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


How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;


And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.


Until the white rose that I wear be dyed


Even in the lukewarm blood of Henrys heart.


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


Brother, thou shalt to London presently,


Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk,


With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise:


Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.


While you are thus employd, what resteth more,


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


The queen with all the northern earls and lords


Intend here to besiege you in your castle:


She is hard by with twenty thousand men;


And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.


Ay, with my sword. What! thinkst thou that we fear them?


Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;


My brother Montague shall post to London:


Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,


Whom we have left protectors of the king,


With powerful policy strengthen themselves,


And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.


Brother, I go; Ill win them, fear it not:


And thus most humbly I do take my leave.


Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,


The army of the queen mean to besiege us.


She shall not need; well meet her in the field.


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


I hear their drums: lets set our men in order,


And issue forth and bid them battle straight.


Five men to twenty! though the odds be great,


Why should I not now have the like success?


SCENE III. Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield.


Ah, whither shall I fly to scape their hands?


Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!


Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.


Whose father slew my father, he shall die.


Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,


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


That makes him close his eyes? Ill open them.


So looks the pent-up lion oer the wretch


And so he walks, insulting oer his prey,


And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.


Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,


And not with such a cruel threatening look.


Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.


Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.


In vain thou speakst, poor boy; my fathers blood


Hath stoppd the passage where thy words should enter.


Then let my fathers blood open it again:


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


Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine


No, if I diggd up thy forefathers graves


And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,


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


And leave not one alive, I live in hell.


To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!


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


Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,


Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,


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


Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.


And this thy sons blood cleaving to my blade


Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,


Congeald with this, do make me wipe off both.


The army of the queen hath got the field:


My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;


Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind


Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.


My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them:


But this I know, they have demeand themselves


Like men born to renown by life or death.


Three times did Richard make a lane to me.


And thrice cried Courage, father! fight it out!


With purple falchion, painted to the hilt


In blood of those that had encounterd him:


And when the hardiest warriors did retire,


Richard cried Charge! and give no foot of ground!


And cried A crown, or else a glorious tomb!


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


With bootless labour swim against the tide


And spend her strength with over-matching waves.


Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;


And I am faint and cannot fly their fury:


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


The sands are numberd that make up my life;


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


Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, PRINCE EDWARD, and Soldiers


Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,


I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:


With downright payment, showd unto my father.


And made an evening at the noontide prick.


My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth


And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,


Scorning whateer you can afflict me with.


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


So cowards fight when they can fly no further;


So doves do peck the falcons piercing talons;


So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,


Breathe out invectives gainst the officers.


O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,


And in thy thought oer-run my former time;


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


And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice


Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this!


I will not bandy with thee word for word,


But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.


Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes


I would prolong awhile the traitors life.


Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.


Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much


To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:


What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,


For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,


When he might spurn him with his foot away?


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


So triumph thieves upon their conquerd booty;


So true men yield, with robbers so oermatchd.


What would your grace have done unto him now?


Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,


Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,


That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,


Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.


What! was it you that would be Englands king?


Wast you that revelld in our parliament,


And made a preachment of your high descent?


Where are your mess of sons to back you now?


The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?


And wheres that valiant crook-back prodigy,


Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice


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


Look, York: I staind this napkin with the blood


That valiant Clifford, with his rapiers point,


And if thine eyes can water for his death,


I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.


Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,


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


What, hath thy fiery heart so parchd thine entrails


That not a tear can fall for Rutlands death?


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


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


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


Thou wouldst be feed, I see, to make me sport:


York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.


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


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


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


Ay, this is he that took King Henrys chair,


Is crownd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?


Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.


And will you pale your head in Henrys glory,


Now in his life, against your holy oath?


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


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


Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes.


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


Whose tongue more poisons than the adders tooth!


Upon their woes whom fortune captivates!


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


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


To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived,


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


Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,


Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.


Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?


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


That beggars mounted run their horse to death.


Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;


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


Tis virtue that doth make them most admired;


Tis government that makes them seem divine;


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


Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible;


Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.


Bidst thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish:


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


For raging wind blows up incessant showers,


And when the rage allays, the rain begins.


These tears are my sweet Rutlands obsequies:


And every drop cries vengeance for his death,


Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false


That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears.


Would not have touchd, would not have staind with blood:


But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,


O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.


See, ruthless queen, a hapless fathers tears:


This cloth thou dipdst in blood of my sweet boy,


And I with tears do wash the blood away.


Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:


And if thou tellst the heavy story right,


Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;


Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,


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


And in thy need such comfort come to thee


Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world:


My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!


Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,


I should not for my life but weep with him.


What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?


And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.


Heres for my oath, heres for my fathers death.


And heres to right our gentle-hearted king.


My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.


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


SCENE I. A plain near Mortimers Cross in Herefordshire.


A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power


I wonder how our princely father scaped,


From Cliffords and Northumberlands pursuit:


Had he been taen, we should have heard the news;


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


Or had he scaped, methinks we should have heard


Where our right valiant father is become.


And watchd him how he singled Clifford forth.


Methought he bore him in the thickest troop


Or as a bear, encompassd round with dogs,


Who having pinchd a few and made them cry,


The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.


Methinks, tis prize enough to be his son.


See how the morning opes her golden gates,


And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!


How well resembles it the prime of youth,


Trimmd like a younker prancing to his love!


Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?


Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;


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


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


Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.


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


Should notwithstanding join our lights together


And over-shine the earth as this the world.


Whateer it bodes, henceforward will I bear


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


You love the breeder better than the male.


But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell


Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?


When as the noble Duke of York was slain,


Your princely father and my loving lord!


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


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


And stood against them, as the hope of Troy


Against the Greeks that would have enterd Troy.


But Hercules himself must yield to odds;


And many strokes, though with a little axe,


Hew down and fell the hardest-timberd oak.


Who crownd the gracious duke in high despite,


Laughd in his face; and when with grief he wept,


The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks


Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain:


And after many scorns, many foul taunts,


They took his head, and on the gates of York


They set the same; and there it doth remain,


Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,


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


O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain


And treacherously hast thou vanquishd him,


For hand to hand he would have vanquishd thee.


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


Might in the ground be closed up in rest!


I cannot weep; for all my bodys moisture


Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:


Nor can my tongue unload my hearts great burthen;


For selfsame wind that I should speak withal


Is kindling coals that fires all my breast,


And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.


