGE. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed.


KING HENRY. My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that Of whom you seem to have so tender care?


SOMERSET. My liege, it is young Henry, Earl of Richmond.


KING HENRY. Come hither, England's hope. If secret powers


[Lays his hand on his head.]


Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. His looks are full of peaceful majesty, His head by nature framed to wear a crown, His hand to wield a sceptre, and himself Likely in time to bless a regal throne. Make much of him, my lords, for this is he Must help you more than you are hurt by me.


WARWICK. What news, my friend?


POST. That Edward is escaped from your brother And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.


WARWICK. Unsavoury news! But how made he escape?


POST. He was conveyed by Richard, Duke of Gloucester And the Lord Hastings, who attended him In secret ambush on the forest side And from the Bishop's huntsmen rescued him, For hunting was his daily exercise.


WARWICK. My brother was too careless of his charge. But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide A salve for any sore that may betide.


[Exeunt all but Somerset, Richmond and Oxford.]


SOMERSET. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's, For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help, And we shall have more wars before 't be long. As Henry's late presaging prophecy Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond, So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts What may befall him, to his harm and ours. Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany Till storms be past of civil enmity.


OXFORD. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown, 'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down.


SOMERSET. It shall be so. He shall to Brittany. Come therefore, let's about it speedily.


SCENE VII. Before York


Flourish. Enter King Edward, Richard (Duke of Gloucester), Hastings and Soldiers.


KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest, Yet thus far Fortune maketh us amends, And says that once more I shall interchange My waned state for Henry's regal crown. Well have we passed and now repassed the seas, And brought desired help from Burgundy. What then remains, we being thus arrived From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York, But that we enter as into our dukedom?


RICHARD. The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this; For many men that stumble at the threshold Are well foretold that danger lurks within.


KING EDWARD. Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us. By fair or foul means we must enter in, For hither will our friends repair to us.


HASTINGS. My liege, I'll knock once more to summon them.


Enter on the walls, the Mayor of York and his Brethren.


MAYOR. My lords, we were forewarned of your coming And shut the gates for safety of ourselves, For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.


KING EDWARD. But, master Mayor, if Henry be your king, Yet Edward, at the least, is Duke of York.


MAYOR. True, my good lord, I know you for no less.


KING EDWARD. Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom, As being well content with that alone.


RICHARD. [Aside.] But when the fox hath once got in his nose, He'll soon find means to make the body follow.


HASTINGS. Why, master Mayor, why stand you in a doubt? Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends.


MAYOR. Ay, say you so? The gates shall then be opened.


RICHARD. A wise, stout captain, and soon persuaded.


HASTINGS. The good old man would fain that all were well, So 'twere not long of him; but, being entered, I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade Both him and all his brothers unto reason.


Enter the Mayor and two Aldermen below.


KING EDWARD. So, master Mayor, these gates must not be shut But in the night or in the time of war. What, fear not, man, but yield me up the keys;


For Edward will defend the town and thee And all those friends that deign to follow me.


March. Enter Montgomery with drum and Soldiers.


RICHARD. Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery, Our trusty friend unless I be deceived.


KING EDWARD. Welcome, Sir John! But why come you in arms?


MONTGOMERY. To help King Edward in his time of storm, As every loyal subject ought to do.


KING EDWARD. Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget Our title to the crown, and only claim Our dukedom till God please to send the rest.


MONTGOMERY. Then fare you well, for I will hence again. I came to serve a king, and not a duke. Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.


[The drum begins to march.]


KING EDWARD. Nay, stay, Sir John, a while, and we'll debate By what safe means the crown may be recovered.


MONTGOMERY. What talk you of debating? In few words, If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king, I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone To keep them back that come to succour you. Why shall we fight if you pretend no title?


RICHARD. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?


KING EDWARD. When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim. Till then 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.


HASTINGS. Away with scrupulous wit! Now arms must rule.


RICHARD. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand; The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.


KING EDWARD. Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right, And Henry but usurps the diadem.


MONTGOMERY. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself, And now will I be Edward's champion.


HASTINGS. Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaimed. Come, fellow soldier, make thou proclamation.


[Gives him a paper. Flourish.]


SOLDIER. [Reads.] Edward the Fourth, by the Grace of God, King of England and France, and Lord of Ireland, etc.


MONTGOMERY. And whoso'er gainsays King Edward's right, By this I challenge him to single fight.


[Throws down his gauntlet.]


ALL. Long live Edward the Fourth!


KING EDWARD. Thanks, brave Montgomery, and thanks unto you all. If Fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness. Now for this night let's harbour here in York, And when the morning sun shall raise his car Above the border of this horizon We'll forward towards Warwick and his mates; For well I wot that Henry is no soldier. Ah, froward Clarence, how evil it beseems thee To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother! Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick. Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day, And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay.


