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


Because here is a man accused of treason:


Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself!


What meanst thou, Suffolk; tell me, what are these?


That doth accuse his master of high treason:


His words were these: that Richard, Duke of York,


Was rightful heir unto the English crown


Ant shall please your majesty, I never said nor


thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am


By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak them to


me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my


Ill have thy head for this thy traitors speech.


Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words.


My accuser is my prentice; and when I did correct


him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his


knees he would be even with me: I have good


witness of this: therefore I beseech your majesty,


do not cast away an honest man for a villains


Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?


For he hath witness of his servants malice:


This is the law, and this Duke Humphreys doom.


Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for Gods sake, pity


my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O


Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to


Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hangd.


Away with them to prison; and the day of combat


shall be the last of the next month. Come,


Enter MARGARET JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and BOLINGBROKE


Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects


Master Hume, we are therefore provided: will her


Ay, what else? fear you not her courage.


I have heard her reported to be a woman of an


invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient,


Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be


busy below; and so, I pray you, go, in Gods name,


prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell,


Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this


Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:


Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,


The time of night when Troy was set on fire;


The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl,


And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves,


That time best fits the work we have in hand.


Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise,


We will make fast within a hallowd verge.


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


By the eternal God, whose name and power


Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;


For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence.


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


First of the king: what shall of him become?


The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;


But him outlive, and die a violent death.


As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer


By water shall he die, and take his end.


Have done, for more I hardly can endure.


Descend to darkness and the burning lake!


Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM with their Guard and break in


Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash.


Beldam, I think we watchd you at an inch.


What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal


Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains:


See you well guerdond for these good deserts.


Not half so bad as thine to Englands king,


Injurious duke, that threatest wheres no cause.


True, madam, none at all: what call you this?


Away with them! let them be clappd up close.


And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us.


Well see your trinkets here all forthcoming.


Exeunt guard with MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL,  and c


Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watchd her well:


A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!


Now, pray, my lord, lets see the devils writ.


The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;


But him outlive, and die a violent death.


Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?


By water shall he die, and take his end.


The king is now in progress towards Saint Albans,


With him the husband of this lovely lady:


Thither go these news, as fast as horse can


A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.


Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York,


At your pleasure, my good lord. Whos within


Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick


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


Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,


I saw not better sport these seven years day:


Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high;


And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.


But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,


And what a pitch she flew above the rest!


To see how God in all his creatures works!


Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.


My lord protectors hawks do tower so well;


They know their master loves to be aloft,


And bears his thoughts above his falcons pitch.


That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.


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


Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that?


Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven?


Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts


Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart;


That smoothst it so with king and commonweal!


What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory?


Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice;


No malice, sir; no more than well becomes


Ant like your lordly lord-protectorship.


Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.


For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.


Against this proud protector, with my sword!


[Aside to CARDINAL]  Faith, holy uncle, would


[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Marry, when thou darest.


[Aside to CARDINAL]  Make up no factious


[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Ay, where thou darest


This evening, on the east side of the grove.


Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,


[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Are ye advised? the


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


Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.


Now, by Gods mother, priest, Ill shave your crown for this,


[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Medice, teipsum--


Protector, see tot well, protect yourself.


The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords.


When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?


I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.


Enter a Townsman of Saint Albans, crying A miracle!


Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?


Come to the king and tell him what miracle.


Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Albans shrine,


Within this half-hour, hath received his sight;


Now, God be praised, that to believing souls


Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!


Enter the Mayor of Saint Albans and his  brethren, bearing SIMPCOX, between two in a chair, SIMPCOXs Wife following


Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,


Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.


Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king;


His highness pleasure is to talk with him.


Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,


What, hast thou been long blind and now restored?


Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have


At Berwick in the north, ant like your grace.


Poor soul, Gods goodness hath been great to thee:


But still remember what the Lord hath done.


Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance,


God knows, of pure devotion; being calld


A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep,


By good Saint Alban; who said, Simpcox, come,


Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.


Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft


Myself have heard a voice to call him so.


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


Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.


Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst


Alas,  good master, my wife desired some damsons,


And made me climb, with danger of my life.


A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.


Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open them:


Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and


Sayst thou me so? What colour is this cloak of?


Why, thats well said. What colour is my gown of?


Why, then, thou knowst what colour jet is of?


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


Never, before this day, in all his life.


Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.


Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in


Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou


mightest as well have known all our names as thus to


name the several colours we do wear. Sight may


distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them


all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here


hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his


cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple


My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in


Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.


Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, sirrah,


if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me


Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone:


Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah


beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.


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


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


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


O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long?


It made me laugh to see the villain run.


Follow the knave; and take this drab away.


Let them be whipped through every market-town, till


they come to Berwick, from whence they came.


Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.


True; made the lame to leap and fly away.


You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.


What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?


Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold.


The ringleader and head of all this rout,


Have practised dangerously against your state,


Dealing with witches and with conjurers:


Raising up wicked spirits from under ground,


Demanding of King Henrys life and death,


And other of your highness privy-council;


As more at large your grace shall understand.


[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  And so, my lord protector,


This news, I think, hath turnd your weapons edge;


Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.


Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart:


Sorrow and grief have vanquishd all my powers;


And, vanquishd as I am, I yield to thee,


O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones,


Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!


Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest.


And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.


Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal,


How I have loved my king and commonweal:


And, for my wife, I know not how it stands;


Honour and virtue and conversed with such


And give her as a prey to law and shame,


That hath dishonourd Gloucesters honest name.


Well, for this night we will repose us here:


And call these foul offenders to their answers


And poise the cause in justice equal scales,


Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.


Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,


Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good,


Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons:


The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales;


The second, William of Hatfield, and the third,


Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster;


The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York;


The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester;


William of Windsor was the seventh and last.


Edward the Black Prince died before his father


And left behind him Richard, his only son,


Who after Edward the Thirds death reignd as king;


Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster,


The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,


Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king,


Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came,


And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know,


Harmless Richard was murderd traitorously.


Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.


Which now they hold by force and not by right;


For Richard, the first sons heir, being dead,


The issue of the next son should have reignd.


But William of Hatfield died without an heir.


The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line


I claimed the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter,


Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March:


Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor.


This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,


As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;


And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,


Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was son


To Edmund Langley, Edward the Thirds fifth son.


By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir


Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe,


Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence:


What plain proceeding is more plain than this?


Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,


The fourth son; York claims it from the third.


Till Lionels issue fails, his should not reign:


It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee


And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.


Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together;


And in this private plot be we the first


That shall salute our rightful sovereign


With honour of his birthright to the crown.


Long live our sovereign Richard, Englands king!


We thank you, lords. But I am not your king


Till I be crownd and that my sword be staind


With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;


At Beauforts pride, at Somersets ambition,


Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock,


That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey:


Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that


Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.


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


My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick


Shall one day make the Duke of York a king.


Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick


The greatest man in England but the king.