To weep is to make less the depth of grief:


Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me


Richard, I bear thy name; Ill venge thy death,


His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;


His dukedom and his chair with me is left.


Nay, if thou be that princely eagles bird,


Show thy descent by gazing gainst the sun:


For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say;


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


March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army


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


Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount


Our baleful news, and at each words deliverance


Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,


The words would add more anguish than the wounds.


O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!


Which held three dearly as his souls redemption,


Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.


Ten days ago I drownd these news in tears;


And now, to add more measure to your woes,


I come to tell you things sith then befalln.


After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,


Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp,


Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,


Were brought me of your loss and his depart.


Musterd my soldiers, gatherd flocks of friends,


Marchd toward Saint Albans to intercept the queen,


Touching King Henrys oath and your succession.


Short tale to make, we at Saint Albans met


Our battles joind, and both sides fiercely fought:


But whether twas the coldness of the king,


Who lookd full gently on his warlike queen,


That robbd my soldiers of their heated spleen;


Or more than common fear of Cliffords rigour,


Who thunders to his captives blood and death,


I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth,


Their weapons like to lightning came and went;


Our soldiers, like the night-owls lazy flight,


Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.


I cheerd them up with justice of our cause,


With promise of high pay and great rewards:


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


So that we fled; the king unto the queen;


Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself,


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


For in the marches here we heard you were,


Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?


And when came George from Burgundy to England?


Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers;


And for your brother, he was lately sent


From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,


With aid of soldiers to this needful war.


Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:


Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,


But neer till now his scandal of retire.


Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;


For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine


Can pluck the diadem from faint Henrys head,


And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,


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


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


Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.


But in this troublous time whats to be done?


Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,


And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,


Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads?


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


Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out;


And therefore comes my brother Montague.


Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,


With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,


And of their feather many more proud birds,


Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.


And now to London all the crew are gone,


To frustrate both his oath and what beside


May make against the house of Lancaster.


Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:


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


Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,


Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,


Why, Via! to London will we march amain,


And once again bestride our foaming steeds,


And once again cry Charge upon our foes!


Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak:


That cries Retire, if Warwick bid him stay.


Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;


And when thou failst--as God forbid the hour!--


Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend!


No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York:


The next degree is Englands royal throne;


For King of England shalt thou be proclaimd


And he that throws not up his cap for joy


Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.


But sound the trumpets, and about our task.


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


As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,


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


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


The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,


The queen is coming with a puissant host;


And craves your company for speedy counsel.


Why then it sorts, brave warriors, lets away.


Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET,  PRINCE EDWARD, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets


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


That sought to be encompassd with your crown:


Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?


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


To see this sight, it irks my very soul.


Withhold revenge, dear God! tis not my fault,


To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?


Not to the beast that would usurp their den.


Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?


Not his that spoils her young before her face.


Who scapes the lurking serpents mortal sting?


Not he that sets his foot upon her back.


The smallest worm will turn being trodden on,


And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.


Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows:


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


And raise his issue, like a loving sire;


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


Which argued thee a most unloving father.


Unreasonable creatures feed their young;


And though mans face be fearful to their eyes,


Yet, in protection of their tender ones,


Who hath not seen them, even with those wings


Which sometime they have used with fearful flight,


Make war with him that climbd unto their nest,


Offer their own lives in their youngs defence?


For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!


Should lose his birthright by his fathers fault,


What my great-grandfather and his grandsire got


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


Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart


To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.


Full well hath Clifford playd the orator,


But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear


That things ill-got had ever bad success?


Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?


Ill leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;


And would my father had left me no more!


As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep


Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know


How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!


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


And this soft courage makes your followers faint.


You promised knighthood to our forward son:


Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently.


And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right.


My gracious father, by your kingly leave,


And in that quarrel use it to the death.


Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.


Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York;


And in the towns, as they do march along,


Proclaims him king, and many fly to him:


Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.


I would your highness would depart the field:


The queen hath best success when you are absent.


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


Why, thats my fortune too; therefore Ill stay.


My royal father, cheer these noble lords


And hearten those that fight in your defence:


Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry Saint George!


March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers


Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace,


Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?


Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!


Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms


Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?


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


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


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


Have caused him, by new act of parliament,


Who should succeed the father but the son?


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


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


Twas you that killd young Rutland, was it not?


Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.


For Gods sake, lords, give signal to the fight.


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


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


When you and I met at Saint Albans last,


Your legs did better service than your hands.


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


You said so much before, and yet you fled.


Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.


No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.


Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain


Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.


I slew thy father, callst thou him a child?


Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,


As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;


But ere sunset Ill make thee curse the deed.


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


Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.


My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here


Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.


that Cliffords manhood lies upon his tongue.


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


A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day,


That neer shall dine unless thou yield the crown.


If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;


If that be right which Warwick says is right,


There is no wrong, but every thing is right.


Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;


For, well I wot, thou hast thy mothers tongue.


But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam;


As venom toads, or lizards dreadful stings.


Whose father bears the title of a king,--


As if a channel should be calld the sea,--


Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,


To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?


A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns,


To make this shameless callet know herself.


Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,


By that false woman, as this king by thee.


His father revelld in the heart of France,


And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop;


And had he matchd according to his state,


He might have kept that glory to this day;


And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day,


Even then that sunshine brewd a shower for him,


That washd his fathers fortunes forth of France,


And heapd sedition on his crown at home.


For what hath broachd this tumult but thy pride?


Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;


But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,


And that thy summer bred us no increase,


And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,


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


Well never leave till we have hewn thee down,


Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.


Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak.


Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave!


No, wrangling woman, well no longer stay:


These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.


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


Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,


I lay me down a little while to breathe;


For strokes received, and many blows repaid,


Have robbd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,


And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.


Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death!


For this world frowns, and Edwards sun is clouded.


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


Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair;


Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us:


What counsel give you? whither shall we fly?


Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;


And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit.


Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?


Thy brothers blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,


Broachd with the steely point of Cliffords lance;


And in the very pangs of death he cried,


Like to a dismal clangour heard from far,


Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!


So, underneath the belly of their steeds,


That staind their fetlocks in his smoking blood,


Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:


Ill kill my horse, because I will not fly.


Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,


Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;


Were playd in jest by counterfeiting actors?