SCENE VIII. London. The Palace


Flourish. Enter King Henry, Warwick, Montague, George (Duke of Clarence), Oxford and Exeter.


WARWICK. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, Hath passed in safety through the Narrow Seas, And with his troops doth march amain to London; And many giddy people flock to him.


KING HENRY. Let's levy men and beat him back again.


GEORGE. A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench.


WARWICK. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war. Those will I muster up; and thou, son Clarence, Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent The knights and gentlemen to come with thee. Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, Northampton, and in Leicestershire shalt find Men well inclined to hear what thou command'st. And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well beloved, In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. My sovereign, with the loving citizens, Like to his island girt in with the ocean, Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, Shall rest in London till we come to him. Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply. Farewell, my sovereign.


KING HENRY. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope.


GEORGE. In sign of truth, I kiss your Highness' hand.


KING HENRY. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate.


MONTAGUE. Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave.


OXFORD. And thus [kissing Henry's hand] I seal my truth, and bid adieu.


KING HENRY. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, And all at once, once more a happy farewell.


[Exeunt all but King Henry and Exeter.]


KING HENRY. Here at the palace will I rest a while. Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? Methinks the power that Edward hath in field Should not be able to encounter mine.


EXETER. The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.


KING HENRY. That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame. I have not stopped mine ears to their demands, Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allayed their swelling griefs, My mercy dried their water-flowing tears. I have not been desirous of their wealth Nor much oppressed them with great subsidies, Nor forward of revenge, though they much erred. Then why should they love Edward more than me? No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace; And when the lion fawns upon the lamb, The lamb will never cease to follow him.


[Shout within "A York! A York!"]


EXETER. Hark, hark, my lord, what shouts are these?


Enter King Edward, Richard (Duke of Gloucester) and Soldiers.


KING EDWARD. Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear him hence, And once again proclaim us King of England. You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow. Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry And swell so much the higher by their ebb. Hence with him to the Tower. Let him not speak.


[Exeunt some with King Henry.]


And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, Where peremptory Warwick now remains. The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay, Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay.


RICHARD. Away betimes, before his forces join, And take the great-grown traitor unawares. Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.


SCENE I. Coventry


Enter, Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two Messengers and others, upon the walls.


WARWICK. Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford? How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?


1 MESSENGER. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.


WARWICK. How far off is our brother Montague? Where is the post that came from Montague?


2 MESSENGER. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.


WARWICK. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son? And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now?


SOMERVILLE. At Southam I did leave him with his forces And do expect him here some two hours hence.


[Drum heard.]


WARWICK. Then Clarence is at hand; I hear his drum.


SOMERVILLE. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies. The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick.


WARWICK. Who should that be? Belike, unlooked-for friends.


SOMERVILLE. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.


March. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Richard (Duke of Gloucester) and Soldiers.


KING EDWARD. Go, trumpet, to the walls and sound a parle.


RICHARD. See how the surly Warwick mans the wall.


WARWICK. O, unbid spite! Is sportful Edward come? Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced, That we could hear no news of his repair?


KING EDWARD. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates, Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy knee? Call Edward King and at his hands beg mercy, And he shall pardon thee these outrages.


WARWICK. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, Confess who set thee up and plucked thee down, Call Warwick patron and be penitent, And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.


RICHARD. I thought, at least, he would have said the King; Or did he make the jest against his will?


WARWICK. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?


RICHARD. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give; I'll do thee service for so good a gift.


WARWICK. 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.


KING EDWARD. Why, then, 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.


WARWICK. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight; And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; And Henry is my King, Warwick his subject.


KING EDWARD. But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner; And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this: What is the body when the head is off?


RICHARD. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, The king was slily fingered from the deck! You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace, And ten to one you'll meet him in the Tower.


KING EDWARD. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.


RICHARD. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down. Nay, when? Strike now, or else the iron cools.


WARWICK. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow And with the other fling it at thy face, Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee.


KING EDWARD. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend, This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off, Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood: "Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more."


Enter Oxford with drum and colours.


WARWICK. O cheerful colours! See where Oxford comes!


OXFORD. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!


[He and his forces enter the city.]


RICHARD. The gates are open; let us enter too.


KING EDWARD. So other foes may set upon our backs. Stand we in good array, for they no doubt Will issue out again and bid us battle; If not, the city being but of small defence, We'll quietly rouse the traitors in the same.


WARWICK. O, welcome, Oxford, for we want thy help.


Enter Montague with drum and colours.


RICHARD. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.


KING EDWARD. The harder matched, the greater victory. My mind presageth happy gain and conquest.


Enter Somerset with drum and colours.


RICHARD. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset, Have sold their lives unto the House of York; And thou shalt be the third if this sword hold.


Enter George (Duke of Clarence) with drum and colours.


WARWICK. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along, Of force enough to bid his brother battle; With whom an upright zeal to right prevails More than the nature of a brother's love.