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


Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucesters wife:


In sight of God and us, your guilt is great:


Receive the sentence of the law for sins


Such as by Gods book are adjudged to death.


You four, from hence to prison back again;


From thence unto the place of execution:


The witch in Smithfield shall be burnd to ashes,


And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.


You, madam, for you are more nobly born,


Shall, after three days open penance done,


Live in your country here in banishment,


With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man.


Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death.


Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee:


Exeunt DUCHESS and other prisoners, guarded


Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.


Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age


Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!


I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go;


Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease.


Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: ere thou go,


Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself


My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet:


And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved


Than when thou wert protector to thy King.


God and King Henry govern Englands realm.


Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm.


My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff:


And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it


Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone,


Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen;


And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself,


That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once;


This staff of honour raught, there let it stand


Where it best fits to be, in Henrys hand.


Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays;


Thus Eleanors pride dies in her youngest days.


Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty,


This is the day appointed for the combat;


And ready are the appellant and defendant,


The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,


So please your highness to behold the fight.


Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore


Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.


O Gods name, see the lists and all things fit:


Here let them end it; and God defend the right!


Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,


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


Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of


sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.


And here, neighbour, heres a cup of charneco.


And heres a pot of good double beer, neighbour:


Let it come, i faith, and Ill pledge you all; and


First PrenticeHere, Peter, I drink to thee: and be not afraid.


Second PrenticeBe merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight


I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray


you; for I think I have taken my last draught in


this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee


my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer:


and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O


Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to


deal with my master, he hath learnt me so much fence already.


Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows.


Thump! then see thou thump thy master well.


Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my mans


instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an


honest man: and touching the Duke of York, I will


take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the


king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at


Dispatch: this knaves tongue begins to double.


Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants!


Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes him down


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


Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the


O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence?


Go, take hence that traitor from our sight;


The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,


Which he had thought to have murderd wrongfully.


Enter GLOUCESTER and his Servingmen, in mourning cloaks


Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud;


Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold:


So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.


To watch the coming of my punishd duchess:


Uneath may she endure the flinty streets,


To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.


Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook


With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,


That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels


When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.


But, soft! I think she comes; and Ill prepare


My tear-staind eyes to see her miseries.


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


So please your grace, well take her from the sheriff.


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


Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?


Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze!


And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee!


Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,


And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,


And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!


Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.


Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!


For whilst I think I am thy married wife


And thou a prince, protector of this land,


Methinks I should not thus be led along,


Maild up in shame, with papers on my back,


To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans.


The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,


And when I start, the envious people laugh


Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?


Trowst thou that eer Ill look upon the world,


No; dark shall be my light and night my day;


Sometime Ill say, I am Duke Humphreys wife,


Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was


As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess,


But be thou mild and blush not at my shame,


Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death


Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will;


With her that hateth thee and hates us all,


And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest,


Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings,


And, fly thou how thou canst, theyll tangle thee:


But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared,


Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry;


And each of them had twenty times their power,


All these could not procure me any scathe,


So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless.


Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach?


Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away


Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell:


I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;


These few days wonder will be quickly worn.


I summon your grace to his majestys parliament,


Holden at Bury the first of this next month.


This is close dealing. Well, I will be there.


My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff,


Let not her penance exceed the kings commission.


Ant please your grace, here my commission stays,


To take her with him to the Isle of Man.


Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?


So am I given in charge, mayt please your grace.


Entreat her not the worse in that I pray


You use her well: the world may laugh again;


You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell!


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


Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.


Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee!


For none abides with me: my joy is death;


Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard,


Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence;


I care not whither, for I beg no favour,


Only convey me where thou art commanded.


There to be used according to your state.


Thats bad enough, for I am but reproach:


Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphreys lady;


According to that state you shall be used.


Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,


Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.


Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged.


Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,


And go we to attire you for our journey.


My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:


Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison.


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


I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come:


Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,


The strangeness of his alterd countenance?


How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself?


We know the time since he was mild and affable,


And if we did but glance a far-off look,


That all the court admired him for submission:


But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,


When every one will give the time of day,


He knits his brow and shows an angry eye,


Small curs are not regarded when they grin;


But great men tremble when the lion roars;


And Humphrey is no little man in England.


First note that he is near you in descent,


And should you fall, he as the next will mount.


Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears


And his advantage following your decease,


That he should come about your royal person


Or be admitted to your highness council.


By flattery hath he won the commons hearts,


Tis to be feard they all will follow him.


Now tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;


Suffer them now, and theyll oergrow the garden


And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.


Made me collect these dangers in the duke.


Which fear if better reasons can supplant,


I will subscribe and say I wrongd the duke.


My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,


Well hath your highness seen into this duke;


And, had I first been put to speak my mind,


I think I should have told your graces tale.


Upon my life, began her devilish practises:


Or, if he were not privy to those faults,


As next the king he was successive heir,


Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess


By wicked means to frame our sovereigns fall.


Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep;


And in his simple show he harbours treason.


The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.


No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man


Devise strange deaths for small offences done?


Levy great sums of money through the realm


For soldiers pay in France, and never sent it?


By means whereof the towns each day revolted.


Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown.


Which time will bring to light in smooth


My lords, at once: the care you have of us,


To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,


Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience,


From meaning treason to our royal person


As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove:


The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given


To dream on evil or to work my downfall.


Ah, whats more dangerous than this fond affiance!


Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed,


Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him,


For hes inclined as is the ravenous wolf.


Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?


Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all


Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.


Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?


That all your interest in those territories


Cold news, Lord Somerset: but Gods will be done!


[Aside]  Cold news for me; for I had hope of France


As firmly as I hope for fertile England.


Pardon, my liege, that I have stayd so long.


Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon,


Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art:


Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush


Nor change my countenance for this arrest:


A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.


The purest spring is not so free from mud


As I am clear from treason to my sovereign:


Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France,


And, being protector, stayed the soldiers pay;


By means whereof his highness hath lost France.


Is it but thought so? what are they that think it?


I never robbd the soldiers of their pay,


Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.


So help me God, as I have watchd the night,


Ay, night by night, in studying good for England,


That doit that eer I wrested from the king,


No; many a pound of mine own proper store,


Because I would not tax the needy commons,


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


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


Strange tortures for offenders never heard of,


For I should melt at an offenders tears,


And lowly words were ransom for their fault.


Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers,


Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured


My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered:


But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,


Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.


To keep, until your further time of trial.


My lord of Gloucester, tis my special hope


That you will clear yourself from all suspect:


My conscience tells me you are innocent.


Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous:


And charity chased hence by rancours hand;


I know their complot is to have my life,


And if my death might make this island happy,


But mine is made the prologue to their play;


For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril,


Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.