Ill never pause again, never stand still,


Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine


O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;


And in this vow do chain my soul to thine!


And, ere my knee rise from the earths cold face,


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


Thou setter up and plucker down of kings,


Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands


Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,


And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!


Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,


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


I, that did never weep, now melt with woe


That winter should cut off our spring-time so.


Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell.


And give them leave to fly that will not stay;


And call them pillars that will stand to us;


And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards


This may plant courage in their quailing breasts;


Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone:


Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,


And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,


Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:


This is the hand that stabbd thy father York;


And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;


And heres the heart that triumphs in their death


And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother


They fight. WARWICK comes; CLIFFORD flies


Nay Warwick, single out some other chase;


For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.


This battle fares like to the mornings war,


When dying clouds contend with growing light,


What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,


Can neither call it perfect day nor night.


Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea


Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;


Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea


Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;


Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,


Here on this molehill will I sit me down.


For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,


Have chid me from the battle; swearing both


They prosper best of all when I am thence.


Would I were dead! if Gods good will were so;


For what is in this world but grief and woe?


To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,


Thereby to see the minutes how they run,


When this is known, then to divide the times:


So many days my ewes have been with young;


So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean:


So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:


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


Passd over to the end they were created,


Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.


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


Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade


To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,


To kings that fear their subjects treachery?


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


And to conclude, the shepherds homely curds,


His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle.


His wonted sleep under a fresh trees shade,


When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.


Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, dragging in the dead body


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


May be possessed with some store of crowns;


And I, that haply take them from him now,


May yet ere night yield both my life and them


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


Whos this? O God! it is my fathers face,


Whom in this conflict I unwares have killd.


From London by the king was I pressd forth;


My father, being the Earl of Warwicks man,


Came on the part of York, pressd by his master;


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


And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!


My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;


And no more words till they have flowd their fill.


Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,


Weep, wretched man, Ill aid thee tear for tear;


And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,


Be blind with tears, and break oercharged with grief.


Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body


Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold:


For I have bought it with an hundred blows.


But let me see: is this our foemans face?


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


Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,


Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart!


What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,


O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,


And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!


Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!


O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!


The red rose and the white are on his face,


The fatal colours of our striving houses:


The one his purple blood right well resembles;


The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth:


Wither one rose, and let the other flourish;


If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.


How will my wife for slaughter of my son


Shed seas of tears and neer be satisfied!


How will the country for these woful chances


Was ever king so grieved for subjects woe?


Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much.


Ill bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.


These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;


My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,


For from my heart thine image neer shall go;


My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;


Even for the loss of thee, having no more,


Ill bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,


For I have murdered where I should not kill.


Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,


Here sits a king more woful than you are.


Alarums: excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, and EXETER


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


Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.


Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain:


Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds


Having the fearful flying hare in sight,


With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,


And bloody steel graspd in their ireful hands,


Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.


Away! for vengeance comes along with them:


Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;


Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter:


Whither the queen intends. Forward; away!


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


Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.


More than my bodys parting with my soul!


My love and fear glued many friends to thee;


And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts.


Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York,


The common people swarm like summer flies;


And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?


O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent


That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds,


Thy burning car never had scorchd the earth!


And, Henry, hadst thou swayd as kings should do,


Giving no ground unto the house of York,


They never then had sprung like summer flies;


I and ten thousand in this luckless realm


Had left no mourning widows for our death;


And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.


For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?


And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?


Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;


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


The foe is merciless, and will not pity;


For at their hands I have deserved no pity.


And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.


Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;


I stabbd your fathers bosoms, split my breast.


Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers


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


And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.


Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen,


That led calm Henry, though he were a king,


As doth a sail, filld with a fretting gust,


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


For, though before his face I speak the words


Your brother Richard markd him for the grave:


Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?


A deadly groan, like life and deaths departing.


See who it is: and, now the battles ended,


If friend or foe, let him be gently used.


Revoke that doom of mercy, for tis Clifford;


Who not contented that he loppd the branch


In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,


But set his murdering knife unto the root


From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,


I mean our princely father, Duke of York.


From off the gates of York fetch down the head,


Your fathers head, which Clifford placed there;


Instead whereof let this supply the room:


Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,


That nothing sung but death to us and ours:


Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,


And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.


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


Dark cloudy death oershades his beams of life,


And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.


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


Because he would avoid such bitter taunts


Which in the time of death he gave our father.


If so thou thinkst, vex him with eager words.


Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.


Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.


While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.


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


Thou pitiedst Rutland; I will pity thee.


Wheres Captain Margaret, to fence you now?


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


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


When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.


I know by that hes dead; and, by my soul,


If this right hand would buy two hours life,


That I in all despite might rail at him,


This hand should chop it off, and with the


Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst


York and young Rutland could not satisfy.


Ay, but hes dead: off with the traitors head,


And rear it in the place your fathers stands.


And now to London with triumphant march,


There to be crowned Englands royal king:


From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,


So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;


And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread


The scatterd foe that hopes to rise again;


For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,


Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.


To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.


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


Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.


Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,


And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself,


Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester;


Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London,


SCENE I. A forest in the north of England.


Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands


Under this thick-grown brake well shroud ourselves;


For through this laund anon the deer will come;


And in this covert will we make our stand,


Ill stay above the hill, so both may shoot.


That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow


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


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


And, for the time shall not seem tedious,


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


Here comes a man; lets stay till he be past.


Enter KING HENRY VI, disguised, with a prayerbook


From Scotland am I stoln, even of pure love,


To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.


Thy place is filld, thy sceptre wrung from thee,


Thy balm washd off wherewith thou wast anointed:


No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,


No humble suitors press to speak for right,


No, not a man comes for redress of thee;


For how can I help them, and not myself?


Ay, heres a deer whose skins a keepers fee:


This is the quondam king; lets seize upon him.


For wise men say it is the wisest course.


Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.


Forbear awhile; well hear a little more.


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 kings sister


To wife for Edward: if this news be true,


Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost;


And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.


By this account then Margaret may win him;


Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;


Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;


The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn;


To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears.


Ay, but shes 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 installd;


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


Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,


And in conclusion wins the king from her,


With promise of his sister, and what else,


To strengthen and support King Edwards place.


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


Art then forsaken, as thou wentst forlorn!