[Richard and George whisper.]


Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt if Warwick call.


GEORGE. Father of Warwick, know you what this means?


[Taking the red rose from his hat and throws the rose at Warwick.]


Look here, I throw my infamy at thee. I will not ruinate my father's house, Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, And set up Lancaster. Why, trowest thou, Warwick, That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, To bend the fatal instruments of war Against his brother and his lawful King? Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath. To keep that oath were more impiety Than Jephthah's when he sacrificed his daughter. I am so sorry for my trespass made That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe, With resolution, whereso'er I meet thee— As I will meet thee if thou stir abroad— To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends. And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.


KING EDWARD. Now, welcome more, and ten times more beloved, Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.


RICHARD. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like.


WARWICK. O passing traitor, perjured and unjust!


KING EDWARD. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight? Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?


WARWICK. Alas! I am not cooped here for defence! I will away towards Barnet presently And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st.


KING EDWARD. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way. Lords, to the field! Saint George and victory!


[Exeunt. March. Warwick and his company follows.]


SCENE II. A Field of Battle near Barnet


Alarum and excursions. Enter King Edward bringing forth Warwick wounded.


KING EDWARD. So, lie thou there. Die thou, and die our fear, For Warwick was a bug that feared us all. Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, That Warwick's bones may keep thine company.


WARWICK. Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe, And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick? Why ask I that? My mangled body shows, My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows That I must yield my body to the earth And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, Whose top branch overpeered Jove's spreading tree, And kept low shrubs from winter's pow'rful wind. These eyes, that now are dimmed with death's black veil, Have been as piercing as the midday sun, To search the secret treasons of the world; The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood, Were likened oft to kingly sepulchres, For who lived King but I could dig his grave? And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow? Lo, now my glory smeared in dust and blood! My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, Even now forsake me; and of all my lands Is nothing left me but my body's length. Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And live we how we can, yet die we must.


SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are, We might recover all our loss again. The Queen from France hath brought a puissant power; Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly!


WARWICK. Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague! If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile. Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood That glues my lips and will not let me speak. Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.


SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breathed his last, And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, And said "Commend me to my valiant brother." And more he would have said, and more he spoke, Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, That mought not be distinguished; but at last I well might hear, delivered with a groan, "O farewell, Warwick!"


WARWICK. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves, For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven.


OXFORD. Away, away, to meet the Queen's great power!


[Here they bear away his body. Exeunt.]


SCENE III. Another Part of the Field


Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph, with Richard, George and the rest.


KING EDWARD. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, And we are graced with wreaths of victory. But in the midst of this bright-shining day, I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud That will encounter with our glorious sun Ere he attain his easeful western bed. I mean, my lords, those powers that the Queen Hath raised in Gallia have arrived our coast And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.


GEORGE. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud And blow it to the source from whence it came; Thy very beams will dry those vapours up, For every cloud engenders not a storm.


RICHARD. The Queen is valued thirty thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her. If she have time to breathe, be well assured Her faction will be full as strong as ours.


KING EDWARD. We are advertised by our loving friends That they do hold their course toward Tewkesbury. We, having now the best at Barnet field, Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; And, as we march, our strength will be augmented In every county as we go along. Strike up the drum! cry "Courage!" and away.


SCENE IV. Plains near Tewkesbury


Flourish. March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, Somerset, Oxford and Soldiers.


QUEEN MARGARET. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost, And half our sailors swallowed in the flood? Yet lives our pilot still. Is 't meet that he Should leave the helm and, like a fearful lad, With tearful eyes add water to the sea And give more strength to that which hath too much, Whiles in his moan the ship splits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have saved? Ah, what a shame, ah, what a fault were this! Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that? And Montague our topmast; what of him? Our slaughtered friends the tackles; what of these? Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? And Somerset another goodly mast? The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allowed the skilful pilot's charge? We will not from the helm to sit and weep, But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wrack. As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. And what is Edward but a ruthless sea? What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? And Richard but a ragged fatal rock? All these the enemies to our poor bark? Say you can swim: alas, 'tis but a while! Tread on the sand: why, there you quickly sink; Bestride the rock: the tide will wash you off, Or else you famish; that's a threefold death. This speak I, lords, to let you understand, If case some one of you would fly from us, That there's no hoped-for mercy with the brothers More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks. Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided 'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.


PRINCE EDWARD. Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, Infuse his breast with magnanimity And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. I speak not this as doubting any here; For did I but suspect a fearful man, He should have leave to go away betimes, Lest in our need he might infect another And make him of the like spirit to himself. If any such be here, as God forbid! Let him depart before we need his help.


OXFORD. Women and children of so high a courage, And warriors faint! Why, 'twere perpetual shame. O, brave young Prince, thy famous grandfather Doth live again in thee. Long mayst thou live To bear his image and renew his glories!