Beauforts red sparkling eyes blab his hearts malice,


And Suffolks cloudy brow his stormy hate;


Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue


The envious load that lies upon his heart;


And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,


Whose overweening arm I have pluckd back,


And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,


Causeless have laid disgraces on my head,


And with your best endeavour have stirrd up


Ay, all you have laid your heads together--


Myself had notice of your conventicles--


I shall not want false witness to condemn me,


Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt;


The ancient proverb will be well effected:


If those that care to keep your royal person


From treasons secret knife and traitors rage


And the offender granted scope of speech,


Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.


Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here


With ignominious words, though clerkly couchd,


False allegations to oerthrow his state?


But I can give the loser leave to chide.


Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed;


Beshrew the winners, for they playd me false!


And well such losers may have leave to speak.


Hell wrest the sense and hold us here all day:


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


Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch


Before his legs be firm to bear his body.


Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,


And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.


Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were!


My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best,


What, will your highness leave the parliament?


Ay, Margaret; my heart is drownd with grief,


Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes,


For whats more miserable than discontent?


And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come


That eer I proved thee false or feard thy faith.


What louring star now envies thy estate,


That these great lords and Margaret our queen


Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?


Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong;


And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,


Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,


Even so remorseless have they borne him hence;


Looking the way her harmless young one went,


And can do nought but wail her darlings loss,


Even so myself bewails good Gloucesters case


With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimmd eyes


His fortunes I will weep; and, twixt each groan


Say Whos a traitor? Gloucester he is none.


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


Free lords, cold snow melts with the suns hot beams.


Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucesters show


With sorrow snares relenting passengers,


Or as the snake rolld in a flowering bank,


With shining chequerd slough, doth sting a child


That for the beauty thinks it excellent.


Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I--


And yet herein I judge mine own wit good--


This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world,


Tis meet he be condemnd by course of law.


The king will labour still to save his life,


The commons haply rise, to save his life;


More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.


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


Tis York that hath more reason for his death.


But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,


Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,


Weret not all one, an empty eagle were set


To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,


As place Duke Humphrey for the kings protector?


So the poor chicken should be sure of death.


Madam, tis true; and weret not madness, then,


His guilt should be but idly posted over,


Before his chaps be staind with crimson blood,


As Humphrey, proved by reasons, to my liege.


And do not stand on quillets how to slay him:


Which mates him first that first intends deceit.


Thrice-noble Suffolk, tis resolutely spoke.


For things are often spoke and seldom meant:


But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,


And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,


Say but the word, and I will be his priest.


But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,


Ere you can take due orders for a priest:


Say you consent and censure well the deed,


Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.


And I    and now we three have spoke it,


It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.


Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain,


Send succors, lords, and stop the rage betime,


For, being green, there is great hope of help.


A breach that craves a quick expedient stop!


What counsel give you in this weighty cause?


That Somerset be sent as regent thither:


Witness the fortune he hath had in France.


Had been the regent there instead of me,


He never would have stayd in France so long.


No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done:


I rather would have lost my life betimes


By staying there so long till all were lost.


Show me one scar characterd on thy skin:


Mens flesh preserved so whole do seldom win.


Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging fire,


If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with:


No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still:


Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,


Might happily have proved far worse than his.


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


And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!


My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.


The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms


And temper clay with blood of Englishmen:


Collected choicely, from each county some,


Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.


I am content: provide me soldiers, lords,


Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.


A charge, Lord York, that I will see performd.


But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.


No more of him; for I will deal with him


That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.


And so break off; the day is almost spent:


Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.


My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days


For there Ill ship them all for Ireland.


Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,


Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art


Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying:


Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,


Faster than spring-time showers comes thought


And not a thought but thinks on dignity.


My brain more busy than the labouring spider


Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.


I fear me you but warm the starved snake,


Who, cherishd in your breasts, will sting


Twas men I lackd and you will give them me:


I take it kindly; and yet be well assured


You put sharp weapons in a madmans hands.


Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,


I will stir up in England some black storm


Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;


And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage


Like to the glorious suns transparent beams,


In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade


Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,


And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts


Were almost like a sharp-quilld porpentine;


And, in the end being rescued, I have seen


Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.


Full often, like a shag-haird crafty kern,


For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,


In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:


By this I shall perceive the commons mind,


How they affect the house and claim of York.


I know no pain they can inflict upon him


Will make him say I moved him to those arms.


Say that he thrive, as tis great like he will,


Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength


And reap the harvest which that rascal sowd;


For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,


SCENE II. Bury St. Edmunds. A room of state.


We have dispatchd the duke, as he commanded.


O that it were to do! What have we done?


Now, sirs, have you dispatchd this thing?


Why, thats well said. Go, get you to my house;


I will reward you for this venturous deed.


The king and all the peers are here at hand.


Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,


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


Go, call our uncle to our presence straight;


Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,


Proceed no straiter gainst our uncle Gloucester


Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!


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


How now! why lookst thou pale? why tremblest thou?


Where is our uncle? whats the matter, Suffolk?


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


Gods secret judgment: I did dream to-night


The duke was dumb and could not speak a word.


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


Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.


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


He doth revive again: madam, be patient.


Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!


What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?


Came he right now to sing a ravens note,


Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;


And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,


Can chase away the first-conceived sound?


Hide not thy poison with such sugard words;


Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;


Their touch affrights me as a serpents sting.


Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!


Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.


Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding:


And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;


For in the shade of death I shall find joy;


In life but double death, now Gloucesters dead.


Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?


Yet he most Christian-like laments his death:


Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans


Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,


I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,


Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,


What know I how the world may deem of me?


For it is known we were but hollow friends:


So shall my name with slanders tongue be wounded,


And princes courts be filld with my reproach.


This get I by his death: ay me, unhappy!


Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!


Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.


What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face?


What! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?


Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen.


Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucesters tomb?


Why, then, dame Margaret was neer thy joy.


And twice by awkward wind from Englands bank


What boded this, but well forewarning wind


Did seem to say Seek not a scorpions nest,


Nor set no footing on this unkind shore?


What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts


And he that loosed them forth their brazen caves:


And bid them blow towards Englands blessed shore,


The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me,


Knowing that thou wouldst have me drownd on shore,


With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness:


The splitting rocks cowerd in the sinking sands


And would not dash me with their ragged sides,


Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,


As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,


When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,


My earnest-gaping sight of thy lands view,


And threw it towards thy land: the sea received it,


And even with this I lost fair Englands view


And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart


And calld them blind and dusky spectacles,


How often have I tempted Suffolks tongue,


His fathers acts commenced in burning Troy!


Am I not witchd like her? or thou not false like him?


For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.


Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY, and many Commons


That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murderd


By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beauforts means.


That want their leader, scatter up and down


And care not who they sting in his revenge.


Myself have calmd their spleenful mutiny,


That he is dead, good Warwick, tis too true;


Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,


That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury,


O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts,


My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul


Some violent hands were laid on Humphreys life!


If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,


With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain


To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,


And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling:


But all in vain are these mean obsequies;


And to survey his dead and earthly image,


What were it but to make my sorrow greater?


Re-enter WARWICK and others, bearing GLOUCESTERS body on a bed


Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.


That is to see how deep my grave is made;


For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,


With that dread King that took our state upon him


To free us from his fathers wrathful curse,


I do believe that violent hands were laid


Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.


A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!


What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?


See how the blood is settled in his face.


Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and bloodless,


Being all descended to the labouring heart;


Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,


Attracts the same for aidance gainst the enemy;


Which with the heart there cools and neer returneth


But see, his face is black and full of blood,


His eye-balls further out than when he lived,


Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;


His hair upreard, his nostrils stretched with struggling;


His hands abroad displayd, as one that graspd


And tuggd for life and was by strength subdued:


Look, on the sheets his hair you see, is sticking;


His well-proportiond beard made rough and rugged,


Like to the summers corn by tempest lodged.


The least of all these signs were probable.


Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death?


Myself and Beaufort had him in protection;


But both of you were vowd Duke Humphreys foes,


And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep:


Tis like you would not feast him like a friend;


Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen


As guilty of Duke Humphreys timeless death.


Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh


But will suspect twas he that made the slaughter?


Who finds the partridge in the puttocks nest,


Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?


Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Wheres your knife?


Is Beaufort termd a kite? Where are his talons?


I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men;


But heres a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,


That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart


That slanders me with murders crimson badge.


Say, if thou darest, proud Lord of Warwick-shire,


That I am faulty in Duke Humphreys death.


What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?


He dares not calm his contumelious spirit


Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.


Madam, be still; with reverence may I say;


Some stern untutord churl, and noble stock


Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art,


But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee


And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,


Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,


And that my sovereigns presence makes me mild,


I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee


Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,


And say it was thy mother that thou meantst


Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell,


Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men!


Thou shall be waking well I shed thy blood,


If from this presence thou darest go with me.


Away even now, or I will drag thee hence:


Unworthy though thou art, Ill cope with thee


And do some service to Duke Humphreys ghost.


What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted!


Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just,


And he but naked, though lockd up in steel


Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.


Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their weapons drawn


Why, how now, lords! your wrathful weapons drawn


Here in our presence! dare you be so bold?


Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?


The traitorous Warwick with the men of Bury


[To the Commons, entering]  Sirs, stand apart;


Dread lord, the commons send you word by me,


Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death,


They will by violence tear him from your palace


And torture him with grievous lingering death.


They say, by him the good Duke Humphrey died;


They say, in him they fear your highness death;


As being thought to contradict your liking,


Makes them thus forward in his banishment.


They say, in care of your most royal person,


That if your highness should intend to sleep


And charge that no man should disturb your rest


In pain of your dislike or pain of death,


Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict,


Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,


Lest, being sufferd in that harmful slumber,


The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal;


And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,


That they will guard you, whether you will or no,


From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is,


Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,


Tis like the commons, rude unpolishd hinds,


Could send such message to their sovereign:


But you, my lord, were glad to be employd,


Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.


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


Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me.


I thank them for their tender loving care;


For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy


Mischance unto my state by Suffolks means:


He shall not breathe infection in this air


But three days longer, on the pain of death.


O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!


Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk!


No more, I say: if thou dost plead for him,


Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.


Had I but said, I would have kept my word,


If, after three days space, thou here best found


The world shall not be ransom for thy life.


Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;


Exeunt all but QUEEN MARGARET and SUFFOLK


Theres two of you; the devil make a third!


And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!


And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.


Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch!


Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?


A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them?


Would curses kill, as doth the mandrakes groan,


I would invent as bitter-searching terms,


As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear,


Deliverd strongly through my fixed teeth,


As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave:


My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words;


Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;


Mine hair be fixed on end, as one distract;


Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:


And even now my burthend heart would break,


Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!


Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!


Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!


Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks!


Their softest touch as smart as lizards sting!


Their music frightful as the serpents hiss,


And boding screech-owls make the concert full!


All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell--


Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou tormentst thyself;


And these dread curses, like the sun gainst glass,


And turn the force of them upon thyself.


You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?


Now, by the ground that I am banishd from,


Well could I curse away a winters night,


Though standing naked on a mountain top,


Where biting cold would never let grass grow,


And think it but a minute spent in sport.


O, let me entreat thee cease. Give me thy hand,


That I may dew it with my mournful tears;


Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,


O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,


That thou mightst think upon these by the seal,


Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for thee!


So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;


Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by,


As one that surfeits thinking on a want.


I will repeal thee, or, be well assured,


O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemnd


Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves,


Loather a hundred times to part than die.


Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!


Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished;


Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.


Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence;


For where thou art, there is the world itself,


With every several pleasure in the world,


I can no more: live thou to joy thy life;


Myself no joy in nought but that thou livest.


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


That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death;


For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,


That makes him gasp and stare and catch the air,


Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth.


Sometimes he talks as if Duke Humphreys ghost


Were by his side; sometime he calls the king,


Ay me! what is this world! what news are these!


But wherefore grieve I at an hours poor loss,


Omitting Suffolks exile, my souls treasure?


Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,


And with the southern clouds contend in tears,


Theirs for the earths increase, mine for my sorrows?


Now get thee hence: the king, thou knowst, is coming;


If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.


And in thy sight to die, what were it else


Here could I breathe my soul into the air,


Dying with mothers dug between its lips:


Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,


And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,


To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;


So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul,


Or I should breathe it so into thy body,


From thee to die were torture more than death:


Away! though parting be a fretful corrosive,


To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee;


For wheresoeer thou art in this worlds globe,


Ill have an Iris that shall find thee out.


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


If thou best death, Ill give thee Englands treasure,


So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.


Where deaths approach is seen so terrible!


Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.


Died he not in his bed? where should he die?


Can I make men live, whether they will or no?


Ill give a thousand pound to look upon him.


He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.


Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright,


Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.


Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary


Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.


Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!


That lays strong siege unto this wretchs soul.


And from his bosom purge this black despair!


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


Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.


Peace to his soul, if Gods good pleasure be!


Lord cardinal, if thou thinkst on heavens bliss,


Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.


He dies, and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!


Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.


Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;


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


And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades


Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings,


Clip dead mens graves and from their misty jaws


Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.


Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize;


For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,


Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,


Or with their blood stain this discolourd shore.


Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;


And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;


The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.


A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.


Masters-MateAnd so much shall you give, or off goes yours.


What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,


And bear the name and port of gentlemen?


Cut both the villains throats; for die you shall:


The lives of those which we have lost in fight


Ill give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.


And so will I and write home for it straight.


I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,


And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die;


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


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


Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.


And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.


Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.


Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;


Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded.


Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not:


Never yet did base dishonour blur our name,


But with our sword we wiped away the blot;


Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,


Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced,


And I proclaimd a coward through the world!


Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince,


The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.


Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke:


Jove sometimes went disguised, and why not I?


But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.


Obscure and lowly swain, King Henrys blood,


Hast thou not kissd thy hand and held my stirrup?


Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule


And thought thee happy when I shook my head?


Fed from my trencher, kneeld down at the board.


When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?


Remember it and let it make thee crest-falln,


How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood


This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,


And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.


Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?


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


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


Convey him hence and on our longboats side


Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt


Troubles the silver spring where England drinks.


Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth


For swallowing the treasure of the realm:


Thy lips that kissd the queen shall sweep the ground;


And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphreys death,


Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain,


Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again:


Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.


By devilish policy art thou grown great,


With gobbets of thy mothers bleeding heart.


By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France,


The false revolting Normans thorough thee


Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts,


And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.


The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,


Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,


And now the house of York, thrust from the crown


Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours


Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine,


Under the which is writ Invitis nubibus.


The commons here in Kent are up in arms:


And all by thee. Away! convey him hence.


O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder


Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!


Small things make base men proud: this villain here,


Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more


Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate.


Drones suck not eagles blood but rob beehives:


Thy words move rage and not remorse in me:


I go of message from the queen to France;


I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel.


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


Gelidus timor occupat artus it is thee I fear.


Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.


What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop?


My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.


Suffolks imperial tongue is stern and rough,


Used to command, untaught to plead for favour.


Far be it we should honour such as these


With humble suit: no, rather let my head


Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any


Save to the God of heaven and to my king;


Than stand uncoverd to the vulgar groom.


Hale him away, and let him talk no more.


Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,


Murderd sweet Tully; Brutus bastard hand


Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.


And as for these whose ransom we have set,


Therefore come you with us and let him go.


There let his head and lifeless body lie,


If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;


So will the queen, that living held him dear.


Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath;


They have the more need to sleep now, then.


I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress


the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.


So he had need, for tis threadbare. Well, I say it


was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up.


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


The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.


Nay, more, the kings council are no good workmen.


True; and yet it is said, labour in thy vocation;


which is as much to say as, let the magistrates be


labouring men; and therefore should we be


Thou hast hit it; for theres no better sign of a


I see them! I see them! theres Bests son, the


He shall have the skin of our enemies, to make


Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquitys


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


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


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


For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with


the spirit of putting down kings and princes,


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


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


[Aside]  She was, indeed, a pedlers daughter, and


[Aside]  But now of late, notable to travel with her


furred pack, she washes bucks here at home.


[Aside]  Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable;


and there was he borne, under a hedge, for his


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


[Aside]  No question of that; for I have seen him


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


[Aside]  But methinks he should stand in fear of


fire, being burnt i the hand for stealing of sheep.


Be brave, then; for your captain is brave, and vows


reformation. There shall be in England seven


halfpenny loaves sold for a penny: the three-hooped


pot; shall have ten hoops and I will make it felony


to drink small beer: all the realm shall be in


common; and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to


grass: and when I am king, as king I will be,--


I thank you, good people: there shall be no money;


all shall eat and drink on my score; and I will


apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree


like brothers and worship me their lord.


The first thing we do, lets kill all the lawyers.


Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable


thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should


be made parchment? that parchment, being scribbled


oer, should undo a man? Some say the bee stings:


but I say, tis the bees wax; for I did but seal


once to a thing, and I was never mine own man


Enter some, bringing forward the Clerk of Chatham


The clerk of Chatham: he can write and read and


Has a book in his pocket with red letters int.


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


I am sorry fort: the man is a proper man, of mine


honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die.


Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee: what is thy name?


They use to write it on the top of letters: twill


Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name? or


hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest


Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up


He hath confessed: away with him! hes a villain


Away with him, I say! hang him with his pen and


Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his


brother are hard by, with the kings forces.


Stand, villain, stand, or Ill fell thee down. He


shall be encountered with a man as good as himself:


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


Enter SIR HUMPHREY and WILLIAM STAFFORD, with drum and soldiers


Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,


Markd for the gallows, lay your weapons down;


Home to your cottages, forsake this groom:


But angry, wrathful, and inclined to blood,


If you go forward; therefore yield, or die.


As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not:


It is to you, good people, that I speak,


Over whom, in time to come, I hope to reign;


And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not?


Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.


Married the Duke of Clarence daughter, did he not?


By her he had two children at one birth.


Ay, theres the question; but I say, tis true:


And, ignorant of his birth and parentage,


Became a bricklayer when he came to age:


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


Sir, he made a chimney in my fathers house, and


the bricks are alive at this day to testify it;


And will you credit this base drudges words,


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


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


[Aside]  He lies, for I invented it myself.


Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me, that, for his


fathers sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys


went to span-counter for French crowns, I am content


he shall reign; but Ill be protector over him.


And furthermore, well have the Lord Says head for


And good reason; for thereby is England mained, and


fain to go with a staff, but that my puissance holds


it up. Fellow kings, I tell you that that Lord Say


hath gelded the commonwealth, and made it an eunuch:


and more than that, he can speak French; and


Nay, answer, if you can: the Frenchmen are our


enemies; go to, then, I ask but this: can he that


speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good


No, no; and therefore well have his head.


Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail,


Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;


That those which fly before the battle ends


May, even in their wives and childrens sight,


And you that be the kings friends, follow me.


Exeunt WILLIAM STAFFORD and SIR HUMPHREY, and soldiers


And you that love the commons, follow me.


Now show yourselves men; tis for liberty.


We will not leave one lord, one gentleman:


Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon;


For they are thrifty honest men, and such


As would, but that they dare not, take our parts.


They are all in order and march toward us.


But then are we in order when we are most


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


They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou


behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own


slaughter-house: therefore thus will I reward thee,


the Lent shall be as long again as it is; and thou


shalt have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking


And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. This


and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse heels


till I do come to London, where we will have the


If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the


Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, lets march


Enter KING HENRY VI with a supplication, and the QUEEN with SUFFOLKS head, BUCKINGHAM and Lord SAY


Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind,


Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.


But who can cease to weep and look on this?


Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast:


But wheres the body that I should embrace?


What answer makes your grace to the rebels


Should perish by the sword! And I myself,


Rather than bloody war shall cut them short,


Will parley with Jack Cade their general:


Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely face


Ruled, like a wandering planet, over me,


And could it not enforce them to relent,


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


Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his.


Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolks death?


I fear me, love, if that I had been dead,


Thou wouldst not have mournd so much for me.


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


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


The rebels are in Southwark; fly, my lord!


Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer,


Descended from the Duke of Clarence house,


And vows to crown himself in Westminster.


Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless:


Sir Humphrey Stafford and h is brothers death


Hath given them heart and courage to proceed:


All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,


They call false caterpillars, and intend their death.


O graceless men! they know not what they do.


My gracious lord, return to Killingworth,


Until a power be raised to put them down.


These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased!


So might your graces person be in danger.


The sight of me is odious in their eyes;


The citizens fly and forsake their houses:


The rascal people, thirsting after prey,


Join with the traitor, and they jointly swear


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


Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will succor us.


My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceased.


Farewell, my lord: trust not the Kentish rebels.


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


No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have


won the bridge, killing all those that withstand


them: the lord mayor craves aid of your honour from


the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels.


Such aid as I can spare you shall command;


But I am troubled here with them myself;


The rebels have assayd to win the Tower.


But get you to Smithfield, and gather head,


And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe;


Fight for your king, your country and your lives;


And so, farewell, for I must hence again.


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


Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting


upon London-stone, I charge and command that, of the


citys cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but


claret wine this first year of our reign. And now


henceforward it shall be treason for any that calls


If this fellow be wise, hell never call ye Jack


Cade more: I think he hath a very fair warning.


My lord, theres an army gathered together in


Come, then, lets go fight with them; but first, go


and set London bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn


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


So, sirs: now go some and pull down the Savoy;


others to the inns of court; down with them all.


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


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


[Aside]  Mass, twill be sore law, then; for he was


thrust in the mouth with a spear, and tis not whole


[Aside]  Nay, John, it will be stinking law for his


breath stinks with eating toasted cheese.


I have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, burn


all the records of the realm: my mouth shall be


[Aside]  Then we are like to have biting statutes,


And henceforward all things shall be in common.


My lord, a prize, a prize! heres the Lord Say,


which sold the towns in France; he that made us pay


one and twenty fifteens, and one shilling to the


Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. Ah,


thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! now


art thou within point-blank of our jurisdiction


regal. What canst thou answer to my majesty for


giving up of Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu, the


dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these


presence, even the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I


am the besom that must sweep the court clean of such


filth as thou art. Thou hast most traitorously


corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a


grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers


had no other books but the score and the tally, thou


hast caused printing to be used, and, contrary to


the king, his crown and dignity, thou hast built a


paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou


hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and


a verb, and such abominable words as no Christian


ear can endure to hear. Thou hast appointed


justices of peace, to call poor men before them


about matters they were not able to answer.


Moreover, thou hast put them in prison; and because


they could not read, thou hast hanged them; when,


indeed, only for that cause they have been most


worthy to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost thou not?


Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse wear a


cloak, when honester men than thou go in their hose


And work in their shirt too; as myself, for example,


Nothing but this; tis bona terra, mala gens.


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


Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will.


Is termd the civilst place of this isle:


Sweet is the country, because full of riches;


The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy;


Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.


Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.


Prayers and tears have moved me, gifts could never.


When have I aught exacted at your hands,


But to maintain the king, the realm and you?


Large gifts have I bestowd on learned clerks,


Because my book preferrd me to the king,


And seeing ignorance is the curse of God,


Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,


Unless you be possessd with devilish spirits,


This tongue hath parleyd unto foreign kings


Tut, when struckst thou one blow in the field?


Great men have reaching hands: oft have I struck


Those that I never saw and struck them dead.


O monstrous coward! what, to come behind folks?


These cheeks are pale for watching for your good.


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


Long sitting to determine poor mens causes


Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.


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


Nay, he nods at us, as who should say, Ill be even


with you: Ill see if his head will stand steadier


on a pole, or no. Take him away, and behead him.


Have I affected wealth or honour? speak.


Are my chests filld up with extorted gold?


Whom have I injured, that ye seek my death?


These hands are free from guiltless bloodshedding,


This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts.


[Aside]  I feel remorse in myself with his words;


but Ill bridle it: he shall die, an it be but for


pleading so well for his life. Away with him! he


has a familiar under his tongue; he speaks not o


Gods name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike


off his head presently; and then break into his


son-in-laws house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off


his head, and bring them both upon two poles hither.


Ah, countrymen! if when you make your prayers,


God should be so obdurate as yourselves,


How would it fare with your departed souls?


And therefore yet relent, and save my life.


The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head


on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; there


shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me


her maidenhead ere they have it: men shall hold of


me in capite; and we charge and command that their


wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue can tell.


My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside and take up


But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another,


for they loved well when they were alive. Now part


them again, lest they consult about the giving up of


some more towns in France. Soldiers, defer the


spoil of the city until night: for with these borne


before us, instead of maces, will we ride through


the streets, and at every corner have them kiss. Away!


Alarum and retreat. Enter CADE and all his rabblement


Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus Corner! Kill


What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to


sound retreat or parley, when I command them kill?


Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee:


Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king


And here pronounce free pardon to them all


That will forsake thee and go home in peace.


What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent,


And yield to mercy whilst tis offerd you;


Who loves the king and will embrace his pardon,


Fling up his cap, and say God save his majesty!


Who hateth him and honours not his father,


Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake,


What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave? And


you, base peasants, do ye believe him? will you


needs be hanged with your pardons about your necks?


Hath my sword therefore broke through London gates,


that you should leave me at the White Hart in


Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out


these arms till you had recovered your ancient


freedom: but you are all recreants and dastards,


and delight to live in slavery to the nobility. Let


them break your backs with burthens, take your


houses over your heads, ravish your wives and


daughters before your faces: for me, I will make


shift for one; and so, Gods curse light upon you


That thus you do exclaim youll go with him?


Will he conduct you through the heart of France,


And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?


Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;


Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil,


Unless by robbing of your friends and us.


Weret not a shame, that whilst you live at jar,


The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,


Should make a start oer seas and vanquish you?


I see them lording it in London streets,


Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry


Than you should stoop unto a Frenchmans mercy.


To France, to France, and get what you have lost;


Spare England, for it is your native coast;


Henry hath money, you are strong and manly;


A Clifford! a Clifford! well follow the king and Clifford.


Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this


multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them


to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave me


desolate. I see them lay their heads together to


surprise me. My sword make way for me, for here is


no staying. In despite of the devils and hell, have


through the very middest of you? and heavens and


honour be witness, that no want of resolution in me.


but only my followers base and ignominious


treasons, makes me betake me to my heels.


What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him;


And he that brings his head unto the king


Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.


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


Was ever king that joyd an earthly throne,


And could command no more content than I?


But I was made a king, at nine months old.


Health and glad tidings to your majesty!


Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade surprised?


Or is he but retired to make him strong?


Enter below, multitudes, with halters about their necks


He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield;


And humbly thus, with halters on their necks,


Expect your highness doom of life or death.


Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates,


To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!


Soldiers, this day have you redeemed your lives,


And showd how well you love your prince and country:


Assure yourselves, will never be unkind:


And so, with thanks and pardon to you all,


I do dismiss you to your several countries.


The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland,


And still proclaimeth, as he comes along,


The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms traitor.


Thus stands my state, twixt Cade and York distressd.


Like to a ship that, having scaped a tempest,


Is straightway calmd and boarded with a pirate:


But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed;


I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him,


And ask him whats the reason of these arms.


Tell him Ill send Duke Edmund to the Tower;


And, Somerset, well commit thee thither,


For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language.


I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal


As all things shall redound unto your good.


Come, wife, lets in, and learn to govern better;


For yet may England curse my wretched reign.


Fie on ambition! fie on myself, that have a sword,


and yet am ready to famish! These five days have I


hid me in these woods and durst not peep out, for


all the country is laid for me; but now am I so


hungry that if I might have a lease of my life for a


thousand years I could stay no longer. Wherefore,


on a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, to


see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another


while, which is not amiss to cool a mans stomach


this hot weather. And I think this word sallet


was born to do me good: for many a time, but for a


sallet, my brainpan had been cleft with a brown


bill; and many a time, when I have been dry and


bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a


quart pot to drink in; and now the word sallet


Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court,


And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?


This small inheritance my father left me


I seek not to wax great by others waning,


Or gather wealth, I care not, with what envy:


Sufficeth that I have maintains my state


And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.


Heres the lord of the soil come to seize me for a


stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave.


Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand


crowns of the king carrying my head to him: but


Ill make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow


my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.


I know thee not; why, then, should I betray thee?


And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds,


Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner,


But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?


Brave thee! ay, by the best blood that ever was


broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well: I


have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and


thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead


as a doornail, I pray God I may never eat grass more.


Nay, it shall neer be said, while England stands,


That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,


Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine,


See if thou canst outface me with thy looks:


Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;


Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon;


My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;


Thy grave is diggd already in the earth.


As for words, whose greatness answers words,


Let this my sword report what speech forbears.


By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I


heard! Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out


the burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere thou


sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on my knees thou


O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain me:


let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me


but the ten meals I have lost, and Ill defy them


all. Wither, garden; and be henceforth a


burying-place to all that do dwell in this house,


because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.


Ist Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?


Sword, I will hollow thee for this thy deed,


And hang thee oer my tomb when I am dead:


Neer shall this blood be wiped from thy point;


But thou shalt wear it as a heralds coat,


To emblaze the honour that thy master got.


Iden, farewell, and be proud of thy victory. Tell


Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort


all the world to be cowards; for I, that never


feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour.


How much thou wrongst me, heaven be my judge.


Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee;


And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,


So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell.


Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels


Unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave,


And there cut off thy most ungracious head;


Which I will bear in triumph to the king,


Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon.


SCENE I. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath.


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


From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right,


And pluck the crown from feeble Henrys head:


Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright,


To entertain great Englands lawful king.


Ah! sancta majestas, who would not buy thee dear?


Let them obey that know not how to rule;


This hand was made to handle naught but gold.


On which Ill toss the flower-de-luce of France.


Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?


The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.


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


Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting.


Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?


A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,


To know the reason of these arms in peace;


Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,


Should raise so great a power without his leave,


Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.


[Aside]  Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great:


O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint,


More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts:


But I must make fair weather yet a while,


Till Henry be more weak and I more strong,--


That I have given no answer all this while;


My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.


The cause why I have brought this army hither


Is to remove proud Somerset from the king,


Seditious to his grace and to the state.


That is too much presumption on thy part:


Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers.


Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;


You shall have pay and every thing you wish.


Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons,


Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have,


We twain will go into his highness tent.


Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us,


That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?


York doth present himself unto your highness.


Then what intends these forces thou dost bring?


To heave the traitor Somerset from hence,


And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade,


Lo, I present your grace a traitors head,


The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.


The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou!


That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.


Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?


How art thou calld? and what is thy degree?


A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.


So please it you, my lord, twere not amiss


He were created knight for his good service.


We give thee for reward a thousand marks,


And will that thou henceforth attend on us.


See, Buckingham, Somerset comes with the queen:


Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.


For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head,


But boldly stand and front him to his face.


Then, York, unloose thy long-imprisond thoughts,


And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.


False king! why hast thou broken faith with me,


King did I call thee? no, thou art not king,


Which darest not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.


That head of thine doth not become a crown;


Thy hand is made to grasp a palmers staff,


And not to grace an awful princely sceptre.


That gold must round engirt these brows of mine,


Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles spear,


Is able with the change to kill and cure.


And with the same to act controlling laws.


Give place: by heaven, thou shalt rule no more


Oer him whom heaven created for thy ruler.


O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York,


Of capital treason gainst the king and crown;


Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.


Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of these,


I know, ere they will have me go to ward,


Theyll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.


Call hither Clifford! bid him come amain,


Shall be the surety for their traitor father.


Outcast of Naples, Englands bloody scourge!


The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,


Shall be their fathers bail; and bane to those


That for my surety will refuse the boys!


And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.


Health and all happiness to my lord the king!


I thank thee, Clifford: say, what news with thee?


Nay, do not fright us with an angry look;


We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again;


This is my king, York, I do not mistake;


But thou mistakest me much to think I do:


To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?


Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour


Makes him oppose himself against his king.


And chop away that factious pate of his.


His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.


Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.


And if words will not, then our weapons shall.


Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!


I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.


Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,


That with the very shaking of their chains


They may astonish these fell-lurking curs:


Are these thy bears? well bait thy bears to death.


And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,


If thou darest bring them to the baiting place.


Run back and bite, because he was withheld;


Who, being sufferd with the bears fell paw,


Hath clappd his tail between his legs and cried:


And such a piece of service will you do,


If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.


Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump,


Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.


Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow?


Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair,


Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son!


What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian,


And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?


Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?


Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war,


And shame thine honourable age with blood?


Why art thou old, and wantst experience?


Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?


That bows unto the grave with mickle age.


And in my conscience do repute his grace


The rightful heir to Englands royal seat.


Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?


To wring the widow from her customd right,


Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.


Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,


The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.


You were best to go to bed and dream again,


To keep thee from the tempest of the field.


Might I but know thee by thy household badge.


Now, by my fathers badge, old Nevils crest,


The rampant bear chaind to the ragged staff,


That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,


Even to affright thee with the view thereof.


And tread it under foot with all contempt,


Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear.


To quell the rebels and their complices.


Fie! charity, for shame! speak not in spite,


For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.


Foul stigmatic, thats more than thou canst tell.


If not in heaven, youll surely sup in hell.


Clifford of Cumberland, tis Warwick calls:


And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,


Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum


And dead mens cries do fill the empty air,


Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me:


Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,


Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.


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


The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed,


But match to match I have encounterd him


And made a prey for carrion kites and crows


Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.


Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,


For I myself must hunt this deer to death.


Then, nobly, York; tis for a crown thou fightst.


As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,


It grieves my soul to leave thee unassaild.


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


With thy brave bearing should I be in love,


Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,


But that tis shown ignobly and in treason.


As I in justice and true right express it.


Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.


Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!


Shame and confusion! all is on the rout;


Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds


Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,


Whom angry heavens do make their minister


Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.


Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself


Hath not essentially but by circumstance


Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,


To cease! Wast thou ordaind, dear father,


To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve


And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus


To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight


My heart is turnd to stone: and while tis mine,


It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;


No more will I their babes: tears virginal


Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.


Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:


Come, thou new ruin of old Cliffords house:


Enter RICHARD and SOMERSET to fight. SOMERSET is killed


Hath made the wizard famous in his death.


Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:


Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.


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


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


Can we outrun the heavens? good Margaret, stay.


What are you made of? youll nor fight nor fly:


By what we can, which can no more but fly.


If you be taen, we then should see the bottom


Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape,


As well we may, if not through your neglect,


We shall to London get, where you are loved


And where this breach now in our fortunes made


But that my hearts on future mischief set,


I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly:


Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.


To see their day and them our fortune give:


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


And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,


Repairs him with occasion? This happy day


Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,


Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,


Three times bestrid him; thrice I led him off,


But still, where danger was, still there I met him;


And like rich hangings in a homely house,


But, noble as he is, look where he comes.


Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day;


By the mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard:


God knows how long it is I have to live;


And it hath pleased him that three times to-day


You have defended me from imminent death.


Well, lords, we have not got that which we have:


Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,


Being opposites of such repairing nature.


For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,


Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth.


What says Lord Warwick? shall we after them?


After them! nay, before them, if we can.


Now, by my faith, lords, twas a glorious day:


Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all:


And more such days as these to us befall!


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


I wonder how the king escaped our hands.


While we pursued the horsemen of the north,


Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,


Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,


Cheerd up the drooping army; and himself,


Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast,


Charged our main battles front, and breaking in


Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.


Lord Staffords father, Duke of Buckingham,


I cleft his beaver with a downright blow:


That this is true, father, behold his blood.


And, brother, heres the Earl of Wiltshires blood,


Speak thou for me and tell them what I did.


Richard hath best deserved of all my sons.


But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?


Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt!


Thus do I hope to shake King Henrys head.


Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,


I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close.


And this the regal seat: possess it, York;


For this is thine and not King Henrys heirs


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


Well all assist you; he that flies shall die.


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


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


And when the king comes, offer no violence,


Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.


The queen this day here holds her parliament,


But little thinks we shall be of her council:


By words or blows here let us win our right.


Armd as we are, lets stay within this house.


The bloody parliament shall this be calld,


Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king,


And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice


Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute;


Neither the king, nor he that loves him best,


The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,


Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells.


Ill plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares:


Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.


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


My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,


Even in the chair of state: belike he means,


Backd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,


To aspire unto the crown and reign as king.


Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father.


And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vowd revenge


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


The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.


What, shall we suffer this? lets pluck him down:


My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it.


Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.


He durst not sit there, had your father lived.


My gracious lord, here in the parliament


Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so.


And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?


But when the duke is slain, theyll quickly fly.


Far be the thought of this from Henrys heart,


To make a shambles of the parliament-house!


Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats


Shall be the war that Henry means to use.


Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne,


and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;


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


Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.


Whom should he follow but his natural king?


True, Clifford; and thats Richard Duke of York.


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


It must and shall be so: content thyself.


And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.


And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget


That we are those which chased you from the field


And slew your fathers, and with colours spread


Marchd through the city to the palace gates.


Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;


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


Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,


Thy kinsman and thy friends, Ill have more lives


Than drops of blood were in my fathers veins.


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


As shall revenge his death before I stir.


Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats!


Will you we show our title to the crown?


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


What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?


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


Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March:


Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop


And seized upon their towns and provinces.


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


When I was crownd I was but nine months old.


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


Father, tear the crown from the usurpers head.


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


Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms,


Lets fight it out and not stand cavilling thus.


Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly.


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


Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords;


For he that interrupts him shall not live.


Thinkst thou that I will leave my kingly throne,


No: first shall war unpeople this my realm;


Ay, and their colours, often borne in France,


And now in England to our hearts great sorrow,


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


My titles good, and better far than his.


Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king.


Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.


[Aside]  I know not what to say; my titles weak.--


He rose against him, being his sovereign,


And made him to resign his crown perforce.


Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstraind,


Think you twere prejudicial to his crown?


No; for he could not so resign his crown


But that the next heir should succeed and reign.


His is the right, and therefore pardon me.


Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?


My conscience tells me he is lawful king.


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


Plantagenet, for all the claim thou layst,


Think not that Henry shall be so deposed.


Thou art deceived: tis not thy southern power,


Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,


Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,


King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,


Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:


May that ground gape and swallow me alive,


Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!


O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!


What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?


Do right unto this princely Duke of York,


Or I will fill the house with armed men,


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


He stamps with his foot and the soldiers show themselves


My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word:


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


Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,


And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest.


What wrong is this unto the prince your son!


What good is this to England and himself!


How hast thou injured both thyself and us!


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


Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king,


In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.


Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and WESTMORELAND


Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.


They seek revenge and therefore will not yield.


Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son,


The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever;


Conditionally, that here thou take an oath


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


To seek to put me down and reign thyself.


This oath I willingly take and will perform.


Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him.


And long live thou and these thy forward sons!


Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes!


Farewell, my gracious lord; Ill to my castle.


Exeunt YORK, EDWARD, EDMUND, GEORGE, RICHARD,  WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, their Soldiers, and Attendants


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


Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger:


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


Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.


Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid


And never seen thee, never borne thee son,


Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father


Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus?


Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I,


Or felt that pain which I did for him once,


Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there,


Rather than have that savage duke thine heir


If you be king, why should not I succeed?


Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son:


The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me.


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


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


Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me;


And given unto the house of York such head


As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.


To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,


Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais;


Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas;


The duke is made protector of the realm;


And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds


The trembling lamb environed with wolves.


Had I been there, which am a silly woman,


The soldiers should have tossd me on their pikes


Before I would have granted to that act.


But thou preferrst thy life before thine honour:


And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself


Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,


The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours


Will follow mine, if once they see them spread;


And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace


Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, lets away;


Our army is ready; come, well after them.


Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.


Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone.


Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?


When I return with victory from the field


Ill see your grace: till then Ill follow her.


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


Poor queen! how love to me and to her son


Hath made her break out into terms of rage!


Revenged may she be on that hateful duke,


Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,


Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle


The loss of those three lords torments my heart:


Ill write unto them and entreat them fair.


Come, cousin you shall be the messenger.


And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.


Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.


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


What is your quarrel? how began it first?


About that which concerns your grace and us;


The crown of England, father, which is yours.


Your right depends not on his life or death.


Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now:


By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,


I took an oath that he should quietly reign.


But for a kingdom any oath may be broken:


I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.


No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn.


Ill prove the contrary, if youll hear me speak.


That hath authority over him that swears:


Henry had none, but did usurp the place;


Then, seeing twas he that made you to depose,


Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.