Say, what art thou that talkst of kings and queens?


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?


Ay, but thou talkst as if thou wert a king.


Why, so I am, in mind; and thats enough.


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


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


Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,


Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:


Well, if you be a king crownd with content,


Your crown content and you must be contented


You are the king King Edward hath deposed;


And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance


But did you never swear, and break an oath?


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


Where did you dwell when I was King of England?


Here in this country, where we now remain.


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?


For we were subjects but while you were king.


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


Look, as I blow this feather from my face,


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 Ill obey.


We are true subjects to the king, King Edward.


We charge you, in Gods name, and the kings,


In Gods name, lead; your kings name be obeyd:


And what God will, that let your king perform;


Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY


Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Albans field


This ladys husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain,


His lands then seized on by the conqueror:


Her suit is now to repossess those lands;


Your highness shall do well to grant her suit;


It were no less; but yet Ill make a pause.


Before the king will grant her humble suit.


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


And come some other time to know our mind.


Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay:


May it please your highness to resolve me now;


And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.


[Aside to CLARENCE]  Ay, widow? then Ill warrant


An if what pleases him shall pleasure you.


Fight closer, or, good faith, youll catch a blow.


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


[Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that! for hell


How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.


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


[Aside to CLARENCE]  Nay, whip me then: hell rather


[Aside to CLARENCE]  You shall have four, if youll


Twere pity they should lose their fathers lands.


Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.


Lords, give us leave: Ill try this widows wit.


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


Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.


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


And would you not do much to do them good?


To do them good, I would sustain some harm.


Then get your husbands lands, to do them good.


Ill tell you how these lands are to be got.


So shall you bind me to your highness service.


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


What you command, that rests in me to do.


But you will take exceptions to my boon.


No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.


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


Why, then I will do what your grace commands.


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


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


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


Thats soon performd, because I am a subject.


Why, then, thy husbands lands I freely give thee.


I take my leave with many thousand thanks.


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


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


The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.


What love, thinkst thou, I sue so much to get?


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


That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.


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


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


But now you partly may perceive my mind.


My mind will never grant what I perceive


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


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


Why, then thou shalt not have thy husbands lands.


Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;


For by that loss I will not purchase them.


Therein thou wrongst thy children mightily.


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.


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


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


[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  He is the bluntest wooer in


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


All her perfections challenge sovereignty:


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


Say that King Edward take thee for his queen?


Tis better said than done, my gracious lord:


Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee


I speak no more than what my soul intends;


And that is more than I will yield unto:


Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father.


No more than when my daughters call thee mother.


Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;


And, by Gods mother, I, being but a bachelor,


Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.


[Aside to CLARENCE]  The ghostly father now hath done


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


Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.


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


Youll think it strange if I should marry her.


That would be ten days wonder at the least.


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


Her suit is granted for her husbands lands.


My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,


And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.


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


Widow, go you along. Lords, use her 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 souls desire and me--


Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,


And all the unlookd for issue of their bodies,


To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:


Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty;


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, hell 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;


My eyes too quick, my heart oerweens 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?


And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.


Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!


Why, love forswore me in my  mothers 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 witherd shrub;


Like to a chaos, or an unlickd bear-whelp


That carries no impression like the dam.


O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!


Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,


But to command, to cheque, to oerbear such


Ill make my heaven to dream upon the crown,


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


Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head


And yet I know not how to get the crown,


For many lives stand between me and home:


That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns,


Seeking a way and straying from the way;


But toiling desperately to find it out,--


Torment myself to catch the English crown:


And from that torment I will free myself,


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


And cry Content to that which grieves my heart,


And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,


Ill drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;


Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,


And set the murderous Machiavel to school.


Tut, were it farther off, Ill pluck it down.


SCENE III. France. KING LEWIS XIs palace.


Flourish. Enter KING LEWIS XI, his sister BONA,  his Admiral, called BOURBON, PRINCE EDWARD, QUEEN  MARGARET, and OXFORD. KING LEWIS XI sits, and riseth up again


Sit down with us: it ill befits thy state


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


Must strike her sail and learn awhile to serve


Where kings command. I was, I must confess,


Great Albions 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,


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


From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears


And stops my tongue, while heart is drownd in cares.


Whateer it be, be thou still like thyself,


To fortunes 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.


Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts


And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.


Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis,


And forced to live in Scotland a forlorn;


While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York


This is the cause that I, poor Margaret,


With this my son, Prince Edward, Henrys heir,


Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid;


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


Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help;


Our people and our peers are both misled,


Our treasures seized, our soldiers put to flight,


And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.


Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm,


While we bethink a means to break it off.


The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.


The more I stay, the more Ill succor thee.


O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.


And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow!


Whats he approacheth boldly to our presence?


Our Earl of Warwick, Edwards greatest friend.


Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France?


For this is he that moves both wind and tide.


My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,


First, to do greetings to thy royal person;


With a nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant


That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,


[Aside]  If that go forward, Henrys hope is done.


[To BONA]  And, gracious madam, in our kings behalf,


I am commanded, with your leave and favour,


Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue


To tell the passion of my sovereigns heart;


Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears,


Hath placed thy beautys image and thy virtue.


King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak,


Springs not from Edwards well-meant honest love,


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 Henrys 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.


And thou no more are prince than she is queen.


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:


Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse,


You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost


Methinks these peers of France should smile at that.


Of threescore and two years; a silly time


To make prescription for a kingdoms worth.


Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege,


Whom thou obeyedst thirty and six years,


And not bewray thy treason with a blush?


Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right,


For shame! leave Henry, and call Edward king.


Call him my king by whose injurious doom


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


Even in the downfall of his mellowd 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.


Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford,


Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside,


While I use further conference with Warwick.


Heavens grant that Warwicks words bewitch him not!


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.


Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.


Then further, all dissembling set aside,


Tell me for truth the measure of his love


Myself have often heard him say and swear


That this his love was an eternal plant,


Whereof the root was fixd in virtues ground,


The leaves and fruit maintaind with beautys sun,


Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.


Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine:


When I have heard your kings desert recounted,


Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.


Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edwards;


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.


Before thy coming Lewis was Henrys friend.


And still is friend to him and Margaret:


Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand


That your estate requires and mine can yield.


Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease,


Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.