SOMERSET. And he that will not fight for such a hope, Go home to bed and, like the owl by day, If he arise, be mocked and wondered at.


QUEEN MARGARET. Thanks, gentle Somerset. Sweet Oxford, thanks.


PRINCE EDWARD. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.


MESSENGER. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.


OXFORD. I thought no less. It is his policy To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.


SOMERSET. But he's deceived; we are in readiness.


QUEEN MARGARET. This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.


OXFORD. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.


Flourish and march. Enter King Edward, Richard, George and Soldiers.


KING EDWARD. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood Which by the heaven's assistance and your strength Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. I need not add more fuel to your fire, For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out. Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords!


QUEEN MARGARET. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say My tears gainsay; for every word I speak Ye see I drink the water of my eye. Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign, Is prisoner to the foe, his state usurped, His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, His statutes cancelled, and his treasure spent; And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. You fight in justice. Then, in God's name, lords, Be valiant and give signal to the fight.


[Alarum, retreat, excursions. Exeunt both armies]


SCENE V. Another part of the Field


Flourish. Enter King Edward, Richard, George and Soldiers; with Queen Margaret, Oxford and Somerset as prisoners.


KING EDWARD. Now here a period of tumultuous broils. Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight. For Somerset, off with his guilty head. Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.


OXFORD. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.


SOMERSET. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.


[Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded.]


QUEEN MARGARET. So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.


KING EDWARD. Is proclamation made that who finds Edward Shall have a high reward, and he his life?


RICHARD. It is, and lo where youthful Edward comes.


Enter soldiers with Prince Edward.


KING EDWARD. Bring forth the gallant; let us hear him speak. What, can so young a man begin to prick? Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, And all the trouble thou hast turned me to?


PRINCE EDWARD. Speak like a subject, proud, ambitious York. Suppose that I am now my father's mouth; Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.


QUEEN MARGARET. Ah, thy father had been so resolved!


RICHARD. That you might still have worn the petticoat And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.


PRINCE EDWARD. Let Aesop fable in a winter's night; His currish riddle sorts not with this place.


RICHARD. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that word.


QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.


RICHARD. For God's sake, take away this captive scold.


PRINCE EDWARD. Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.


KING EDWARD. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.


GEORGE. Untutored lad, thou art too malapert.


PRINCE EDWARD. I know my duty; you are all undutiful. Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George, And thou misshapen Dick, I tell ye all I am your better, traitors as ye are, And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.


KING EDWARD. Take that, the likeness of this railer here.


RICHARD. Sprawl'st thou? Take that to end thy agony.


GEORGE. And there's for twitting me with perjury.


RICHARD. Marry, and shall.


[Offers to kill her.]


KING EDWARD. Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done too much.


RICHARD. Why should she live to fill the world with words?


KING EDWARD. What, doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery.


RICHARD. Clarence, excuse me to the King my brother. I'll hence to London on a serious matter. Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.


GEORGE. What? What?


RICHARD. The Tower, the Tower!


QUEEN MARGARET. O Ned, sweet Ned, speak to thy mother, boy. Canst thou not speak? O traitors, murderers! They that stabbed Caesar shed no blood at all, Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, If this foul deed were by to equal it. He was a man; this, in respect, a child, And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. What's worse than murderer, that I may name it? No, no, my heart will burst an if I speak; And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals! How sweet a plant have you untimely cropped! You have no children, butchers; if you had, The thought of them would have stirred up remorse. But if you ever chance to have a child, Look in his youth to have him so cut off As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!


KING EDWARD. Away with her; go bear her hence perforce.


QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here. Here sheathe thy sword; I'll pardon thee my death. What, wilt thou not? Then, Clarence, do it thou.


GEORGE. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.


QUEEN MARGARET. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.


GEORGE. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?


QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself. 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher, Richard, Hard-favoured Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er putt'st back.


KING EDWARD. Away, I say! I charge ye, bear her hence.


QUEEN MARGARET. So come to you and yours as to this prince!


[She is taken out.]


KING EDWARD. Where's Richard gone?


GEORGE. To London all in post, and, as I guess, To make a bloody supper in the Tower.


KING EDWARD. He's sudden if a thing comes in his head. Now march we hence. Discharge the common sort With pay and thanks, and let's away to London And see our gentle Queen how well she fares. By this, I hope, she hath a son for me.


Enter King Henry and Richard, with the Lieutenant on the walls.


RICHARD. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?


KING HENRY. Ay, my good lord—my lord, I should say rather. 'Tis sin to flatter; "good" was little better: "Good Gloucester" and "good devil" were alike, And both preposterous; therefore, not "good lord".


RICHARD. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; we must confer.


KING HENRY. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf; So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?


RICHARD. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer.