And as for you yourself, our quondam queen,


And better twere you troubled him than France.


Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, peace,


Proud setter up and puller down of kings!


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


Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold


Thy sly conveyance and thy lords false love;


For both of you are birds of selfsame feather.


Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.


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


Sent from your brother, Marquess Montague:


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


I like it well that our fair queen and mistress


Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.


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


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


Mine, such as fill my heart with unhoped joys.


Mine, full of sorrow and hearts discontent.


What! has your king married the Lady Grey!


And now, to soothe your forgery and his,


Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?


Is this the alliance that he seeks with France?


Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?


This proveth Edwards love and Warwicks honesty.


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 Edwards,


But most himself, if he could see his shame.


Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece?


And am I guerdond at the last with shame?


Shame on himself! for my desert is honour:


I here renounce him and return to Henry.


My noble queen, let former grudges pass,


Warwick, these words have turnd my hate to love;


And I forgive and quite forget old faults,


And joy that thou becomest King Henrys friend.


So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,


That, if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us


And force the tyrant from his seat by war.


Tis not his new-made bride shall succor him:


And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me,


For matching more for wanton lust than honour,


Or than for strength and safety of our country.


Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged


But by thy help to this distressed queen?


Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live,


Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?


My quarrel and this English queens are one.


And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours.


And mine with hers, and thine, and Margarets.


Let me give humble thanks for all at once.


Then, Englands messenger, return in post,


And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,


That Lewis of France is sending over masquers


Thou seest whats past, go fear thy king withal.


Tell him, in hope hell prove a widower shortly,


Ill wear the willow garland for his sake.


Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside,


Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,


And therefore Ill uncrown him eret be long.


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?


That if our queen and this young prince agree,


Ill join mine eldest daughter and my joy


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


Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick;


And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable,


That only Warwicks daughter shall be thine.


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


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


Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied,


And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high admiral,


Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet.


I long till Edward fall by wars mischance,


For mocking marriage with a dame of France.


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 Ill be chief to bring him down again:


Enter GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, and MONTAGUE


Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you


Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey?


Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?


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


How could he stay till Warwick made return?


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


I mind to tell him plainly what I think.


Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, attended; QUEEN ELIZABETH, PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, HASTINGS, and others


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


That you stand pensive, as half malcontent?


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


Which are so weak of courage and in judgment


That theyll take no offence at our abuse.


Suppose they take offence without a cause,


They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward,


Your king and Warwicks, and must have my will.


And shall have your will, because our king:


Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?


No, God forbid that I should wish them severd


Whom God hath joind together; ay, and twere pity


To sunder them that yoke so well together.


Setting your scorns and your mislike aside,


Should not become my wife and Englands queen.


Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis


And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,


Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.


What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeased


Yet, to have joind with France in such alliance


Would more have strengthend this our commonwealth


Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage.


But the safer when tis backd with France.


Tis better using France than trusting France:


Let us be backd with God and with the seas


Which He hath given for fence impregnable,


And with their helps only defend ourselves;


In them and in ourselves our safety lies.


For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves


To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.


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


And for this once my will shall stand for law.


And yet methinks your grace hath not done well,


To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales


She better would have fitted me or Clarence:


Or else you would not have bestowd the heir


Of the Lord Bonville on your new wifes son,


And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.


That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.


In choosing for yourself, you showd your judgment,


And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.


Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king,


Do me but right, and you must all confess


And meaner than myself have had like fortune.


So your dislike, to whom I would be pleasing,


Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.


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.


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


Now, messenger, what letters or what news


My sovereign liege, no letters; and few words,


But such as I, without your special pardon,


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?


At my depart, these were his very words:


Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king,


That Lewis of France is sending over masquers


Is Lewis so brave? belike he thinks me Henry.


These were her words, utterd with mad disdain:


Tell him, in hope hell prove a widower shortly,


Ill wear the willow garland for his sake.


I blame not her, she could say little less;


She had the wrong. But what said Henrys queen?


For I have heard that she was there in place.


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


But what said Warwick to these injuries?


Than all the rest, discharged me with these words:


Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,


And therefore Ill uncrown him eret be long.


Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?


Well I will arm me, being thus forewarnd:


They shall have wars and pay for their presumption.


But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?


Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so linkd in


That young Prince Edward marries Warwicks daughter.


Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger.


Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast,


For I will hence to Warwicks other daughter;


That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage


You that love me and Warwick, follow me.


Stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown.


Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!


Yet am I armd against the worst can happen;


And haste is needful in this desperate case.


Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf


They are already, or quickly will be landed:


Myself in person will straight follow you.


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?


I rather wish you foes than hollow friends:


But if you mind to hold your true obedience,


Give me assurance with some friendly vow,


And Hastings as he favours Edwards cause!


Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?


Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.


Now therefore let us hence; and lose no hour,


Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power.


Enter WARWICK and OXFORD, with French soldiers


Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;


The common people by numbers swarm to us.


But see where Somerset and Clarence come!


Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?


Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;


And welcome, Somerset: I hold it cowardice


Hath pawnd an open hand in sign of love;


Else might I think that Clarence, Edwards brother,


Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings:


But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine.


And now what rests but, in nights coverture,


His soldiers lurking in the towns about,


We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?


Our scouts have found the adventure very easy:


With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus tents,


And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,


So we, well coverd with the nights black mantle,


And seize himself; I say not, slaughter him,


You that will follow me to this attempt,


Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.


Why, then, lets on our way in silent sort:


For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George!


Enter three Watchmen, to guard KING EDWARD IVs tent


Come on, my masters, each man take his stand:


The king by this is set him down to sleep.


Till Warwick or himself be quite suppressd.


That with the king here resteth in his tent?


Tis the Lord Hastings, the kings chiefest friend.


That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,


While he himself keeps in the cold field?


Tis the more honour, because more dangerous.


I like it better than a dangerous honour.


If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,


Unless our halberds did shut up his passage.


Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent,


But to defend his person from night-foes?


Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, SOMERSET, and French soldiers, silent all


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.


WARWICK and the rest cry all, Warwick! Warwick!  and set upon the Guard, who fly, crying, Arm! arm! WARWICK and the rest following them


The drum playing and trumpet sounding, reenter  WARWICK, SOMERSET, and the rest, bringing KING  EDWARD IV out in his gown, sitting in a chair. RICHARD and HASTINGS fly over the stage


Richard and Hastings: let them go; here is The duke.