KING HENRY. The bird that hath been limed in a bush With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush; And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, Have now the fatal object in my eye Where my poor young was limed, was caught, and killed.


RICHARD. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete That taught his son the office of a fowl! And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drowned.


KING HENRY. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; The sun that seared the wings of my sweet boy, Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! My breast can better brook thy dagger's point Than can my ears that tragic history. But wherefore dost thou come? Is 't for my life?


RICHARD. Think'st thou I am an executioner?


KING HENRY. A persecutor I am sure thou art. If murdering innocents be executing, Why, then thou art an executioner.


RICHARD. Thy son I killed for his presumption.


KING HENRY. Hadst thou been killed when first thou didst presume, Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine. And thus I prophesy: that many a thousand Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's, And many an orphan's water-standing eye, Men for their sons', wives for their husbands', Orphans for their parents' timeless death, Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. The owl shrieked at thy birth, an evil sign; The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; Dogs howled, and hideous tempest shook down trees; The raven rooked her on the chimney's top, And chatt'ring pies in dismal discord sung; Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope, To wit, an indigested and deformed lump, Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born, To signify thou cam'st to bite the world; And, if the rest be true which I have heard, Thou cam'st—


RICHARD. I'll hear no more. Die, prophet, in thy speech.


For this, amongst the rest, was I ordained.


KING HENRY. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. O God, forgive my sins, and pardon thee!


RICHARD. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. See how my sword weeps for the poor King's death. O, may such purple tears be always shed From those that wish the downfall of our house! If any spark of life be yet remaining, Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither—


I that have neither pity, love, nor fear. Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of, For I have often heard my mother say I came into the world with my legs forward. Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste And seek their ruin that usurped our right? The midwife wondered, and the women cried "O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!" And so I was, which plainly signified That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so, Let hell make crooked my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother; And this word "love," which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another, And not in me. I am myself alone. Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light, But I will sort a pitchy day for thee; For I will buzz abroad such prophecies That Edward shall be fearful of his life; And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. King Henry and the Prince his son are gone; Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest, Counting myself but bad till I be best. I'll throw thy body in another room, And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.


SCENE VII. London. The Palace


Flourish. Enter King Edward, Queen Elizabeth, George, Richard, Hastings, Nurse, carrying infant Prince Edward, and Attendants.


KING EDWARD. Once more we sit in England's royal throne, Repurchased with the blood of enemies. What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn, Have we mowed down in tops of all their pride! Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renowned For hardy and undoubted champions; Two Cliffords, as the father and the son; And two Northumberlands; two braver men Ne'er spurred their coursers at the trumpet's sound; With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague, That in their chains fettered the kingly lion And made the forest tremble when they roared. Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat And made our footstool of security. Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. Young Ned, for thee thine uncles and myself Have in our armours watched the winter's night, Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat, That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace; And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.


RICHARD. [Aside.] I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid; For yet I am not looked on in the world. This shoulder was ordained so thick to heave, And heave it shall some weight or break my back. Work thou the way, and that shall execute.


KING EDWARD. Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely Queen; And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.


GEORGE. The duty that I owe unto your Majesty I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.


QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.


RICHARD. And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st, Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit. [Aside.] To say the truth, so Judas kissed his master And cried "All hail!" when as he meant all harm.


KING EDWARD. Now am I seated as my soul delights, Having my country's peace and brothers' loves.


GEORGE. What will your Grace have done with Margaret? Reignier, her father, to the King of France Hath pawned the Sicils and Jerusalem, And hither have they sent it for her ransom.


KING EDWARD. Away with her and waft her hence to France. And now what rests but that we spend the time With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, Such as befits the pleasure of the court? Sound drums and trumpets! Farewell, sour annoy! For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.


ACT I Prologue. Scene I. London. An ante-chamber in the palace Scene II. The same. The council-chamber Scene III. An ante-chamber in the palace Scene IV. A Hall in York Place


ACT II Scene I. Westminster. A street Scene II. An ante-chamber in the palace Scene III. An ante-chamber of the Queen's apartments Scene IV. A hall in Blackfriars


ACT III Scene I. London. The Queen's apartments Scene II. Ante-chamber to the King's apartment


ACT IV Scene I. A street in Westminster Scene II. Kimbolton


ACT V Scene I. A gallery in the palace Scene II. Lobby before the council-chamber Scene III. The palace yard Scene IV. The palace Epilogue


CARDINAL WOLSEY SECRETARIES to Wolsey CROMWELL, servant to Wolsey CARDINAL CAMPEIUS GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester PAGE to Gardiner


QUEEN KATHERINE, wife to King Henry, afterwards divorced GRIFFITH, gentleman usher to Queen Katherine PATIENCE, woman to Queen Katherine Queen's GENTLEMAN USHER CAPUTIUS, Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V


DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM LORD ABERGAVENNY, Buckingham's son-in-law EARL OF SURREY, Buckingham's son-in-law SIR NICHOLAS VAUX SURVEYOR to the Duke of Buckingham BRANDON SERGEANT-at-Arms Three Gentlemen


ANNE BULLEN, her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen An OLD LADY, friend to Anne Bullen LORD CHAMBERLAIN LORD SANDYS (called also SIR WILLIAM SANDYS) SIR THOMAS LOVELL SIR HENRY GUILDFORD


BISHOP OF LINCOLN CRANMER, archbishop of Canterbury LORD CHANCELLOR GARTER King-of-Arms SIR ANTHONY DENNY DOCTOR BUTTS, physician to the King Door-KEEPER of the Council-chamber PORTER, and his Man A CRIER PROLOGUE EPILOGUE


Spirits, Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; Women attending upon the Queen; Scribes, Officers, Guards, and other Attendants


THE PROLOGUE. I come no more to make you laugh. Things now That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; The subject will deserve it. Such as give Their money out of hope they may believe May here find truth too. Those that come to see Only a show or two, and so agree The play may pass, if they be still and willing, I'll undertake may see away their shilling Richly in two short hours. Only they That come to hear a merry bawdy play, A noise of targets, or to see a fellow In a long motley coat guarded with yellow, Will be deceived. For, gentle hearers, know To rank our chosen truth with such a show As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting Our own brains and the opinion that we bring To make that only true we now intend, Will leave us never an understanding friend. Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known The first and happiest hearers of the town, Be sad, as we would make ye. Think ye see The very persons of our noble story As they were living; think you see them great, And followed with the general throng and sweat Of thousand friends; then, in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery; And if you can be merry then, I'll say A man may weep upon his wedding day.


SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the palace.


Enter the Duke of Norfolk at one door; at the other, the Duke of Buckingham and the Lord Abergavenny.


BUCKINGHAM. Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done Since last we saw in France?


NORFOLK. I thank your Grace, Healthful, and ever since a fresh admirer Of what I saw there.


BUCKINGHAM. An untimely ague Stayed me a prisoner in my chamber when Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, Met in the vale of Andren.


NORFOLK. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde. I was then present, saw them salute on horseback, Beheld them when they lighted, how they clung In their embracement, as they grew together— Which had they, what four throned ones could have weighed Such a compounded one?


BUCKINGHAM. All the whole time I was my chamber's prisoner.


NORFOLK. Then you lost The view of earthly glory. Men might say, Till this time pomp was single, but now married To one above itself. Each following day Became the next day's master, till the last Made former wonders its. Today the French, All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, Shone down the English; and tomorrow, they Made Britain India: every man that stood Showed like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were As cherubins, all gilt. The madams too, Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear The pride upon them, that their very labour Was to them as a painting. Now this masque Was cried incomparable; and th' ensuing night Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings, Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, As presence did present them: him in eye, Still him in praise; and being present both, 'Twas said they saw but one, and no discerner Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns— For so they phrase 'em—by their heralds challenged The noble spirits to arms, they did perform Beyond thought's compass, that former fabulous story, Being now seen possible enough, got credit, That Bevis was believed.


NORFOLK. As I belong to worship and affect In honour honesty, the tract of everything Would by a good discourser lose some life, Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal; To the disposing of it nought rebelled; Order gave each thing view; the office did Distinctly his full function.


BUCKINGHAM. Who did guide, I mean, who set the body and the limbs Of this great sport together, as you guess?


NORFOLK. One, certes, that promises no element In such a business.


BUCKINGHAM. I pray you who, my lord?


NORFOLK. All this was ordered by the good discretion Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.


BUCKINGHAM. The devil speed him! No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. What had he To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder That such a keech can with his very bulk Take up the rays o' th' beneficial sun And keep it from the earth.


NORFOLK. Surely, sir, There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends; For, being not propped by ancestry, whose grace Chalks successors their way, nor called upon For high feats done to th' crown; neither allied To eminent assistants, but spider-like, Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note The force of his own merit makes his way A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys A place next to the King.


ABERGAVENNY. I cannot tell What heaven hath given him—let some graver eye Pierce into that—but I can see his pride Peep through each part of him. Whence has he that? If not from hell, the devil is a niggard, Or has given all before, and he begins A new hell in himself.


BUCKINGHAM. Why the devil, Upon this French going-out, took he upon him, Without the privity o' th' King, t' appoint Who should attend on him? He makes up the file Of all the gentry, for the most part such To whom as great a charge as little honour He meant to lay upon; and his own letter, The honourable board of council out, Must fetch him in he papers.


ABERGAVENNY. I do know Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have By this so sickened their estates that never They shall abound as formerly.


BUCKINGHAM. O, many Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em For this great journey. What did this vanity But minister communication of A most poor issue?


NORFOLK. Grievingly I think The peace between the French and us not values The cost that did conclude it.


BUCKINGHAM. Every man, After the hideous storm that followed, was A thing inspired and, not consulting, broke Into a general prophecy, that this tempest, Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded The sudden breach on't.


NORFOLK. Which is budded out, For France hath flawed the league, and hath attached Our merchants' goods at Bordeaux.


ABERGAVENNY. Is it therefore Th' ambassador is silenced?


NORFOLK. Marry, is't.


ABERGAVENNY. A proper title of a peace, and purchased At a superfluous rate!


BUCKINGHAM. Why, all this business Our reverend Cardinal carried.


NORFOLK. Like it your Grace, The state takes notice of the private difference Betwixt you and the Cardinal. I advise you— And take it from a heart that wishes towards you Honour and plenteous safety—that you read The Cardinal's malice and his potency Together; to consider further that What his high hatred would effect wants not A minister in his power. You know his nature, That he's revengeful, and I know his sword Hath a sharp edge; it's long, and 't may be said It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend, Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel; You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock That I advise your shunning.


Enter Cardinal Wolsey, the purse borne before him, certain of the Guard and two Secretaries with papers. The Cardinal in his passage fixeth his eye on Buckingham, and Buckingham on him, both full of disdain.


WOLSEY. The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha? Where's his examination?


SECRETARY. Here, so please you.


WOLSEY. Is he in person ready?


SECRETARY. Ay, please your Grace.


WOLSEY. Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham Shall lessen this big look.


[Exeunt Cardinal Wolsey and his train.]


BUCKINGHAM. This butcher's cur is venom-mouthed, and I Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Outworths a noble's blood.


NORFOLK. What, are you chafed? Ask God for temp'rance. That's the appliance only Which your disease requires.


BUCKINGHAM. I read in 's looks Matter against me, and his eye reviled Me as his abject object. At this instant He bores me with some trick. He's gone to th' King. I'll follow, and outstare him.


NORFOLK. Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 'tis you go about. To climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like A full hot horse, who being allowed his way, Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you; be to yourself As you would to your friend.


BUCKINGHAM. I'll to the King, And from a mouth of honour quite cry down This Ipswich fellow's insolence, or proclaim There's difference in no persons.


NORFOLK. Be advised. Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself. We may outrun By violent swiftness that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor till 't run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised. I say again, there is no English soul More stronger to direct you than yourself, If with the sap of reason you would quench, Or but allay the fire of passion.


BUCKINGHAM. Sir, I am thankful to you, and I'll go along By your prescription; but this top-proud fellow— Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but From sincere motions—by intelligence, And proofs as clear as founts in July when We see each grain of gravel, I do know To be corrupt and treasonous.


NORFOLK. Say not "treasonous."


BUCKINGHAM. To th' King I'll say't, and make my vouch as strong As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, Or wolf, or both—for he is equal ravenous As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief As able to perform't, his mind and place Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally— Only to show his pomp as well in France As here at home, suggests the King our master To this last costly treaty, th' interview, That swallowed so much treasure, and like a glass Did break i' th' rinsing.


NORFOLK. Faith, and so it did.


BUCKINGHAM. Pray give me favour, sir. This cunning Cardinal The articles o' th' combination drew As himself pleased; and they were ratified As he cried "Thus let be," to as much end As give a crutch to the dead. But our Count-Cardinal Has done this, and 'tis well, for worthy Wolsey, Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows— Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy To the old dam treason—Charles the Emperor, Under pretence to see the Queen his aunt— For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came To whisper Wolsey—here makes visitation. His fears were that the interview betwixt England and France might through their amity Breed him some prejudice, for from this league Peeped harms that menaced him. He privily Deals with our Cardinal, and, as I trow— Which I do well, for I am sure the Emperor Paid ere he promised, whereby his suit was granted Ere it was asked. But when the way was made And paved with gold, the Emperor thus desired That he would please to alter the King's course And break the foresaid peace. Let the King know, As soon he shall by me, that thus the Cardinal Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases And for his own advantage.


NORFOLK. I am sorry To hear this of him, and could wish he were Something mistaken in't.


BUCKINGHAM. No, not a syllable. I do pronounce him in that very shape He shall appear in proof.


Enter Brandon, a Sergeant-at-arms before him, and two or three of the Guard.


BRANDON. Your office, sergeant: execute it.


SERGEANT. Sir, My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I Arrest thee of high treason, in the name Of our most sovereign King.


BUCKINGHAM. Lo you, my lord, The net has fall'n upon me. I shall perish Under device and practice.


BRANDON. I am sorry To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on The business present. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure You shall to th' Tower.


BUCKINGHAM. It will help nothing To plead mine innocence, for that dye is on me Which makes my whit'st part black. The will of heaven Be done in this and all things. I obey. O my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well.


BRANDON. Nay, he must bear you company. [To Abergavenny.] The King Is pleased you shall to th' Tower, till you know How he determines further.


ABERGAVENNY. As the Duke said, The will of heaven be done, and the King's pleasure By me obeyed.


BRANDON. Here is warrant from The King t' attach Lord Montague, and the bodies Of the Duke's confessor, John de la Car, One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor—


BUCKINGHAM. So, so; These are the limbs o' th' plot. No more, I hope?


BRANDON. A monk o' th' Chartreux.


BUCKINGHAM. O, Nicholas Hopkins?


BUCKINGHAM. My surveyor is false. The o'er-great Cardinal Hath showed him gold. My life is spanned already. I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on By dark'ning my clear sun. My lord, farewell.


SCENE II. The same. The council-chamber.


Cornets. Enter King Henry, leaning on the Cardinal's shoulder, the Nobles, and Sir Thomas Lovell; the Cardinal places himself under the King's feet on his right side.


KING. My life itself, and the best heart of it, Thanks you for this great care. I stood i' th' level Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks To you that choked it. Let be called before us That gentleman of Buckingham's; in person I'll hear his confessions justify, And point by point the treasons of his master He shall again relate.


A noise within crying "Room for the Queen!" Enter Queen Katherine, ushered by the Duke of Norfolk and the Duke of Suffolk. She kneels. The King riseth from his state, takes her up and kisses her.


QUEEN KATHERINE. Nay, we must longer kneel; I am a suitor.


KING. Arise, and take place by us.


[He placeth her by him.]


Half your suit Never name to us; you have half our power; The other moiety ere you ask is given. Repeat your will and take it.


QUEEN KATHERINE. Thank your Majesty. That you would love yourself, and in that love Not unconsidered leave your honour nor The dignity of your office, is the point Of my petition.


KING. Lady mine, proceed.


QUEEN KATHERINE. I am solicited, not by a few, And those of true condition, that your subjects Are in great grievance. There have been commissions Sent down among 'em which hath flawed the heart Of all their loyalties; wherein, although, My good Lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches Most bitterly on you as putter-on Of these exactions, yet the King our master, Whose honour heaven shield from soil, even he escapes not Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks The sides of loyalty, and almost appears In loud rebellion.


NORFOLK. Not "almost appears," It doth appear; for, upon these taxations, The clothiers all, not able to maintain The many to them longing, have put off The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, Unfit for other life, compelled by hunger And lack of other means, in desperate manner Daring the event to th' teeth, are all in uproar, And danger serves among them.


KING. Taxation? Wherein? And what taxation? My Lord Cardinal, You that are blamed for it alike with us, Know you of this taxation?


WOLSEY. Please you, sir, I know but of a single part in aught Pertains to th' state, and front but in that file Where others tell steps with me.


QUEEN KATHERINE. No, my lord? You know no more than others? But you frame Things that are known alike, which are not wholesome To those which would not know them, and yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are Most pestilent to the hearing, and to bear 'em, The back is sacrifice to the load. They say They are devised by you, or else you suffer Too hard an exclamation.


KING. Still exaction! The nature of it? In what kind, let's know, Is this exaction?


QUEEN KATHERINE. I am much too venturous In tempting of your patience, but am boldened Under your promised pardon. The subjects' grief Comes through commissions, which compels from each The sixth part of his substance, to be levied Without delay; and the pretence for this Is named your wars in France. This makes bold mouths. Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze Allegiance in them. Their curses now Live where their prayers did; and it's come to pass This tractable obedience is a slave To each incensed will. I would your Highness Would give it quick consideration, for There is no primer business.


KING. By my life, This is against our pleasure.


WOLSEY. And for me, I have no further gone in this than by A single voice, and that not passed me but By learned approbation of the judges. If I am Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know My faculties nor person, yet will be The chronicles of my doing, let me say 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue must go through. We must not stint Our necessary actions in the fear To cope malicious censurers, which ever, As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new-trimmed, but benefit no further Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is Not ours or not allowed; what worst, as oft, Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up For our best act. If we shall stand still In fear our motion will be mocked or carped at, We should take root here where we sit, Or sit state-statues only.


KING. Things done well, And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; Things done without example, in their issue Are to be feared. Have you a precedent Of this commission? I believe, not any. We must not rend our subjects from our laws And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? A trembling contribution! Why, we take From every tree lop, bark, and part o' t' timber, And though we leave it with a root, thus hacked, The air will drink the sap. To every county Where this is questioned send our letters with Free pardon to each man that has denied The force of this commission. Pray, look to't; I put it to your care.


WOLSEY. [Aside to his Secretary.] A word with you. Let there be letters writ to every shire Of the King's grace and pardon. The grieved commons Hardly conceive of me. Let it be noised That through our intercession this revokement And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you Further in the proceeding.


[Exit Secretary.]


QUEEN KATHERINE. I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham Is run in your displeasure.