And come now to create you Duke of York.


Alas! how should you govern any kingdom,


Nor how to study for the peoples welfare,


Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies?


Yea, brother of Clarence, are thou here too?


Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down.


Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance,


Edward will always bear himself as king:


Though fortunes malice overthrow my state,


My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.


Then, for his mind, be Edward Englands king:


But Henry now shall wear the English crown,


And be true king indeed, thou but the shadow.


See that forthwith Duke Edward be conveyd


When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows,


Now, for a while farewell, good Duke of York.


What fates impose, that men must needs abide;


It boots not to resist both wind and tide.


What now remains, my lords, for us to do


Ay, thats the first thing that we have to do;


Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?


Why brother Rivers, are you yet to learn


What late misfortune is befalln King Edward?


What! loss of some pitchd battle against Warwick?


No, but the loss of his own royal person.


Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner,


Either betrayd by falsehood of his guard


Fell Warwicks brother and by that our foe.


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.


Till then fair hope must hinder lifes decay.


For love of Edwards offspring in my womb:


And bear with mildness my misfortunes cross;


And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs,


Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown


King Edwards fruit, true heir to the English crown.


But, madam, where is Warwick then become?


I am informd that he comes towards London,


To set the crown once more on Henrys head:


Guess thou the rest; King Edwards friends must down,


For trust not him that hath once broken faith,--


To save at least the heir of Edwards right:


There shall I rest secure from force and fraud.


Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly:


SCENE V. A park near Middleham Castle In Yorkshire.


Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley,


Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither,


Thus stands the case: you know our king, my brother,


Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands


And, often but attended with weak guard,


Comes hunting this way to disport himself.


He shall here find his friends with horse and men


Enter KING EDWARD IV and a Huntsman with him


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


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 bishops deer?


Brother, the time and case requireth haste:


Your horse stands ready at the park-corner.


Well guessd, believe me; for that was my meaning.


Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.


But wherefore stay we? tis no time to talk.


Huntsman, what sayst thou? wilt thou go along?


Bishop, farewell: shield thee from Warwicks frown;


And pray that I may repossess the crown.


Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLARENCE, WARWICK,  SOMERSET, HENRY OF RICHMOND, OXFORD, MONTAGUE, and Lieutenant of the Tower


Master lieutenant, now that God and friends


At our enlargement what are thy due fees?


Subjects may challenge nothing of their sovereigns;


For what, lieutenant? for well using me?


Nay, be thou sure Ill well requite thy kindness,


For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure;


They quite forget their loss of liberty.


But, Warwick, after God, thou setst me free,


And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee;


Therefore, that I may conquer fortunes spite


By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me,


And that the people of this blessed land


May not be punishd with my thwarting stars,


Warwick, although my head still wear the crown,


For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.


Your grace hath still been famed for virtuous;


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.


No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway,


Adjudged an olive branch and laurel crown,


And therefore I yield thee my free consent.


And I choose Clarence only for protector.


Warwick and Clarence give me both your hands:


Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts,


I make you both protectors of this land,


What answers Clarence to his sovereigns will?


That he consents, if Warwick yield consent;


Why, then, though loath, yet must I be content:


Well yoke together, like a double shadow


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.


What else? and that succession be determined.


Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.


But, with the first of all your chief affairs,


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


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


My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that,


Of whom you seem to have so tender care?


My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Richmond.


Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,


This pretty lad will prove our countrys bliss.


His head by nature framed to wear a crown,


His hand to wield a sceptre, and himself


Make much of him, my lords, for this is he


Must help you more than you are hurt by me.


That Edward is escaped from your brother,


And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.


He was conveyd by Richard Duke of Gloucester


And from the bishops huntsmen rescued him;


My brother was too careless of his charge.


But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide


Exeunt all but SOMERSET, HENRY OF RICHMOND, and OXFORD


My lord, I like not of this flight of Edwards;


For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help,


And we shall have more wars before t be long.


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 well send him hence to Brittany,


Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down.


Come, therefore, lets about it speedily.


Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and Soldiers


Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest,


And says that once more I shall interchange


Well have we passd and now repassd the seas


What then remains, we being thus arrived


From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York,


The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this;


For many men that stumble at the threshold


Are well foretold that danger lurks within.


Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us:


For hither will our friends repair to us.


My liege, Ill knock once more to summon them.


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


My lords, we were forewarned of your coming,


And shut the gates for safety of ourselves;


But, master mayor, if Henry be your king,


Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York.


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


Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom,


[Aside]  But when the fox hath once got in his nose,


Hell soon find means to make the body follow.


Why, master mayor, why stand you in a doubt?


Open the gates; we are King Henrys friends.


Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be opend.


A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded!


The good old man would fain that all were well,


So twere not long of him; but being enterd,


I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade


Both him and all his brothers unto reason.


So, master mayor: these gates must not be shut


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


Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived.


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


To help King Edward in his time of storm,


Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget


Our dukedom till God please to send the rest.


Then fare you well, for I will hence again:


Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.


Nay, stay, Sir John, awhi le, and well debate


By what safe means the crown may be recoverd.


What talk you of debating? in few words,


If youll not here proclaim yourself our king,


Ill leave you to your fortune and be gone


To keep them back that come to succor you:


Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title?


Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?


When we grow stronger, then well make our claim:


Till then, tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.


Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule.


And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.


Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand:


The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.


Then be it as you will; for tis my right,


Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself;


Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaimd:


Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation.


Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, king of


England and France, and lord of Ireland,  and c.


And whosoeer gainsays King Edwards right,


By this I challenge him to single fight.


Thanks, brave Montgomery; and thanks unto you all:


If fortune serve me, Ill requite this kindness.


Now, for this night, lets harbour here in York;


And when the morning sun shall raise his car


Well 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, well meet both thee and Warwick.


Come on, brave soldiers: doubt not of the day,


And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay.


Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, WARWICK, MONTAGUE, CLARENCE, EXETER, and OXFORD


What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia,


With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders,


Hath passd in safety through the narrow seas,


And with his troops doth march amain to London;


Which, being sufferd, rivers cannot quench.


In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends,


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:


Northampton and in Leicestershire, shalt find


Men well inclined to hear what thou commandst:


And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well beloved,


In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends.


Like to his island girt in with the ocean,


Shall rest in London till we come to him.


Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply.


Farewell, my Hector, and my Troys true hope.


In sign of truth, I kiss your highness hand.


Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!


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


And thus I seal my truth, and bid adieu.


And all at once, once more a happy farewell.


Farewell, sweet lords: lets meet at Coventry.


Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship?


Methinks the power that Edward hath in field


The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.


Thats not my fear; my meed hath got me fame:


I have not stoppd 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 allayd their swelling griefs,


My mercy dried their water-flowing tears;


I have not been desirous of their wealth,


Nor much oppressd them with great subsidies.


Nor forward of revenge, though they much errd:


Then why should they love Edward more than me?


No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace:


The lamb will never cease to follow him.


Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these?


Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers


Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear him hence;


And once again proclaim us King of England.


You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow:


Now stops thy spring; my sea sha$l suck them dry,


And swell so much the higher by their ebb.


Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak.


And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course


The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay,


Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay.


And take the great-grown traitor unawares:


Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.


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


Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford?


How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?


By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.


Where is the post that came from Montague?


By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.


Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?


And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now?


At Southam I did leave him with his forces,


And do expect him here some two hours hence.


Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.


It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies:


The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick.


Who should that be? belike, unlookd-for friends.


They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.


March: flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers


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


See how the surly Warwick mans the wall!


Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced,


That we could hear no news of his repair?


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.


Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,


Confess who set thee up and pluckd thee own,


And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.


I thought, at least, he would have said the king;


Or did he make the jest against his will?


Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give:


Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.


Why then tis mine, if but by Warwicks gift.


Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight:


And weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;


And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject.


And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this:


Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,


But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,


The king was slily fingerd from the deck!


You left poor Henry at the Bishops palace,


And, ten to one, youll meet him in the Tower.


Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down:


Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools.


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.


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.


O cheerful colours! see where Oxford comes!


Stand we in good array; for they no doubt


If not, the city being but of small defence,


Well quickly rouse the traitors in the same.


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


Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason


Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.


My mind presageth happy gain and conquest.


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.


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 brothers love!


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


Father of Warwick, know you what this means?


Who gave his blood to lime the stones together,


And set up Lancaster. Why, trowst thou, Warwick,


That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural,


Against his brother and his lawful king?


Than Jephthahs, when he sacrificed his daughter.


That, to deserve well at my brothers hands,


With resolution, wheresoeer 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.


And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,


For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.


Now welcome more, and ten times more beloved,


Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.


Welcome, good Clarence; this is brotherlike.


What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight?


Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?


And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest.


Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way.


Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory!


Exeunt King Edward and his company. March. Warwick and his company follow


SCENE II. A field of battle near Barnet.


Alarum and excursions. Enter KING EDWARD IV, bringing forth WARWICK wounded


So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear;


For Warwick was a bug that feard us all.


Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,


That Warwicks bones may keep thine company.


Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe,


And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?


My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows.


And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.


Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,


Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,


Whose top-branch overpeerd Joves spreading tree


And kept low shrubs from winters powerful wind.


These eyes, that now are dimmd with deaths black veil,


Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun,


To search the secret treasons of the world:


The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood,


For who lived king, but I could dig his grave?


And who durst mine when Warwick bent his brow?


Lo, now my glory smeard in dust and blood!


My parks, my walks, my manors that I had.


Even now forsake me, and of all my lands


Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?


And, live we how we can, yet die we must.


Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are.


The queen from France hath brought a puissant power:


Even now we heard the news: ah, couldst thou fly!


Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague,


If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand.


And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile!


Thou lovest me not; for, brother, if thou didst,


Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood


That glues my lips and will not let me speak.


Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breathed his last;


And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick,


And said Commend me to my valiant brother.


And more he would have said, and more he spoke,


Which sounded like a clamour in a vault,


That mought not be distinguished; but at last


I well might hear, delivered with a groan,


Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves;


For Warwick bids you all farewell to meet in heaven.


Away, away, to meet the queens great power!


Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV in triumph; with GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest


Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course,


And we are graced with wreaths of victory.


But, in the midst of this bright-shining day,


I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud,


That will encounter with our glorious sun,


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.


A little gale will soon disperse that cloud


And blow it to the source from whence it came:


The very beams will dry those vapours up,


The queen is valued thirty thousand strong,


If she have time to breathe be well assured


Her faction will be full as strong as ours.


That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury:


We, having now the best at Barnet field,


Will thither straight, for willingness rids way;


And, as we march, our strength will be augmented


Strike up the drum; cry Courage! and away.


March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD, and soldiers


Great lords, wise men neer 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 swallowd in the flood?


Yet lives our pilot still. Ist meet that he


Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad


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?


Our slaughterd friends the tackles; what of these?


The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?


And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I


For once allowd the skilful pilots charge?


We will not from the helm to sit and weep,


But keep our course, though the rough wind say no,


From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck.


As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.


What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit?


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; thats a threefold death.


This speak I, lords, to let you understand,


If case some one of you would fly from us,


That theres 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.


Should, if a coward heard her speak these words,


And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.


He should have leave to go away betimes,


Lest in our need he might infect another


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!


And he that will not fight for such a hope.


Go home to bed, and like the owl by day,


Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks.


And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.


Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand.


To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.


This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.


Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.


Flourish and march. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and soldiers


Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood,


Which, by the heavens assistance and your strength,


Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.


For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out


Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords!


Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say


My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,


Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,


Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurpd,


His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,


His statutes cancelld and his treasure spent;


And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.


You fight in justice: then, in Gods name, lords,


Be valiant and give signal to the fight.


Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE,  and soldiers; with QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, prisoners


Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight:


Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.


For my part, Ill not trouble thee with words.


Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.


So part we sadly in this troublous world,


Is proclamation made, that who finds Edward


Shall have a high reward, and he his life?


It is: and lo, where youthful Edward comes!


Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him speak.


What! can so young a thorn begin to prick?


Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make


For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,


And all the trouble thou hast turnd me to?


Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York!


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.


Ah, that thy father had been so resolved!


That you might still have worn the petticoat,


And neer have stoln the breech from Lancaster.


His currish riddles sort not with this place.


By heaven, brat, Ill plague ye for that word.


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


For Gods sake, take away this captive scold.


Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.


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


Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George,


And thou usurpst my fathers right and mine.


Take that, thou likeness of this railer here.


Sprawlst thou? take that, to end thy agony.


And theres for twitting me with perjury.


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


Why should she live, to fill the world with words?


What, doth she swoon? use means for her recovery.


Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother;


Ill hence to London on a serious matter:


Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.


O Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy!


Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers!


They that stabbd Caesar shed no blood at all,


Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,


He was a man; this, in respect, a child:


And men neer spend their fury on a child.


Whats worse than murderer, that I may name it?


No, no, my heart will burst, and if I speak:


And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.


Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals!


How sweet a plant have you untimely croppd!


You have no children, butchers! if you had,


The thought of them would have stirrd up remorse:


Look in his youth to have him so cut off


As, deathmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!


Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.


Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here,


Here sheathe thy sword, Ill pardon thee my death:


What, wilt thou not? then, Clarence, do it thou.


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


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


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


What, wilt thou not? Where is that devils butcher,


Hard-favourd Richard? Richard, where art thou?


Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed;


Petitioners for blood thou neer putst back.


Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence.


So come to you and yours, as to this Prince!


To London, all in post; and, as I guess,


Hes sudden, if a thing comes in his head.


Now march we hence: discharge the common sort


With pay and thanks, and lets away to London


And see our gentle queen how well she fares:


Enter KING HENRY VI and GLOUCESTER, with the Lieutenant, on the walls


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


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.


Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer.


So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf;


So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece


And next his throat unto the butchers knife.


What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?


Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;


The thief doth fear each bush an officer.


The bird that hath been limed in a bush,


With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;


And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,


Where my poor young was limed, was caught and killd.


Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,


That taught his son the office of a fowl!


An yet, for all his wings, the fool was drownd.


Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;


The sun that seard the wings of my sweet boy


Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.


Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!


My breast can better brook thy daggers point


But wherefore dost thou come? ist for my life?


Hadst thou been killd 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 mans sigh and many a widows,


And many an orphans water-standing eye--


Men for their sons, wives for their husbands,


And orphans for their parents timeless death--


Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.


The owl shriekd at thy birth,--an evil sign;


The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;


Dogs howld, and hideous tempest shook down trees;


The raven rookd her on the chimneys top,


And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.


Thy mother felt more than a mothers pain,


And, yet brought forth less than a mothers hope,


To wit, an indigested and deformed lump,


Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.


Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,


To signify thou camest to bite the world:


And, if the rest be true which I have heard,


Ill hear no more: die, prophet in thy speech:


For this amongst the rest, was I ordaind.


Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.


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 kings death!


From those that wish the downfall of our house!


Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither:


I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.


I came into the world with my legs forward:


Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,


And seek their ruin that usurpd our right?


O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!


That I should snarl and bite and play the dog.


Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so,


Let hell make crookd my mind to answer it.


I have no brother, I am like no brother;


And this word love, which graybeards call divine,


Clarence, beware; thou keepst me from the light:


That Edward shall be fearful of his life,


And then, to purge his fear, Ill be thy death.


King Henry and the prince his son are gone:


Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest,


Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, QUEEN ELIZABETH,  CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, a Nurse with the young Prince, and Attendants


Once more we sit in Englands royal throne,


What valiant foemen, like to autumns corn,


Have we mowd down, in tops of all their pride!


Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renownd


Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,


Neer spurrd their coursers at the trumpets sound;


With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,


That in their chains fetterd the kingly lion


And made the forest tremble when they roard.


Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat


Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.


Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself


Have in our armours watchd the winters night,


Went all afoot in summers scalding heat,


That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace;


And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.


[Aside]  Ill blast his harvest, if your head were laid;


This shoulder was ordaind so thick to heave;


And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:


Work thou the way,--and thou shalt execute.


Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen;


And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.


I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.


Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.


And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprangst,


Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.


And cried all hail! when as he meant all harm.


Having my countrys peace and brothers loves.


What will your grace have done with Margaret?


Reignier, her father, to the king of France


And hither have they sent it for her ransom.


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.


Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black


In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.


And I in going, madam, weep oer my fathers death


anew: but I must attend his majestys command, to


whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.


You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you,


sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times


good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose


worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather


than lack it where there is such abundance.


What hope is there of his majestys amendment?


He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose


practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and


finds no other advantage in the process but only the


This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that


had! how sad a passage tis!--whose skill was


almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so


far, would have made nature immortal, and death


should have play for lack of work. Would, for the


kings sake, he were living! I think it would be


How called you the man you speak of, madam?


He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was


his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.


He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very


lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he


was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge


What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of?


I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman


His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my


overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that


her education promises; her dispositions she


inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where


an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there


commendations go with pity; they are virtues and


traitors too; in her they are the better for their


simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.


Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.


Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise


in. The remembrance of her father never approaches


her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all


livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena;


go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect


I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too.


Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,


excessive grief the enemy to the living.


If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess


Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father


In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue


Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness


Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few,


Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy


Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend


Under thy own lifes key: be chequed for silence,


But never taxd for speech. What heaven more will,


That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,


Tis an unseasond courtier; good my lord,


[To HELENA]  The best wishes that can be forged in


your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable


to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.


Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of


O, were that all! I think not on my father;


And these great tears grace his remembrance more


Than those I shed for him. What was he like?


That I should love a bright particular star


In his bright radiance and collateral light


The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:


The hind that would be mated by the lion


Must die for love. Twas pretty, though plague,


His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,


Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:


But now hes gone, and my idolatrous fancy


Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here?


One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;


Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;


Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him,


That they take place, when virtues steely bones


Look bleak i the cold wind: withal, full oft we see


Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.


Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me


ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how


But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant,


in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some


There is none: man, sitting down before you, will


Bless our poor virginity from underminers and


blowers up! Is there no military policy, how


Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be


blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with


the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It


is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to


preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational


increase and there was never virgin got till


virginity was first lost. That you were made of is


metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost


may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is


ever lost: tis too cold a companion; away with t!


I will stand for t a little, though therefore I die a virgin.


Theres little can be said in t; tis against the


rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity,


is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible


disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: