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The diction, versification, and allusions, of this piece all different from the diction, versification, and allusions of Shakspeare, and corresponding with those of the dramatists that preceded him, p. 558–564. Date of this play some years before 1592; p. 564. Other internal evidence (beside the diction, &c.) that this piece was not written by Shakspeare; nor by the author of The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses, &c. nor by the author of The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, p. 565 –567. Presumptive proof that this play was not written by Shakspeare, from its not containing any similarities of thought to his undisputed plays, nor of expression, (except in a single instance,) and from its general paucity of rhymes, p. 568.

I. External Evidence. 1. The entry of The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses &c. at Stationers' Hall in 1594, anonymous. 2. That piece, and the True Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, printed at first, anonymously. Shakspeare's name afterwards fraudulently affixed to these pieces, and why. The same artifice practised with respect to other plays on which he had constructed dramas, p. 569, 570. 3. These two old plays performed by Lord Pembroke's Servants, by whom Titus Andronicus, and The old Taming of a Shrew were performed, and by whom not one of Shakspeare's undisputed plays were represented, p. 570. 4. Reasons assigned for supposing Robert Greene, or George Peele, or both, the author or authors of the old plays, p. 570–572. 5. These pieces new-modelled and re-written by Shakspeare, with great additions, which in the present edition

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are distinguished by a peculiar mark, p. 572. The mode taken by Shakspeare, p. 572–576. 6. The fraud of Pavier the bookseller, who in the year 1619, after the death of Shakspeare, affixed his name to these two old plays, accounted for, p. 576. 7. These two old pieces being printed and reprinted, and The First Part of King Henry VI. not being printed, in Shakspeare's life time, a presumptive proof that he new-modelled the former, and had little or no concern with the latter, p. 577.

II. Internal Evidence. 1. The Variations between the two old plays in quarto, and the corresponding pieces in the folio edition of our author's dramatick works, of so peculiar a nature, as to mark two distinct hands. Several passages and circumstances found in the old plays, of which there is no trace in Shakspeare's new modification of them; others materially varying. These insertions and variations could not have arisen from unskilful copyists or short-hand writers, who sometimes curtail and mutilate, but do not invent and amplify, p. 578. 2. The Resemblances between certain passages in Shakspeare's Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. and his undisputed works, a proof that he wrote a large portion of those plays; and 3. The Discordancies between them and his undisputed plays, a proof that he did not write the whole; these resemblances being found only in the folio, that is, in the plays as new-modelled by Shakspeare; and these discordancies being found in the old quarto plays, from whence it must be presumed that they were adopted through carelessness or haste, p. 583. 4. The peculiar Inaccuracies of Shakspeare; and 5. his peculiar Phraseology, which are found in The Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. as exhibited in folio, and not in the old quarto plays printed in 1600, prove that there were two distinct hands in these pieces. So also do, 6. The Transpositions; and 7. the Repetitions: and 8. the Inconsistencies arising from sometimes following, and sometimes departing from, an original model, p. 585–591. 9. Hall, the historian on whose Chronicle the old plays in quarto were constructed; but Holinshed and not Hall, Shakspeare's historian, p. 589.

The whole plays on which Shakspeare formed his Second and Third Parts of King Henry VI. probably written by the author of King John, printed in 1591, whoever he was: p. 591. An attempt made to account for The First Part of King Henry VI. being printed in the first folio edition of our poet's dramatick works, p. 591. Objections of Dr. Johnson and others, enumerated. Recapitulation, p. 592. A considerable part of the English History dramatized before the time of Shakspeare; and many of his historical and other plays formed on those of preceding writers, p. 561. Conclusion, p. 563.

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A DISSERTATION ON THE THREE PARTS OF KING HENRY VI. TENDING TO SHOW That those Plays were not written originally by SHAKSPEARE.

Several passages in The Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. appearing evidently to be of the hand of Shakspeare, I was long of opinion that the three historical dramas which are the subject of the present disquisition, were properly ascribed to him; not then doubting that the whole of these plays was the production of the same person. But a more minute investigation of the subject, into which I have been led by the revision of all our author's works, has convinced me, that, though the premises were true, my conclusion was too hastily drawn; for though the hand of Shakspeare is unquestionably found in the two latter of these plays, it does not therefore necessarily follow, that they were originally and entirely composed by him. My thoughts upon this point have already been intimated in the foregoing notes; but it is now necessary for me to state my opinion more particularly, and to lay before the reader the grounds on which, after a very careful inquiry, it has been formed.

What at present I have chiefly in view is, to account for the visible inequality in these pieces; many traits of Shakspeare being clearly discernible in them, while the inferior parts are not merely unequal to the rest, (from which no certain conclusion can be drawn,) but of quite a different complexion from the inferior parts of our author's undoubted performances.

My hypothesis then is, that The First Part of King Henry VI. as it now appears, (of which no quarto copy is extant,) was the entire or nearly the entire production of some ancient dramatist;

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that The Whole Contention of the Two Houses of York and Lancaster, &c. written probably before the year 1590, was also the composition of some writer who preceded Shakspeare; and that from this piece, which is in two parts, (the former of which is entitled, The First Part of the Contention of the Two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, with the Death of the good Duke Humphrey, &c. first printed in 1594; and the latter, The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, and the Death of good King Henrie the Sixt, which originally appeared in 1595, and both parts printed together in 1600;) our poet formed the two plays, entitled, The Second and Third Parts of King Henry VI. as they appear in the first folio edition of his works.

Mr. Upton has asked, “How does the painter distinguish copies from originals but by manner and style? And have not authors their peculiar style and manner, from which a true critick can form as unerring a judgment as a painter?” Dr. Johnson, though he has shown, with his usual acuteness, that, “this illustration of the critick's science will not prove what is desired,” acknowledges in a preceding note, that “dissimilitude of style and heterogeneousness of sentiment may sufficiently show that a work does not really belong to the reputed author. But in these plays (he adds) no such marks of spuriousness are found. The diction, versification, and the figures, are Shakspeare's.”—By these criterions then let us examine The First Part of K. Henry VI. (for I choose to consider that piece separately;) and if the diction, the figures, or rather the allusions, and the versification of that play, (for these are our surest guides) shall appear to be different from the other two parts, as they are exhibited in the folio, and from our author's other plays, we may fairly conclude that he was not the writer of it.

I. With respect to the diction and the allusions, which I shall consider under the same head, it is very observable that in The First Part of King Henry VI. there are more allusions to mythology, to classical authors, and to ancient and modern history, than, I believe, can be found in any one piece of our author's, written on an English story; and that these allusions are introduced very much in the same manner as they are introduced in the plays of Greene, Peele, Lodge, and other dramatists who preceded Shakspeare; that is, they do not naturally arise out of the subject, but seem to be inserted merely to show the writer's learning* note

. Of these the following are the most remarkable:

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1. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens,
So in the earth, to this day is not known.

2. A far more glorious star thy soul will make
Than Julius Cæsar, or bright—

This blank, Dr. Johnson with the highest probability conjectures, should be filled up with “Berenice;” a word that the transcriber or compositor probably could not make out. In the same manner he left a blank in a subsequent passage for the name of “Nero,” as is indubitably proved by the following line, which ascertains the omitted word. See No. 6.

3. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?

4. Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee.

5. Froisard, a countryman of ours, records, &c.

6. &lblank; and, like thee, [Nero,]
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burning.

[In the original copy there is a blank where the word Nero is now placed.]

7. The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,
Exceeding the nine Sybils of old Rome.

8. A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,
Drives back our troops &lblank;.

9. Divinest creature, Astræa's daughter &lblank;.

10. &lblank; Adonis' gardens,
That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next.

11. A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear,
Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was.

12. &lblank; an urn more precious
Than the rich-jewel'd coffer of Darius.

13. I shall as famous be by this exploit,
As Scythian Thomyris, by Cyrus' death.

14. I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
A second Hector, for his grim aspéct.

15. Nestor-like aged, in an age of care.

16. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,
Thou Icarus.

17. Where is the great Alcides of the field?

18. Now am I like that proud insulting ship,
That Cæsar and his fortune bare at once.

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19. Is Talbot slain; the Frenchman's only scourge,
Your kingdom's terror, and black Nemesis?

20. Thou may'st not wander in that labyrinth;
There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons lurk.

21. See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows,
As if, with Circe, she would change my shape.

22. &lblank; thus he goes,
As did the youthful Paris once to Greece;
With hope to find the like event in love.

Of particular expressions there are many in this play, that seem to me more likely to have been used by the authors already named, than by Shakspeare; but I confess, with Dr. Johnson, that single words can conclude little. However, I will just mention that the words proditor and immanity, which occur in this piece, are not, I believe, found in any Shakspeare's undisputed performances.

The versification of this play appears to me clearly of a different colour from that of all our author's genuine dramas, while at the same time it resembles that of many of the plays produced before the time of Shakspeare.

In all the tragedies written before his time, or just when he commenced author, a certain stately march of versification is very observable. The sense concludes or pauses almost uniformly at the end of every line; and the verse has scarcely ever a redundant syllable. As the reader may not have any of these pieces at hand, (by the possession of which, however, his library would not be much enriched,) I shall add a few instances,—the first that occur:


“Most loyal lords, and faithful followers,
“That have with me, unworthy general,
“Passed the greedy gulph of Ocean,
“Leaving the confines of fair Italy,
“Behold, your Brutus draweth nigh his end.
“And I must leave you, though against my will.
“My sinews shrink, my numbed senses fail,
“A chilling cold possesseth all my bones:
“Black ugly death, with visage pale and wan,
“Presents himself before my dazzled eyes,
“And with his dart prepared is to strike.” Locrine, 1595.
“My lord of Gloucester, and lord Mortimer,
“To do you honour in your sovereign's eyes,
“That, as we hear, is newly come aland,
“From Palestine, with all his men of war,
“(The poor remainder of the royal fleet,
“Preserv'd by miracle in Sicil road,)
“Go mount your coursers, meet him on the way;
“Pray him to spur his steed, minutes and hours,

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“Untill his mother see her princely son,
“Shining in glory of his safe return.” Edward I. by George Peele, 1593.
“Then go thy ways, and clime up to the clouds,
“And tell Apollo that Orlando sits
“Making of verses for Angelica.
“And if he do deny to send me down
“The shirt which Deianira sent to Hercules,
“To make me brave upon my wedding day,
“Tell him I'll pass the Alps, and up to Meroe,
“(I know he knows that watry lakish hill)
“And pull the harp out of the minstrels hands,
“And pawne it unto lovely Proserpine,
“That she may fetch the faire Angelica.” Orlando Furioso, by Robert Greene, printed in 1599; written before 1592.
“The work that Ninus rear'd at Babylon,
“The brazen walls fram'd by Semiramis,
“Carv'd out like to the portal of the sunne,
“Shall not be such as rings the English strand
“From Dover to the market-place of Rye.” &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“To plain our questions, as Apollo did.” &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“Facile and debonaire in all his deeds,
“Proportion'd as was Paris, when in gray,
“He courted Oenon in the vale by Troy.” &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“Who dar'd for Edward's sake cut through the seas,
“And venture as Agenor's damsel through the deepe.” &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“England's rich monarch, brave Plantagenet,
“The Pyren mountains swelling above the clouds,
“That ward this wealthy Castile in with walls,
“Could not detain the beauteous Eleanor;
“But hearing of the fame of Edward's youth,
“She dar'd to brave Neptunus' haughty pride,
“And brave the brunt of froward Eolus.” &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“Daphne, the damsel that caught Phœbus fast,
“And lock'd him in the brightness of her looks,
“Was not so beauteous in Apollo's eyes,
“As is fair Margaret, to the Lincoln earl.” &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“We must lay plots for stately tragedies.
“Strange comick shews, such as proud Roscius
“Vaunted before the Roman emperours.” &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;

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“Lacy, thou can'st not shrowd thy traitorous thoughts,
“Nor cover, as did Cassius, all his wiles;
“For Edward hath an eye that looks as far
“As Lynceus from the shores of Greecia.” &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“Pardon, my lord: If Jove's great royalty
“Sent me such presents as to Danae;
“If Phœbus tied to Latona's webs,
“Came courting from the beauty of his lodge;
“The dulcet tunes of frolick Mercurie,
“Nor all the wealth heaven's treasury affords
“Should make me leave lord Lacy or his love.” &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“What will thou do?—
“Shew thee the tree leav'd with refined gold,
“Whereon the fearful dragon held his seate,
“That watch'd the garden call'd Hesperides,
“Subdued and wonne by conquering Hercules.” &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“&lblank; Margaret,
“That overshines our damsels, as the moone
“Darkens the brightest sparkles of the night.” &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“Should Paris enter in the courts of Greece,
“And not lie fetter'd in fair Helen's looks?
“Or Phœbus scape those piercing amorists,
“That Daphne glanced at his deitie?
“Can Edward then sit by a flame and freeze,
“Whose heats put Hellen and fair Daphne down?” The Honourable Historie of Friar Bacon, &c. by Robert Greene; written before 1592, printed in 1598. “King.
Thus far, ye English Peers, have we display'd
“Our waving ensigns with a happy war;
“Thus nearly hath our furious rage reveng'd
“My daughter's death upon the traiterous Scot;
“And now before Dunbar our camp is pitch'd,
“Which if it yield not to our compromise,
“The place shall furrow where the palace stood,
“And fury shall envy so high a power,
“That mercy shall be banish'd from our sword. “Doug.
What seeks the English king? “King.
Scot, ope those gates, and let me enter in.
“Submit thyself and thine unto my grace,
“Or I will put each mother's son to death,
“And lay this city level with the ground.” James IV. by Robert Greene, printed in 1598; written before 1592.
  “Valeria, attend; I have a lovely bride

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“As bright as is the heaven chrystaline;
“As faire as is the milke-white way of Jove,
“As chaste as Phœbe in her summer sports,
“As soft and tender as the azure downe
“That circles Citherea's silver doves;
“Her do I meane to make my lovely bride,
“And in her bed to breathe the sweet content
“That I, thou know'st, long time have aimed at.” The Taming of a Shrew, written before 1594. “Pol.
Faire Emilia, summers bright sun queene,
“Brighter of hew than is the burning clime
“Where Phœbus in his bright equator sits,
“Creating gold and pretious minerals,
“What would Emilia doe, if I were fond
“To leave faire Athens, and to range the world? “Emil.
Should thou assay to scale the seate of Jove,
“Mounting the subtle airie regions,
“Or be snacht up, as erst was Ganimede,
“Love should give wings unto my swift desires,
“And prune my thoughts, that I would follow thee,
“Or fall and perish as did Icarus.” Ibid.
“Barons of England, and my noble lords,
“Though God and fortune hath bereft from us
“Victorious Richard, scourge of infidels,
“And clad this land in stole of dismal hue,
“Yet give me leave to joy, and joy you all,
“That from this wombe hath sprung a second hope,
“A king that may in rule and virtue both
“Succeed his brother in his emperie.” The troublesome Raigne of King John, 1591.
“&lblank; as sometimes Phaeton,
“Mistrusting silly Merops for his sire &lblank;.” Ibid.
“As cursed Nero with his mother did,
“So I with you, if you resolve me not.” Ibid. &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“Peace, Arthur, peace! thy mother makes thee wings,
“To soar with peril after Icarus.” Ibid.
“How doth Alecto whisper in my ears,
“Delay not, Philip, kill the villaine straight.” Ibid. &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“Philippus atavis edite regibus,
“What saist thou, Philip, sprung of ancient kings,—
“Quo me rapit tempestas?” Ibid. &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“Morpheus, leave here thy silent ebon cave,
“Besiege his thoughts with dismal phantasies;
“And ghastly objects of pale threatning Mors,
“Affright him every minute with stern looks.” Ibid.

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&stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“Here is the ransome that allaies his rage
“The first freehold that Richard left his sonne,
“With which I shall surprize his living spies,
“As Hector's statue did the fainting Greeks.” Ibid. &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“This cursed country, where the traitors breathe,
“Whose perjurie (as proud Briareus)
“Beleaguers all the sky with misbelief.” Ibid. &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“Must Constance speak? let tears prevent her talk.
“Must I discourse? let Dido sigh, and say,
“She weeps again to hear the wrack of Troy.” Ibid. &stellam; &stellam; &stellam;
“John, 'tis thy sins that make it miserable,
“Quicquid delirant reges, plectuntur Achivi.” Ibid. &stellam; &stellam; &stellam; “King.
Robert of Artoys, banish'd though thou be,
“From France, thy native country, yet with us
“Thou shalt retain as great a signorie,
“For we create thee earle of Richmond here:
“And now go forwards with our pedigree;
“Who next succeeded Philip of Bew? “Art.
Three sonnes of his, which, all successfully,
“Did sit upon their father's regal throne;
“Yet died, and left no issue of their loynes. “King
But was my mother sister unto these? “Art.
She was, my lord, and only Isabel
“Was all the daughters that this Philip had.” The Raigne of King Edward III. 1596.

The tragedies of Marius and Sylla, by T. Lodge, 1594, A Looking Glass for London and England, by T. Lodge and R. Greene, 1598, Solyman and Perseda, written before 1792, Selimus, Emperour of the Turks, 1594, The Spanish Tragedy, 1592, and Titus Andronicus, will all furnish examples of a similar versification; a versification so exactly corresponding with that of the First Part of King Henry VI. and The Whole Contention of the Two Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, &c. as it originally appeared, that I have no doubt these plays were the production of some one or other of the authors of the pieces above quoted or enumerated.

A passage in a pamphlet written by Thomas Nashe, an intimate friend of Greene, Peele, &c. shows that The First Part of King Henry VI. had been on the stage before 1592; and his favourable mention of this piece inclines me to believe that it was written by a friend of his. “How would it have joyed brave Talbot, (says Nashe in Pierce Pennilesse his Supplication to the Devil, 1592,) the terror of the French, to thinke that after he had lyen two hundred yeare in his tombe, he should triumph again on the stage; and have his bones new embalmed with the teares of ten thousand spectators at least, (at several times) who in the tragedian that represents his person behold him fresh bleeding.”

This passage was several years ago pointed out by my friend Dr. Farmer, as a proof of the hypothesis which I am now endeavouring to establish. That it related to the old play of King Henry VI. or, as it is now called, The First Part of King Henry VI. cannot, I think, be doubted. Talbot appears in the First part, and not in the second or third part; and is expressly spoken of in the play, (as well as in Hall's Chronicle,) as “the terror of the French.” Holinshed, who was Shakspeare's guide, omits the passage in Hall, in which Talbot is thus described; and this is an additional proof that this play was not our author's. But of this more hereafter.

The First Part of King Henry VI. (as it is now called) furnishes us with other internal proofs also of its not being the work of Shakspeare.

1. The author of that play, whoever he was, does not seem to have known precisely how old Henry the Sixth was at the time of his father's death. He opens his play indeed with the funeral of Henry the Fifth, but no where mentions expressly the young king's age. It is clear, however, from one passage, that he supposed him to have passed the state of infancy before he lost his father, and even to have remembered some of his sayings. In the fourth Act, Sc. IV. speaking of the famous Talbot, he says:


“When I was young (as yet I am not old,)
“I do remember how my father said,
“A stouter champion never handled sword.”

But Shakspeare, as appears from two passages, one in the second, and the other in the Third Part of King Henry VI. knew that that king could not possibly remember any thing his father had said; and therefore Shakspeare, could not have been the author of the first part.


“No sooner was I crept out of my cradle,
“But I was made a king at nine months old.” King Henry VI. Part II. Act IV. Sc. IX.
“When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old.” King Henry VI. Part III. Act I. Sc. I.

The first of these passages is found in the folio copy of The Second Part of King Henry VI. and not in The First Part of the Contention, &c. printed in quarto; and according to my hypothesis, was one of Shakspeare's additions to the old play. This therefore does not prove that the original author, whoever he was, was not likewise the author of The First Part of King Henry VI.; but, what is more material to our present question, it proves that Shakspeare could not be the author of that play. The second of these passages is found in The true Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, &c. and is a decisive proof that The First Part of King Henry VI. was written neither by the author of that tragedy, nor by Shakspeare.

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2. A second internal proof that Shakspeare was not the author of the first part of these three plays, is furnished by that scene, (Act II. Sc. V. p. 75, n. 3,) in which it is said, that the Earl of Cambridge raised an army against his sovereign. But Shakspeare in his play of King Henry V. has represented the matter truly as it was; the Earl being in the second Act of that historical piece condemned at Southampton for conspiring to assassinate Henry.

3. I may likewise add, that the author of The First Part of King Henry VI. knew the true pronunciation of the word Hecate, and has used it as it is used by the Roman writers:


“I speak not to that railing Heca-té.”

But Shakspeare in his Macbeth always uses Hecate as a dissyllable; and therefore could not have been the author of the other piece* note





.

-- 567 --

Having now, as I conceive, vindicated Shakspeare from being the writer of The First Part of King Henry VI. it may seem unnecessary to enquire who was the author; or whether it was the production of the same person or persons who wrote the two pieces, entitled, The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses, &c. and The true Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, &c. However, I shall add a word or two on that point.

We have already seen that the author of the play last named could not have written The First Part of King Henry VI. The following circumstances prove that it could not have been written by the author of The First Part of the Contention, &c. supposing for a moment that piece, and The true Tragedie of the Duke of Yorke, &c. to have been the work of different hands.

1. The writer of The First Part of the Contention, &c. makes Salisbury say to Richard Duke of York, that the person from whom the Duke derived his title, (he means his maternal uncle Edmund Mortimer, though he ignorantly gives him a different appellation,) was “done to death by that monstrous rebel Owen Glendower;” and Shakspeare in this has followed him:

“Sal.
This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
“As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;
“And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,
“Who kept him in captivity, till he died.”

On this false assertion the Duke of York makes no remark. But the author of The First Part of King Henry VI. has represented this Edmund Mortimer, not as put to death, or kept in captivity to the time of his death, by Owen Glendower, (who himself died in the second year of King Henry V.) but as a state prisoner, who died in the Tower in the reign of King Henry VI. in the presence of this very Duke of York, who was then only Richard Plantagenet* note.

2. A correct statement of the issue of King Edward the Third, and of the title of Edmund Mortimer to the crown, is given in The First Part of King Henry VI. But in the First Part of the Contention, &c. we find a very incorrect and false statement of Edward's issue, and of the title of Mortimer, whose father, Roger Mortimer, the author of that piece ignorantly calls the fifth son of that monarch. Those two plays therefore could not have been the work of one hand.

On all these grounds it appears to me clear, that neither Shakspeare, nor the author of The First Part of the Contention, &c. or The true Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, &c. could have been the author of The First Part of King Henry VI.

It is observable that in The Second and Third Part of King

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Henry VI. many thoughts and many modes of expression are found, which likewise occur in Shakspeare's other dramas: but in the First Part I recollect but one marked expression, that is also found in one of his undisputed performances:


“As I am sick with working of my thoughts.”

So, in King Henry V.:


Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege.”

But surely this is too slight a circumstance to overturn all the other arguments that have now been urged to prove this play not the production of our author. The co-incidence might be accidental, for it is a co-incidence not of thought but of language;— or the expression might have remained in his mind in consequence of his having often seen this play; (we know that he has borrowed many other expressions from preceding writers;)—or lastly, this might have been one of the very few lines that he wrote on revising this piece; which, however few they were, might, with other reasons, have induced the first publishers of his works in folio to print it with the second and third part, and to ascribe it to Shakspeare.

Before I quit this part of the subject, it may be proper to mention one other circumstance that renders it very improbable that Shakspeare should have been the author of The First Part of K. Henry VI. In this play, though one scene is entirely in rhyme, there are very few rhymes dispersed through the piece, and no alternate rhymes; both of which abound in our author's undisputed early plays. This observation indeed may likewise be extended to the second and third part of these historical dramas; and perhaps it may be urged, that if this argument has any weight, it will prove that he had no hand in the composition of those plays. But there being no alternate rhymes in those two plays may be accounted for, by recollecting that in 1591, Shakspeare had not written his Venus and Adonis, or his Rape of Lucrece; the measures of which perhaps insensibly led him to employ a similar kind of metre occasionally in the dramas that he wrote shortly after he had composed those poems. The paucity of regular rhymes must be accounted for differently. My solution is, that working up the materials which were furnished by a preceding writer, he naturally followed his mode: and in the original plays from which these two were formed very few rhymes are found. Nearly the same argument will apply to the first part; for its date also, were that piece Shakspeare's, would account for the want of alternate rhymes. The paucity of regular rhymes indeed cannot be accounted for by saying that here too our author was following the track of another poet; but the solution is unnecessary; for from the beginning to the end of that play, except perhaps in some scenes of the fourth Act, there is not a single print of the footsteps of Shakspeare.

I have already observed, that it is highly improbable that The

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First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses of York and Lancaster, &c. and The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, &c. were written by the author of The First Part of King Henry VI. By whom these two plays were written, it is not here necessary to inquire; it is sufficient, if probable reasons can be produced for supposing this two-part piece not to have been the composition of Shakspeare, but the work of some preceding writer, on which he formed those two plays which appear in the first folio edition of his works, comprehending a period of twenty-six years, from the time of Henry's marriage to that of his death.

II. I now therefore proceed to state my opinion concerning The Second and Third Part of King Henry VI.

“A book entituled, The First Part of the Contention of the Two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, with the Death of the good Duke Humphrie, and the Banishment and Deathe of the Duke of Yorke, and the tragical Ende of the proud Cardinal of Winchester, with the notable Rebellion of Jack Cade, and the Duke of Yorke's first Claime unto the Crowne, was entered at Stationers' Hall, by Thomas Millington, March 12, 1593–4. The true Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, and the Death of good King Henry the Sixt, &c. (on which Shakspeare's Third Part of King Henry VI. is founded) was entered at Stationers' Hall at the same time. They were printed, as I have before observed, separately, in 1594 and 1595; and reprinted together for the same person, T. Millington, in 1600* note.

The first thing that strikes us in this entry is, that the name of Shakspeare is not mentioned, nor is it in the early editions; nor, when the two plays were published in 1600, did the printer ascribe them to our author in the title-page, (though his reputation was then at the highest,) as surely as he would have done, had they been his compositions.

In a subsequent edition indeed of the same pieces, printed by one Pavier, without date, but in reality in 1619, after our great poet's death, the name of Shakspeare appears; but this was a bookseller's trick, founded upon our author's celebrity; on his having new-modelled these plays; and on the proprietors of the Globe and Blackfriars' theatre not having published Shakspeare's Second and Third Parts of King Henry VI. The very same deception was practised with respect to King John. The old play (written perhaps by the same person who was the author of The Contention of the Two famous Houses, &c.) was printed in 1591, like that piece, anonymously. In 1611, (Shakspeare's King John,

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founded on the same story, having been probably often acted and admired,) the old piece in two parts was reprinted; and, in order to deceive the purchaser, was said in the title-page to be written by W. Sh. A subsequent printer in 1622 grew more bold, and affixed Shakspeare's name to it at full length.

It is observable that Millington, the bookseller, by whom The First Part of the Contention of the Two famous Houses, &c. was entered at Stationers' Hall, in 1593–4, and for whom that piece and The Tragedie of the Duke of York, &c. were printed, was not the proprietor of any one of Shakspeare's undisputed plays, except King Henry V. of which he published a spurious copy, that, I think, must have been imperfectly taken down in short hand in the play-house.

The next observable circumstance, with respect to these two quarto plays, is, that they are said, in their title-pages, to have been “sundry times acted by the earle of Pembrooke his servantes.” Titus Andronicus and The old Taming of a Shrew, were acted by the same company of comedians; but not one of our author's plays is said, in its title-page, to have been acted by any but the Lord Chamberlain's or the Queen's, or King's servants* note

. This circumstance, alone, in my opinion, might almost decide the question.

This much appears on the first superficial view of these pieces; but the passage quoted by Mr. Tyrwhitt from an old pamphlet, entitled Greene's Groatsworth of Witte, &c. affords a still more decisive support to the hypothesis that I am endeavouring to maintain; which, indeed, that pamphlet first suggested to me. As this passage is the chief hinge of my argument, though it has already been printed in a preceding page, it is necessary to lay it again before the reader.—“Yes,” says the writer, Robert Greene, (addressing himself, as Mr. Tyrwhitt conjectures with great probability, to his poetical friend, George Peele,) “trust them [the players] not; for there is an upstart crowe beautified with our feathers, that with his tygres heart wrapt in a player's hide supposes hee is as well able to bombaste out a blank verse as the best of you; and being an absolute Johannes fac totum, is, in his own conceit, the only Shake-scene in a country.”—“O tyger's

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heart, wrapt in a woman's hide!” is a line of the old quarto play, entitled The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses, &c.

That Shakspeare was here alluded to, cannot, I think, be doubted. But what does the writer mean by calling him “a crow beautified with our feathers?” My solution is, that Greene and Peele were the joint authors of the two quarto plays, entitled The first part of the Contention of the Two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, &c. and The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, &c. or that Greene was the author of one, and Peele of the other. Greene's pamphlet, from whence the foregoing passage is extracted, was written recently before his death, which happened in September, 1592. How long he and Peele had been dramatick writers, is not precisely ascertained. Peele took the degree of Master of Arts at Oxford, in 1579: Greene took the same degree in Cambridge, in 1583. Each of them has left four or five plays, and they wrote several others, which have not been published. The earliest of Peele's printed pieces, The Arraignment of Paris, appeared in 1584; and one of Greene's pamphlets was printed in 1583. Between that year and 1591 it is highly probable that the two plays in question were written. I suspect they were produced in 1588 or 1589. We have undoubted proofs that Shakspeare was not above working on the materials of other men. His Taming of the Shrew, his King John, and other plays, render any arguments on that point unnecessary. Having therefore, probably not long before the year 1592, when Greene wrote his Dying Exhortation to a Friend, new-modelled and amplified these two pieces, and produced on the stage what, in the folio edition of his works, are called The Second and Third Parts of King Henry VI. and having acquired considerable reputation by them, Greene could not conceal the mortification that he felt at his own fame and that of his associate, both of them old and admired play-wrights, being eclipsed by a new upstart writer, (for so he calls our great poet,) who had then first, perhaps, attracted the notice of the publick by exhibiting two plays, formed upon old dramas written by them, considerably enlarged and improved. He therefore, in direct terms, charges him with having acted like the crow in the fable, beautified himself with their feathers; in other words, with having acquired fame furtivis coloribus, by new-modelling a work originally produced by them, and wishing to depreciate our author, he very naturally quotes a line from one of the pieces which Shakspeare had thus re-written; a proceeding which the authors of the original plays considered as an invasion both of their literary property and character. This line, with many others, Shakspeare adopted without any alteration. The very term that Greene uses —“to bombast out a blank verse,” exactly corresponds with what has been now suggested. This new poet, says he, knows as well as any man how to amplify and swell out a blank verse. Bumbast

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was a soft stuff of a loose texture, by which garments were rendered more swelling and protuberant.

Several years after the death of Boiardo, Francesco Berni undertook to new-versify Boiardo's poem, entitled Orlando Innamorato. “Berni (as Baretti observes) was not satisfied with merely making the versification of that poem better; he interspersed it with many stanzas of his own, and changed almost all the beginnings of the cantos, introducing each of them with some moral reflection arising from the canto foregoing.” What Berni did to Boiardo's poem after the death of its author, and more, I suppose Shakspeare to have done to The First Part of the Contention of the Two Mouses of Yorke and Lancaster, &c. and The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, &c. in the life time of Greene and Peele, their literary parents; and this Rifacimento (as the Italians call it) of these two plays I suppose to have been executed by Shakspeare, and exhibited at the Globe or Blackfriars theatre, in the year 1591.

I have said Shakspeare did what Berni did, and more. He did not content himself with writing new beginnings to the acts; he new-versified, he new-modelled, he transposed many of the parts, and greatly amplified and improved the whole. Several lines, however, and even whole speeches which he thought sufficiently polished, he accepted, and introduced into his own work, without any, or with very slight, alterations.

In the present edition, all those lines which he adopted without any alteration, are printed in the usual manner; those speeches which he altered or expanded, are distinguished by inverted commas; and to all the lines entirely composed by himself, asterisks are prefixed. The total number of lines in our author's Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. is Six Thousand and Forty-three: of these, as I conceive, 1771 lines were written by some author or authors who preceded Shakspeare; 2373 were formed by him on the foundation laid by his predecessors; and 1899 lines were entirely his own composition.

That the reader may have the whole of the subject before him, I shall here transcribe the fourth scene of the fourth Act of The Third Part of King Henry VI. (which happens to be a short one,) together with the corresponding scene in the original play; and also a speech of Queen Margaret, in the fifth Act, with the original speech on which it is formed. The first specimen will serve to show the method taken by Shakspeare, where he only new-polished the language of the old play, rejecting some part of the dialogue, and making some slight additions to the part which he retained; the second is a striking proof of his facility and vigour of composition, which has happily expanded a thought comprized originally in a very short speech, into thirty-seven lines, none of which appear feeble or superfluous.

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The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, &c. Sign. F. 4. edit. 1600. Enter the Queene, and the Lord Rivers. Riv.
Tell me, good madam,
Why is your grace so passionate of late.
Queene.
Why brother Rivers, heare you not the news
Of that success king Edward had of late?
Riv.
What? losse of some pitcht battaile against Warwick?
Tush; fear not, fair queen, but cast these cares aside.
King Edwards noble minde his honours doth display;
And Warwicke may lose, though then he got the day.
Queene.
If that were all, my griefes were at an end;
But greater troubles will, I feare, befall.
Riv.
What? is he taken prisoner by the foe,
To the danger of his royal person then?
Queene.
I, there's my griefe; king Edward is surprisde,
And led away as prisoner unto Yorke.
Riv.
The newes is passing strange, I must confesse;
Yet comfort yourselfe, for Edward hath more friends
Than Lancaster at this time must perceive,—
That some will set him in his throne againe.
Queene.
God grant they may! but gentle brother, come,
And let me leane upon thine arm a while,
Until I come unto the sanctuarie;
There to preserve the fruit within my womb,
King Edwards seed, true heir to Englands crowne.
[Exeunt.

Enter the Queen and Rivers.Riv.
Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?
Queen.
Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn,
What late misfortune is befall'n king Edward?
Riv.
What, loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick?
Queen.
No, but the loss of his own royal person.
Riv.
Then is my sovereign slain?
Queen.
Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner;
Either betray'd by falshood of his guard,
Or by his foe surpriz'd at unawares:
And, as I further have to understand,
Is new committed to the bishop of York,
Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe.
Riv.
These news, I must confess, are full of grief;
Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may;
Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day.

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Queen.
Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay.
And I the rather wean me from despair,
For love of Edward's offspring in my womb:
This is it that makes me bridle passion,
And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross;
Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear,
And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs,
Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown
King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown.
Riv.
But, madam, where is Warwick then become?
Queen.
I am informed, that he comes towards London
To set the crown once more on Henry's head:
Guess thou the rest; king Edward's friends must down.
But, to prevent the tyrant's violence,
(For trust not him that once hath broken faith,)
I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary,
To save at least the heir of Edward's right;
There shall I rest secure from force, and fraud,
Come therefore, let us fly, while we may fly;
If Warwick take us, we are sure to die.
[Exeunt.

The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, &c. Sign. G. 4. edit. 1600. Enter the Queene, Prince Edward, Oxford, Somerset, with drumme and souldiers. Queen.
Welcome to England, my loving friends of France;
And welcome Somerset and Oxford too.
Once more have we spread our sailes abroad;
And though our tackling be almost consumde,
And Warwicke as our main-mast overthrowne,
Yet, warlike lordes, raise you that sturdie post,
That bears the sailes to bring us unto rest;
And Ned and I, as willing pilots should,
For once with careful mindes guide on the sterne,
To bear us thorough that dangerous gulfe,
That heretofore hath swallowed up our friendes.

March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers.Q. Mar.
Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
What though the mast be now blown over-board,
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,

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

If the reader wishes to compare The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses, &c. with The Second Part of King Henry VI. which was formed upon it, he will find various passages quoted from the elder drama in the notes on that play. The two celebrated scenes, in which the dead body of the Duke of Gloster is described, and the death of Cardinal Beaufort is represented, may be worth examining with this view; and will sufficiently ascertain how our author proceeded in new-modelling that play;

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with what expression, animation, and splendour of colouring, he filled up the outline that had been sketched by a preceding writer* note.

Shakspeare having thus given celebrity to these two old dramas, by altering and writing several parts of them over again, the bookseller, Millington, to avail himself of the popularity of the new and admired poet, got, perhaps from Peele, who was then living, or from the author, whoever he was, or from some of the comedians belonging to the Earl of Pembroke, the original play on which The Second Part of King Henry VI. was founded; and printed it either with a view to lead the common reader to suppose that he should purchase two plays as altered and new-modelled by Shakspeare, or, without any such fraudulent intention, to derive a profit from the exhibition of a work that so great a writer had thought proper to retouch, and form into those dramas which for several years had without doubt been performed with considerable applause. In the same manner the old Taming of a Shrew, on which our author formed a play, had been entered at Stationers' Hall in 1594, and was printed in 1607† note, without doubt with a view to pass it on the publick as the production of Shakspeare.

When William Pavier republished The Contention of the Two Houses, &c. in 1619‡ note, he omitted the words in the original title-page, —“as it was acted by the earl of Pembrooke his servantes;” —just as, on the republication of King John in two parts, in 1611, the words,—“as it was acted in the honourable city of London,”— were omitted; because the omitted words in both cases marked the respective pieces not to be the production of Shakspeare§ note. And as in King John the letters W. Sh. were added in 1611 to deceive the purchaser, so in the republication of The Whole Contention, &c. Pavier, having dismissed the words above mentioned: inserted these, “Newly corrected and enlarged by William Shakspeare;” knowing that these pieces had been made the ground work of

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two other plays; that they had in fact been corrected and enlarged, (though not in that copy which Pavier printed, which is a mere republication from the edition of 1600,) and exhibited under the titles of The Second and Third Part of King Henry VI.; and hoping that this new edition of the original plays would pass for those altered and augmented by Shakspeare, which were then unpublished.

If Shakspeare had originally written these three plays of King Henry VI. would they not probably have been found by the bookseller in the same MS? Would not the three parts have been procured, whether surreptitiously or otherwise, all together? Would they not in that MS. have borne the titles of The First and Second and Third Part of King Henry VI? And would not the bookseller have entered them on the Stationers' books, and published such of them as he did publish, under those titles, and with the name of Shakspeare? On the other hand, if that which is now distinguished by the name of The First Part of King Henry VI. but which I suppose in those times was only called “The Historical Play of King Henry VI.” if this was the production of some old dramatist, if it had appeared on the stage some years before 1591, (as from Nashe's mention of it seems to be implied,) perhaps in 1587 or 1588, if its popularity was in 1594 in its wane, and the attention of the publick was entirely taken up by Shakspeare's alteration of two other plays which had likewise appeared before 1591, would not the superior popularity of these two pieces, altered by such a poet, attract the notice of the booksellers? and finding themselves unable to procure them from the theatre, would they not gladly seize on the originals on which this new and admired writer had worked, and publish them as soon as they could, neglecting entirely the preceding old play, or First Part of Hing Henry VI. (as it is now called,) which Shakspeare had not embellished with his pen?—Such, as we have seen, was actually the process; for Thomas Millington, neglecting entirely The First Part of King Henry VI. entered the original of The Second Part of King Henry VI. at Stationers' Hall in 1593–4, and published the originals of both that and The Third part together in 1600. When Heminge and Condell printed these three pieces in folio, they were necessarily obliged to name the old play of King Henry VI. the first part, to distinguish it from the two following historical dramas, founded on a later period of the same king's reign.

Having examined such external evidence as time has left us concerning these two plays, now denominated The Second and Third Parts of King Henry VI. let us see whether we cannot by internal marks ascertain how far Shakspeare was concerned in their composition.

It has long been a received opinion that the two quarto plays, one of which was published under the title of The First Part of

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the Contention of the Two Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, &c. and the other under the title of The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, &c. were spurious and imperfect copies of Shakspeare's Second and Third Part of King Henry VI.; and many passages have been quoted in the notes to the late editions of Shakspeare, as containing merely the various readings of the quartos and the folio: the passages being supposed to be in substance the same, only variously exhibited in different copies. The variations have been accounted for, by supposing that the imperfect and spurious copies (as they were called) were taken down either by an unskilful short-hand writer, or by some auditor who picked up “during the representation what the time would permit, then filled up some of his omissions at a second or third hearing, and when he had by this method formed something like a play, sent it to the printer.” To this opinion, I with others for a long time subscribed: two of Heywood's pieces furnishing indubitable proofs that plays in the time of our author were sometimes imperfectly copied during the representation, by the ear, or by short-hand writers* note. But a minute examination of the two pieces in question, and a careful comparison of them with Shakspeare's Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. have convinced me that this could not have been the case with respect to them. No fraudulent copyist or short-hand writer would invent circumstances totally different from those which appear in Shakspeare's new-modelled draughts as exhibited in the first folio; or insert whole speeches, of which scarcely a trace is found in that edition. In the course of the foregoing notes many of these have been particularly pointed out. I shall now bring into one point of view all those internal circumstances which prove in my apprehension decisively, that the quarto plays were not spurious and imperfect copies of Shakspeare's pieces, but elder dramas on which he formed his Second and Third Part of King Henry VI.

1. In some places a speech in one of these quartos consists of ten or twelve lines. In Shakspeare's folio the same speech consists of perhaps only half the number† note. A copyist by the ear, or an unskilful short-hand writer, might mutilate and exhibit a poet's thoughts or expressions imperfectly; but would he dilate and amplify them, or introduce totally new matter? Assuredly he would not.

2. Some circumstances are mentioned in the old quarto plays, of which there is not the least trace in the folio; and many minute variations are found between them and the folio, that prove the pieces in quarto to have been original and distinct compositions.

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In the last Act of The First Part of the Contention, &c. the Duke of Buckingham after the battle of Saint Albans, is brought in wounded, and carried to his tent; but in Shakspeare's play he is not introduced on the stage after that battle.

In one of the original scenes between Jack Cade and his followers, which Shakspeare has made the seventh scene of the fourth Act of his Second Part of King Henry VI. Dick Butcher drags a serjeant, that is, a catch-pole, on the stage, and a dialogue consisting of seventeen lines passes between Cade, &c. at the conclusion of which it is determined that the serjeant shall be “brain'd with his own mace.” Of this not one word appears in our author's play* note. In the same piece Jack Cade, hearing that a knight, called Sir Humphrey Stafford, was coming at the head of an army against him, to put himself on a par with him makes himself a knight; and finding that Stafford's brother was also a knight, he dubs Dick Butcher also. But in Shakspeare's play the latter circumstance is omitted.

In the old play Somerset goes out immediately after he is appointed regent of France. In Shakspeare's Second Part of King Henry VI. he continues on the stage with Henry to the end of the scene, (Act I. Sc. III.) and the King addresses him as they go out.

In the old play, the Duchess of Gloster enters with Hume, Bolingbroke, and Margery Jourdain, and after some conversation with them, tells them that while they perform their rites, she will go to the top of an adjoining tower, and there write down such answers as the spirits, that they are to raise, shall give to her questions. But in Shakspeare's play, Hume, Southwell (who is not introduced in the elder drama), and Bolingbroke, &c. enter without the Duchess; and after some conversation the Duchess appears above, (that is, on the tower,) and encourages them to proceed† note.

In Shakspeare's play, when the Duke of York enters, and finds the Duchess of Gloster, &c. and her co-adjutors performing their magick rites, (p. 201,) the Duke seizes the paper in which the answers of the spirit to certain questions are written down, and reads them aloud. In the old play the answers are not here recited by York; but in a subsequent scene Buckingham reads them to the King; (see p. 201, n. 7; and p. 212, n. 1;) and this is one of the many transpositions that Shakspeare made in new-modelling these pieces, of which I shall speak more fully hereafter.

In the old play, when the King pronounces sentence on the Duchess of Gloster, he particularly mentions the mode of her

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penance; and the sentence is pronounced in prose: “Stand forth dame Eleanor Cobham, Duchess of Gloster, and hear the sentence pronounced against thee for these treasons that thou hast committed against us, our state and peers. First, for thy haynous crimes thou shalt two daies in London do penance barefoot in the streets, with a white sheete about thy bodie, and a wax taper burning in thy hand: that done, thou shalt be banished for ever into the Isle of Man, there to end thy wretched daies; and this is our sentence irrevocable.—Away with her.” But in Shakspeare's play, (p. 220.) the King pronounces sentence in verse against the Duchess and her confederates at the same time; and only says in general, that “after three days open penance, she shall be banished to the Isle of Man.”

In Shakspeare's play, (p. 248,) when the Duke of York undertakes to subdue the Irish rebels, if he be furnished with a sufficient army, Suffolk says, that he “will see that charge performed.” But in the old play the Queen enjoins the Duke of Buckingham to attend to this business, and he accepts the office.

In our author's play Jack Cade is described as a clothier, in the old play he is “the dyer of Ashford.” In the same piece, when the King and Somerset appear at Kenelworth, a dialogue passes between them and the Queen, of which not one word is preserved in the corresponding scene in The Second Part of King Henry VI. (p. 325.) In the old play, Buckingham states to the King the grounds on which York had taken up arms; but in Shakspeare's piece, (p. 339,) York himself assigns his reasons for his conduct

In the old play near the conclusion, young Clifford, when he is preparing to carry off the dead body of his father, is assaulted by Richard, and after putting him to flight, he makes a speech consisting of four lines. But in Shakspeare's play, (p. 350,) there is no combat between them, nor is Richard introduced in that scene. The four lines therefore above mentioned are necessarily omitted.

In the old play the Queen drops her glove, and finding the Duchess of Gloster makes no attempt to take it up, she gives her a box on the ear:


“Give me my glove; why, minion, can you not see?”

But in Shakspeare's play, (p. 191,) the Queen drops not a glove, but a fan:


“Give me my fan: What, minion, can you not?”

In Shakspeare's Second Part of King Henry VI. (p. 283,) Suffolk discovers himself to the Captain who had seized him, by showing his George. In the old play he announces his quality by a ring, a seal ring we may suppose, exhibiting his arms. In the same scene of Shakspeare's play, he observes that the Captain threatens more—


“Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pyrate.”

But in the elder drama Suffolk says, he—

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“Threatens more plagues than mighty Abradas,
“The great Macedonian pirate.”

In the same scene of the original play the Captain threatens to sink Suffolk's ship; but no such menace is found in Shakspeare's play.

In The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, &c. Richard (afterwards Duke of Gloster,) informs Warwick that his father the Earl of Salisbury was killed in an action which he describes, and which in fact took place at Ferrybridge in Yorkshire. But Shakspeare in his Third Part of King Henry VI. (p. 426,) formed upon the piece above mentioned, has rightly deviated from it, and for father substituted brother, it being the natural brother of Warwick, (the bastard son of Salisbury,) that fell at Ferrybridge. The Earl of Salisbury, Warwick's father, was beheaded at Pomfret.

In the same old play a son is introduced who has killed his father, and afterwards a father who has killed his son. King Henry, who is on the stage, says not a word till they have both appeared, and spoken; he then pronounces a speech of seven lines. But in Shakspeare's play (p. 434, n. 5,) this speech is enlarged, and two speeches formed on it; the first of which the King speaks after the son has appeared, and the other after the entry of the father.

In our author's play, (p. 480,) after Edward's marriage with Lady Grey, his brothers enter, and converse on that event. The King, Queen, &c. then join them, and Edward asks Clarence how he approves his choice. In the elder play there is no previous dialogue between Gloster and Clarence; but the scene opens with the entry of the King, &c. who desires the opinion of his brothers on his recent marriage.

In our author's play (p. 464,) the following line is found:


“And set the murderous Machiavel to school.”

This line in The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, &c. stood thus:


“And set the aspiring Catiline to school.”

Catiline was the person that would naturally occur to Peele or Greene, as the most splendid classical example of inordinate ambition; but Shakspeare, who was more conversant with English books, substituted Machiavel, whose name was in such frequent use in his time that it became a specifick term for a consummate politician; and accordingly he makes his host in The Merry Wives of Windsor, when he means to boast of his own shrewdness, exclaim, “Am I subtle? am I a Machiavel* note







?”

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Many other variations beside those already mentioned might be pointed out; but that I may not weary the reader, I will only refer in a note to the most striking diversities that are found between Shakspeare's Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. and the elder dramas printed in quarto* note.

The supposition of imperfect or spurious copies cannot account for such numerous variations in the circumstances of these pieces; (not to insist at present on the language in which they are clothed;) so that we are compelled (as I have already observed) to maintain, either that Shakspeare wrote two plays on the story which forms his Second Part of King Henry VI. a hasty sketch, and an entirely distinct and more finished performance; or else we must acknowledge that he formed that piece on a foundation laid by another writer, that is, upon the quarto copy of The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, &c.—and the same argument precisely applies to The Third Part of King Henry VI. which is founded on The true Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke.

Let us now revert to the Resemblances that are found in these pieces as exhibited in the folio, to passages in our author's undisputed plays; and also to the Inconsistencies that may be traced between them; and, if I do not deceive myself, both the one and the other will add considerable support to the foregoing observations.

In our author's genuine plays, he frequently borrows from himself, the same thoughts being found in nearly the same expressions

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in different pieces. In The Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. as in other dramas, these coincidencies with his other works may be found* note; and this was one of the circumstances that once weighed much in my mind, and convinced me of their authenticity. But a collation of these plays with the old pieces on which they are founded, has shewn me the fallacy by which I was deceived: for the passages of these two parts of King Henry VI. which correspond with others in our author's undisputed plays, exist only in the folio copy, and not in the quarto; in other words, in those parts of these new-modelled pieces, which were of Shakspeare's writing, and not in the originals by another hand, on which he worked. This, I believe, will be found invariably the case, except in three instances.

The first is, “You have no children, butchers;” which is, it must be acknowledged, in The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, &c. 1600; (as well as in The Third Part of King Henry VI.) and is also introduced with a slight variation in Macbeth.

Another instance is found in King John. That king, when charged with the death of his nephew, asks—


“Think you, I bear the shears of destiny?
“Have I commandment on the pulse of life?”

which bears a striking resemblance to the words of Cardinal Beaufort in The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses, &c. which Shakspeare has introduced in his Second Part of King Henry VI.:


“&lblank; Died he not in his bed?
“Can I make men live whe'r they will or no?”

The third instance is found in The true Tragedy of Richarde Duke of Yorke, &c. In that piece are the following lines, which Shakspeare adopted with a very slight variation, and inserted in his Third Part of King Henry VI.:


“&lblank; doves will peck in rescue of their brood.—
“Unreasonable creatures feed their young;
“And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
“Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
“Who hath not seen them even with those same wings
“Which they have sometimes used in fearful flight,
“Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
“Offering their own lives in their young's defence?”

So, in our author's Macbeth:

-- 584 --


“&lblank; the poor wren—
“The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
“Her young ones in the nest, against the owl.”

But whoever recollects the various thoughts that Shakspeare has borrowed from preceding writers, will not be surprised that in a similar situation, in Macbeth, and King John, he should have used the expressions of an old dramatist, with whose writings he had been particularly conversant; expressions too, which he had before embodied in former plays: nor can, I think, these three instances much diminish the force of the foregoing observation. That it may have its full weight, I have in the present edition distinguished by asterisks all the lines in The Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. of which there is no trace in the old quarto plays, and which therefore I suppose to have been written by Shakspeare. Though this has not been effected without much trouble, yet, if it shall tend to settle this long-agitated question, I shall not consider my labour as wholly thrown away.

Perhaps a similar coincidency in The First Part of King Henry VI. may be urged in opposition to my hypothesis relative to that play. “Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire,” are in that piece called the attendants on the brave Lord Talbot; as, in Shakspeare's King Henry V. “famine, sword, and fire, are leash'd in like hounds, crouching under the martial Henry for employment.” If this image had proceeded from our author's imagination, this coincidency might perhaps countenance the supposition that he had some hand at least in that scene of The First Part of King Henry VI. where these attendants on war are personified. But that is not the case; for the fact is, that Shakspeare was furnished with this imagery by a passage in Holinshed, as the author of the old play of King Henry VI. was by Hall's Chronicle: “The Goddesse of warre, called Bellonas—hath these three hand-maides ever of necessitie attendyng on her, bloud, fyre, and famine* note.”

In our present inquiry, it is undoubtedly a very striking circumstance that almost all the passages in The Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. which resemble others in Shakspeare's undisputed plays, are not found in the original pieces in quarto, but in his Rifacimento published in folio. As these Resemblances to his other plays, and a peculiar Shakspearian phraseology, ascertain a considerable portion of these disputed dramas to be the production of Shakspeare, so on the other hand certain passages which are discordant (in matters of fact) from his other plays, are proved by this discordancy, not to have been composed by him; and these discordant passages, being found in the original quarto plays, prove that those pieces were composed by another writer.

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Thus, in The Third Part of King Henry VI. (p. 454,) Sir John Grey is said to have lost “his life in quarrel of the house of York;” and King Edward stating the claim of his widow, whom he afterwards married, mentions, that his lands after the battle of Saint Albans, (February 17, 1460–1,) “were seized on by the conqueror. Whereas, in fact, they were seized on by Edward himself after the battle of Towton, (in which he was conqueror,) March 29, 1461. The conqueror at the second battle of Saint Albans, the battle here meant, was Queen Margaret. This statement was taken from the old quarto play; and, from carelessness was adopted by Shakspeare without any material alteration. But at a subsequent period when he wrote his King Richard III. he was under a necessity of carefully examining the English chronicles; and in that play, Act I. Sc. III. he has represented this matter truly as it was:


“In all which time, you, and your husband Grey,
“Were factious for the House of Lancaster;—
“(And, Rivers, so were you;)—Was not your husband
“In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain?”

It is called “Margaret's battle,” because she was there victorious.

An equally decisive circumstance is furnished by the same play. In The Third Part of King Henry VI. (p. 478,) Warwick proposes to marry his eldest daughter (Isabella) to Edward Prince of Wales, and the proposal is accepted by Edward; and in a subsequent scene Clarence says, he will marry the younger daughter (Anne). In these particulars Shakspeare has implicitly followed the elder drama. But the fact is, that the Prince of Wales married Anne the younger daughter of the Earl of Warwick, and the Duke of Clarence married the elder, Isabella. Though the author of The true Tragedie of the Duke of Yorke, &c. was here inaccurate, and though Shakspeare too negligently followed his steps,—when he wrote his King Richard III. he had gained better information; for there Lady Anne is rightly represented as the widow of the Prince of Wales, and the youngest daughter of the Earl of Warwick:


“Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy,
“And leave the world to me to bustle in.
“For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter;
“What though I kill'd her husband, and her father,” &c.

i. e. Edward Prince of Wales, and King Henry VI. King Richard III, Act I. Sc. I.

I have said that certain passages in The Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. are ascertained to be Shakspeare's by a peculiar phraseology. This peculiar phraseology, without a single exception, distinguishes such parts of these plays as are found in the folio, and not in the elder quarto dramas, of which the phraseology, as well as the versification, is of a different colour. This observation applies not only to the new original matter produced

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by Shakspeare, but to his alteration of the old. Our author in his undoubted compositions has fallen into an inaccuracy, of which I do not recollect a similar instance in the works of any other dramatist. When he has occasion to quote the same paper twice, (not from memory, but verbatim,) from negligence he does not always attend to the words of the paper which he has occasion to quote, but makes one of the persons of the drama recite them with variations, though he holds the very paper quoted before his eyes. Thus, in All's Well that Ends Well, Act V. Sc. III. Helena says:


“&lblank; here's your letter: This it says:
“When from my finger you can get this ring,
“And are by me with child,”—

Yet, as I have observed in vol. xi. p. 420, n. 6. Helena in Act III. Sc. II. reads this very letter aloud, and there the words are different, and in plain prose: “When thou canst get the ring from my finger, which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body,” &c. In like manner, in the first scene of The Second Part of King Henry VI. Suffolk presents to the Duke of Gloster, protector of the realm, the articles of peace concluded between France and England. The protector begins to read the articles, but when he has proceeded no further than these words,—“Item, that the dutchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released and delivered to the king her father,”—he is suddenly taken ill, and rendered incapable of proceeding: on which the Bishop of Winchester is called upon to read the remainder of the paper. He accordingly reads the whole of the article, of which the Duke of Gloster had only read a part: “Item, It is further agreed between them, that the dutchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over to the king her father, and she sent,” &c. Now though Maine in our old chronicles is sometimes called a county, and sometimes a dutchy, yet words cannot change their form under the eyes of two readers: nor do they in the original play, entitled The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses, &c. for there the article as recited by the protector corresponds with that recited by the Bishop, without the most minute variation. “Item, It is further agreed between them, that the dutchies of Anjou and of Maine shall be released and delivered over to the king her father, and she sent,” &c. Thus in the old play says the Duke, and so says the Cardinal after him. This one circumstance, in my apprehension, is of such weight, that though it stood alone, it might decide the present question. Our author has fallen into a similar inaccuracy in the fourth scene of the same Act, where the Duke of York recites from a paper the questions that had been put to the Spirit, relative to the Duke of Suffolk, Somerset, &c* note.

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Many minute marks of Shakspeare's hands may be traced in such parts of the old plays as he has new-modelled. I at present recollect one that must strike every reader who is conversant with his writings. He very frequently uses adjectives adverbially; and this kind of phraseology, if not peculiar to him, is found more frequently in his writings than those of any of his contemporaries. Thus—“I am myself indifferent honest;”—“as dishonourable ragged as an old faced ancient;”—“equal ravenous;” —“leaves them invisible;” &c*. In The true Tragedie of the Duke of Yorke, &c. the King, having determined to marry Lady Grey, injoins his brothers to use her honourably. But in Shakspeare's play the words are,—“use her honourable.” So, in Julius Cæsar:


“Young man, thou could'st not die more honourable.”

In like manner, in The Third Part of King Henry VI. we find this line:


“Is either slain, or wounded dangerous.”

but in the old play the words are—“wounded dangerously.”

In the same play the word handkerchief is used; but in the corresponding scene in The Third Part of King Henry VI. (p. 406,) Shakspeare has substituted the northern term napkin, which occurs so often in his works, in its room* note.

The next circumstance to which I wish to call the attention of those who do not think the present investigation wholly incurious, is, the Transpositions that are found in these plays. In the preceding notes I have frequently observed that not only several lines, but sometimes whole scenes† note, were transposed by Shakspeare.

In p. 405, a Messenger, giving an account of the death of the Duke of York, says:


“Environed he was with many foes;
“And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
“Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy.
“But Hercules himself must yield to odds &lblank;;”

When this passage was printed, not finding any trace of the last three lines in the corresponding part of the old play, I marked them inadvertently as Shakspeare's original composition in my former edition; but I afterwards found that he had borrowed them from a subsequent scene on a quite different subject, in which Henry, taking leave of Warwick, says to him—


“Farewell my Hector, and my Troy's true hope!”

and the last line, “But Hercules,” &c. is spoken by Warwick,

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near the conclusion of the piece, after he is mortally wounded in the battle of Barnet.

So, in The true Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, &c. after the Duke has slain Clifford, he says—


“Now, Lancaster, sit sure:—thy sinews shrink.”

Shakspeare has not made use of that line in that place, but availed himself of it afterwards, where Edward brings forth Warwick wounded; King Henry VI. Part III. Act V. Sc. II.:


Now, Montague, sit fast: I seek for thee,” &c.

Many other transpositions may be traced in these plays, to which I shall only refer in a note* note.

Such transpositions as I have noticed, could never have arisen from any carelessness or inaccuracy of transcribers or copyists; and therefore are to be added to the many other circumstances which prove that The Second and Third Parts of K. Henry VI. as exhibited in the folio, were formed from the materials of a preceding writer.

It is also observable, that many lines are repeated in Shakspeare's Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. but no such repetitions are found in the old quarto plays. The repetition undoubtedly arose from Shakspeare's not always following his original strictly, but introducing expressions which had struck him in other parts of the old plays; and afterwards, forgetting that he had before used such expressions, he suffered them to remain in their original places also.

Another proof that Shakspeare was not the author of The Contention of the Two Houses, &c. is furnished by the inconsistencies into which he has fallen, by sometimes adhering to, and sometimes deviating from, his original: an inaccuracy which may be sometimes observed in his undisputed plays.

One of the most remarkable instances of this kind of inconsistency is found in The Second Part of King Henry VI. p. 306, where he makes Henry say:


“I'll send some holy bishop to intreat,” &c.

a circumstance which he took from Holinshed's Chronicle; whereas in the old play no mention is made of a bishop on this occasion. The King there says, he will himself come and parley with the rebels, and in the mean time he orders Clifford and Buckingham to gather an army. In a subsequent scene, however, Shakspeare forgot the new matter which he had introduced in the former; and Clifford and Buckingham only parley with Cade, &c. conformably to the old play.

In Romeo and Juliet he has fallen into a similar inaccuracy. In the poem on which that tragedy is founded, Romeo, in his

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interview with the Friar, after sentence of banishment has been pronounced against him, is described as passionately lamenting his fate in the following terms:


“First nature did he blame, the author of his life,
“In which his joys had been so scant, and sorrows aye so rife;
“The time and place of birth he fiercely did reprove;
“He cryed out with open mouth against the stars above.
“On fortune eke he rail'd,” &c.

The Friar afterwards reproves him for want of patience. In forming the corresponding scene Shakspeare has omitted Romeo's invective against his fate, but inadvertently copied the Friar's remonstrance as it lay before him:


“Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?”

If the following should be considered as a trifling circumstance, let it be remembered, that circumstances which, separately considered, may appear unimportant, sometimes acquire strength, when united to other proofs of more efficacy: in my opinion, however, what I shall now mention, is a circumstance of considerable weight. It is observable that the priest concerned with Eleanor Cobham, Duchess of Glocester, in certain pretended operations of magick, for which she was tried, is called by Hall, John Hum. So is he named in The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses of Yorke, &c. the original, as I suppose, of The Second Part of King Henry VI. Our author, probably thinking the name harsh or ridiculous, softened it to Hume; and by that name this priest is called in his play printed in folio. But in Holinshed he is named Hun; and so undoubtedly, or perhaps for softness, Hune, he would have been called in the original quarto play just mentioned, if Shakspeare had been the author of it; for Holinshed and not Hall was his guide, as I have shown incontestably in a note on King Henry V. vol. xvii. p. 270, n. 4. But Hall was undoubtedly the historian who had been consulted by the original writer of The Contention of the Two Houses of Yorke and Lancaster; as appears from his having taken a line from thence, “That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent* note,” and from the scene in which Cardinal Beaufort is exhibited on his death-bed. One part of the particular description of the Cardinal's death and dying words, in the old quarto play, is founded on a passage in Hall, which Holinshed, though in general a servile copyist of the former chronicler, has omitted. The passage is this: “Dr. John Baker, his pryvie counsailer and hys chapellayn, wrote, that lying on his death-bed he [Cardinal Beaufort] said these words: &mlquo;Why should I dye, havyng so much ryches? If the whole realme would save my lyfe, I am

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able either by pollicie to get it, or by riches to bye it. Fye! will not death be hyered, nor will money do nothynge?” From this the writer of the old play formed these lines:


“O death, if thou wilt let me live
“But one whole year, I'll give thee as much gold
“As will purchase such another island.”

which Shakspeare new-modelled thus:


“If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
“Enough to purchase such another island,
“So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.”

If Shakspeare had been the author of The First Part of the Contention, &c. finding in his Holinshed the name Hun, he would either have preserved it, or softened it to Hune. Working on the old play, where he found the name of Hum, which sounded ridiculous to his ear, he changed it to Hume. But whoever the original writer of the old play was, having used the name of Hum, he must have formed his play on Hall's Chronicle, where alone that name is found. Shakspeare therefore having made Holinshed, and not Hall, his guide, could not have been the writer of it.

It may be remarked, that by the alteration of this priest's name, he has destroyed a rhyme intended by the author of the original play, where Sir John begins a soliloquy with this jingling line:


“Now, Sir John Hum, no word but mum:
“Seal up your lips, for you must silent be.”

which Shakspeare has altered thus:


“&lblank; But how now, Sir John Hume?
“Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum.”

Lines rhyming in the middle and end, similar to that above quoted, are often found in our old English plays, (previous to the time of Shakspeare,) and are generally put into the mouths of priests and friars.

It has already been observed, that in the original play on which The Second Part of King Henry VI. is founded, “Abradas, the Macedonian pirate,” is mentioned. This hero does not appear in Shakspeare's new-modelled play, “Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate,” being introduced in his room. Abradas is spoken of (as Mr. Steevens has remarked) by Robert Greene, the very person whom I suppose to have been one of the joint authors of the original plays, in a pamphlet, entitled Penelope's Web, 1589:—Abradas, the great Macedonean pirate, thought every one had a letter of mart that bare sayles in the ocean.” Of this pirate or his achievements, however celebrated he may have been, I have not found the slightest trace in any book whatsoever, except that above quoted: a singular circumstance, which appears to me strongly to confirm my hypothesis on the present subject; and to support my interpretation of Greene's words in his Groatsworth of Witte, in a former part of the present disquisition.

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However this may be, there are certainly very good grounds for believing that The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses of York and Lancaster, &c. and The true Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, were written by the author or authors of the old King John, printed in 1591.

In The true Tragedie, &c. we find the following lines:


“Let England be true within itself,
“We need not France, nor any alliance with her.”

The first of these lines is found, with a very minute variation, in the old King John, where it runs thus:


“Let England live but true within itself &lblank;.”

Nor is this the only coincidence. In the deservedly admired scene in which Cardinal Beaufort's death is represented, in the original play, (as well as in Shakspeare's Second Part of King Henry VI.) he is called upon to hold up his hand, as a proof of his confidence in God:


“Lord Cardinal,
“If thou diest assured of heavenly blisse,
“Hold up thy hand, and make some sign to us. [The Cardinal dies.
“O see, he dies, and makes no sign at all:
“O God, forgive his soule!”

I quote from the original play.—It is remarkable that a similar proof is demanded in the old play of King John also, when that king is expiring:


“Then, good my lord, if you forgive them all,
“Lift up your hand, in token you forgive.”

Again:


“&lblank; in token of thy faith,
“And signe thou diest the servant of the Lord,
“Lift up thy hand, that we may witnesse here
“Thou diest the servant of our Saviour Christ.—
“Now joy betide thy soul!”

This circumstance appears to me to add considerable support to my conjecture.

One point only remains. It may be asked, if The First Part of King Henry VI. was not written by Shakspeare, why did Heminge and Condell print it with the rest of his works? The only way that I can account for their having done so, is by supposing, either that their memory at the end of thirty years was not accurate concerning our author's pieces, as appears indeed evidently from their omitting Troilus and Cressida, which was not recollected by them, till the whole of the first folio, and even the table of contents, (which is always the last work of the press,) had been printed; or, that they imagined the insertion of this historical drama was necessary to understanding the two pieces that follow it; or lastly, that Shakspeare, for the advantage of his own theatre, having written a few lines in The First Part of King Henry VI. after his own Second

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and Third Part had been played, they conceived this a sufficient warrant for attributing it, along with the others, to him, in the general collection of his works. If Shakspeare was the author of any part of this play, perhaps the second and the following scenes of the fourth Act were his; which are for the most part written in rhyme, and appear to me somewhat of a different complexion from the rest of the play. Nor is this the only instance of their proceeding on this ground; for is it possible to conceive that they could have any other reason for giving Titus Andronicus a place in their edition of Shakspeare's works, than his having written twenty or thirty lines in that piece, or having retouched a few verses of it; if indeed he did so much?

Shakspeare's referring in the Epilogue to King Henry V. which was produced in 1599, to these three parts of King Henry VI. of which the first, by whom soever it was written, appears from the testimony of a contemporary to have been exhibited with great applause* note; and the two latter having been, as I conceive, eight years before new-modelled and almost re-written by our author, we may be confident were performed with the most brilliant success; his supplicating the favour of the audience to his new play of King Henry V.: “for the sake” of these old and popular dramas, which were so closely connected with it, and in the composition of which, as they had for many years been exhibited, he had so considerable a share; the connection between the last scene of King Henry VI. and the first scene of King Richard III. the Shaksperian diction, versification, and figures, by which The Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. are distinguished; “the easiness of expression and the fluency of numbers,” which, it is acknowledged, are found here, and were possessed by no other author of that age; all these circumstances are accounted for by the theory now stated, and all objections† note that have been founded upon them, in my apprehension, vanish away.

On the other hand, the entry on the Stationers' books of the old play, entitled The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, &c. without the name of the author; that piece, and The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, &c. being printed in 1600, anonymously; their being founded on the Chronicle of Hall, who was not Shakspeare's historian, and represented by the servants of Lord Pembroke, by whom none of his uncontested dramas were represented; the colour, diction, and versification of these old plays, the various circumstances, lines and speeches, that are found in them, and not in our author's new-modification of them, as published in folio by his original editors; the resemblances that have been noticed between

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his other works and such parts of these dramas as are only exhibited in their folio edition; the discordances (in matters of fact) between certain parts of the old plays printed in quarto, and Shakspeare's undoubted performances: the transpositions that he has made in these pieces; the repetitions; and the peculiar Shaksperian inaccuracies, and phraseology, which may be traced in the folio, and not in the old quarto plays; these and other circumstances, which have been stated in the foregoing pages, form, when united, such a body of argument and proofs, in support of my hypothesis, as appears to me, (though I will not venture to assert that “the probation bears no hinge or loop to hang a doubt on,”) to lead directly to the door of truth.

It is observable that several portions of the English History had been dramatized before the time of Shakspeare. Thus, we have King John in two parts, by an anonymous writer; Edward I. by George Peele; Edward II. by Christopher Marlowe; Edward III. anonymous; Henry IV. containing the deposition of Richard II. and the accession of Henry to the crown, anonymous* note Henry V. and Richard III. both by anonymous authors† note. Is it not then highly probable, that the whole of the story of Henry VI. had also been brought upon the scene? and that the first of the plays now in question, formerly (as I believe) called The Historical Play of King Henry VI. and now named The First Part of King Henry VI. as well as The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, &c. and The True Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, (which three pieces comprehend the entire reign of that King from his birth to his death,) were the composition of some of the authors, who had produced the historical dramas above enumerated?

In consequence of an hasty and inconsiderate opinion formed by Mr. Pope, without any minute examination of the subject, King John in two parts, printed in 1591, and The old Taming of the Shrew, which was entered at Stationers' Hall in 1594, and printed in 1607, passed for half a century for the composition of Shakspeare. Further inquiries have shown that they were the productions of earlier writers; and perhaps a more profound investigation of this subject than I have been able to make, may hereafter prove decisively, that the first of the three Henries printed in folio, and both the parts of The Whole Contention of the two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, as exhibited in quarto, ought to be classed in the same predicament with the two old plays above mentioned. For my own part, if it should ever be thought proper to reprint the old dramas on which Shakspeare founded some of his plays, which were published in two volumes

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a few years ago, I have no doubt that The First Part of the Contention of the Two Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, &c. and The True Tragedie of the Duke of Yorke, &c. should be added to the number.

Gildon somewhere says, that “in a conversation between Shakspeare and Ben Jonson, Ben asked him the reason why he wrote his historical plays.” Our author (we are told) replied, that “finding the nation generally very ignorant of history, he wrote them in order to instruct the people in that particular.” This anecdote, like many other traditional stories, stands on a very weak foundation; or, to speak more justly, it is certainly a fiction. The malignant Ben does indeed, in his Devil's an Ass, 1616, sneer at our author's historical pieces, which for twenty years preceding had been in high reputation, and probably were then the only historical dramas that had possession of the theatre; but from the list above given, it is clear that Shakspeare was not the first who dramatized our old chronicles; and that the principal events of the English History were familiar to the ears of his audience, before he commenced a writer for the stage* note

: though

-- 595 --

undoubtedly at this day, whatever knowledge of our annals is dispersed among the people, is in a great measure derived from the frequent exhibition of our author's historical plays.

He certainly did not consider writing on fables that had already been formed into dramas, as any derogation from his fame; if indeed fame was ever an object of his thoughts. We know that plays on the subjects of Measure for Measure, The Taming of the Shrew, The Merchant of Venice, King John, King Richard II. King Henry IV. King Henry V. King Richard III. King Lear, Antony and Cleopatra, and, I strongly suspect, on those of Hamlet, Timon of Athens, and Julius Cæsar* note, existed before he commenced a dramatick author; and perhaps in process of time it may be found, that many of the fables of his other plays also had been unskilfully treated, and produced upon the stage, by preceding writers.

Such are the only lights that I am able to throw on this very dark subject. The arguments which I have stated have entirely satisfied my own mind; whether they are entitled to bring conviction to the minds of others, I shall not presume to determine. I produce them, however, with the more confidence, as they have the approbation of one who has given such decisive proofs of his taste and knowledge, by ascertaining the extent of Shakspeare's learning, that I have no doubt his thoughts on the present question also, will have that weight with the publick to which they undoubtedly entitled. It is almost unnecessary to add, that I mean my friend Dr. Farmer; who many years ago

-- 596 --

delivered it as his opinion, that these plays were not written originally by Shakspeare* note

. Malone.

Volume back matter END OF VOL. XVIII.

-- --

James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.

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Volume 18 Volume front matter Title page THE PLAYS AND POEMS OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, WITH THE CORRECTIONS AND ILLUSTRATIONS OF VARIOUS COMMENTATORS: COMPREHENDING A Life of the Poet, AND AN ENLARGED HISTORY OF THE STAGE, BY THE LATE EDMOND MALONE. WITH A NEW GLOSSARIAL INDEX. &grT;&grH;&grST; &grF;&grU;&grS;&grE;&grW;&grST; &grG;&grR;&grA;&grM;&grM;&grA;&grT;&grE;&grU;&grST; &grH;&grN;, &grT;&grO;&grN; &grK;&grA;&grL;&grA;&grM;&grO;&grN; &grA;&grP;&grO;&grB;&grR;&grE;&grX;&grW;&grN; &grE;&grI;&grST; &grN;&grO;&grU;&grN;. Vet. Auct. apud Suidam. VOL. XVIII. LONDON: PRINTED FOR F. C. AND J. RIVINGTON; T. EGERTON; J. CUTHELL; SCATCHERD AND LETTERMAN; LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN; CADELL AND DAVIES; LACKINGTON AND CO.; J. BOOKER; BLACK AND CO.; J. BOOTH; J. RICHARDSON; J. M. RICHARDSON; J. MURRAY; J. HARDING; R. H. EVANS; J. MAWMAN; R. SCHOLEY; T. EARLE; J. BOHN; C. BROWN; GRAY AND SON; R. PHENEY; BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY; NEWMAN AND CO.; OGLES, DUNCAN, AND CO.; T. HAMILTON; W. WOOD; J. SHELDON; E. EDWARDS; WHITMORE AND FENN; W. MASON; G. AND W. B. WHITTAKER; SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL; R. SAUNDERS; J. DEIGHTON AND SONS, CAMBRIDGE: WILSON AND SON, YORK: AND STIRLING AND SLADE, FAIRBAIRN AND ANDERSON, AND D. BROWN, EDINBURGH. 1821.

-- --

Contents
HENRY VI. PART I. HENRY VI. PART II. HENRY VI. PART III. MR. MALONE'S DISSERTATION.

-- 1 --

[Historical Plays] Volume 18: The First Part of King Henry the Sixth

-- 3 --

Introductory matter

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

The historical transactions contained in this play, take in the compass of above thirty years. I must observe, however, that our author, in the three parts of Henry VI. has not been very precise to the date and disposition of his facts; but shuffled them, backwards and forwards, out of time. For instance, the Lord Talbot is killed at the end of the fourth Act of this play, who in reality did not fall till the 13th of July, 1453: and the Second Part of Henry VI. opens with the marriage of the king, which was solemnized eight years before Talbot's death, in the year 1445. Again, in the Second Part, dame Eleanor Cobham is introduced to insult Queen Margaret; though her penance and banishment for sorcery happened three years before that princess came over to England. I could point out many other transgressions against history, as far as the order of time is concerned. Indeed, though there are several master-strokes in these three plays, which incontestably betray the workmanship of Shakspeare; yet I am almost doubtful, whether they were entirely of his writing. And unless they were wrote by him very early, I should rather imagine them to have been brought to him as a director of the stage; and so have received some finishing beauties at his hand. An accurate observer will easily see, the diction of them is more obsolete, and the numbers more mean and prosaical, than in the generality of his genuine compositions. Theobald.

Having given my opinion very fully relative to these plays at the end of The Third Part of King Henry VI. it is here only necessary to apprise the reader what my hypothesis is, that he may be the better enabled, as he proceeds, to judge concerning its probability. Like many others, I was long struck with the many evident Shaksperianisms in these plays, which appeared to me to carry such decisive weight, that I could scarcely bring myself to examine with attention any of the arguments that have been urged against his being the author of them. I am now surprised, (and my readers perhaps may say the same thing of themselves,) that I should never have adverted to a very striking circumstance which distinguishes this first part from the other parts of King Henry VI. This circumstance is, that none of these Shaksperian passages are to be found here, though several are scattered through the two other parts. I am therefore decisively of opinion that this play was not written by Shakspeare. The reasons on which that opinion is founded, are stated at large

-- 4 --

in the Dissertation above referred to. But I would here request the reader to attend particularly to the versification of this piece, (of which almost every line has a pause at the end,) which is so different from that of Shakspeare's undoubted plays, and of the greater part of the two succeeding pieces as altered by him, and so exactly corresponds with that of the tragedies written by others before and about the time of his first commencing author, that this alone might decide the question, without taking into the account the numerous classical allusions which are found in this first part. The reader will be enabled to judge how far this argument deserves attention, from the several extracts from those ancient pieces which he will find in the Essay on this subject.

With respect to the second and third parts of King Henry VI. or, as they were originally called, The Contention of the Two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, they stand, in my apprehension, on a very different ground from that of this first part, or, as I believe it was anciently called, The Play of King Henry VI. —The Contention, &c. printed in two parts, in quarto, the first part in 1594, and the second in 1595, was, I conceive, the production of some playwright who preceded, or was contemporary with Shakspeare; and out of that piece he formed the two plays which are now denominated the Second and Third Parts of King Henry VI.; as, out of the old plays of King John and The Taming of the Shrew, he formed two new plays with the same titles. For the reasons on which this opinion is formed, I must again refer to my Essay on this subject.

This old play of King Henry VI. now before us, or as our author's editors have called it, the First Part of King Henry VI. I suppose, to have been written in 1589, or before. See An Attempt to ascertain the Order of Shakspeare's Plays, vol. ii. The disposition of facts in these three plays, not always corresponding with the dates, which Mr. Theobald mentions, and the want of uniformity and consistency in the series of events exhibited, may perhaps be in some measure accounted for by the hypothesis now stated. As to our author's having accepted these pieces as a Director of the stage, he had, I fear, no pretension to such a situation at so early a period. Malone.

The chief argument on which the first paragraph of the foregoing note depends, is not, in my opinion, conclusive. This historical play might have been one of our author's earliest dramatick efforts: and almost every young poet begins his career by imitation. Shakspeare, therefore, till he felt his own strength, perhaps servilely conformed to the style and manner of his predecessors. Thus, the captive eaglet described by Rowe:


“&lblank; a while endures his cage and chains,
“And like a prisoner with the clown remains:
“But when his plumes shoot forth, his pinions swell,
“He quits the rustick and his homely cell,

-- 5 --


“Breaks from his bonds, and in the face of day
“Full in the sun's bright beams he soars away.”

What further remarks I may offer on this subject, will appear in the form of notes to Mr. Malone's Essay, from which I do not wantonly differ,—though hardily, I confess, as far as my sentiments may seem to militate against those of Dr. Farmer. Steevens.

-- 6 --

PERSONS REPRESENTED. King Henry the Sixth. Duke of Gloster, Uncle to the King, and Protector. Duke of Bedford, Uncle to the King, and Regent of France. Thomas Beaufort, Duke of Exeter, great Uncle to the King. Henry Beaufort, great Uncle to the King, Bishop of Winchester, and afterwards Cardinal. John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset; afterwards, Duke. Richard Plantagenet, eldest Son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge; afterwards Duke of York. Earl of Warwick. Earl of Salisbury. Earl of Suffolk. Lord Talbot, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury [Shrewsbury]: John Talbot, his Son. Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. Mortimer's Keeper, A Lawyer. Sir John Fastolfe. Sir William Lucy. Sir William Glansdale. Sir Thomas Gargrave. Mayor of London. Woodville, Lieutenant of the Tower. Vernon, of the White Rose, or York Faction. Basset, of the Red Rose, or Lancaster Faction. Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France. Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples. Duke of Burgundy. Duke of Alençon [Duke of Alencon]. Governor of Paris. Bastard of Orleans. Master Gunner of Orleans, His Son [Master Gunner's Son]. General of the French Forces in Bourdeaux. A French Sergeant. A Porter. An old Shepherd, Father to Joan la Pucelle. Margaret, Daughter to Reignier; afterwards married to King Henry. Countess of Auvergne. Joan la Pucelle, commonly called Joan of Arc. Fiends appearing to La Pucelle, Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and several Attendants both on the English and French. [Messenger], [Messenger 2], [Messenger 3], [Warder 1], [Warder 2], [Servant], [Servant 1], [Servant 2], [Servant 3], [Sentinel 1], [Captain], [Soldier], [Guard], [Officer], [Legate] SCENE, partly in England, and partly in France.

-- 7 --

FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT I. SCENE I. Westminster Abbey. Dead march. Corpse of King Henry the Fifth discovered, lying in state; attended on by the Dukes of Bedford, Gloster, and Exeter; the Earl of Warwick1 note, the Bishop of Winchester, Heralds, &c.

Bed.
Hung be the heavens with black2 note, yield day to night!
Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandish your crystal tresses3 note





in the sky;

-- 8 --


And with them scourge the bad revolting stars,
That have consented4 note

















unto Henry's death!

-- 9 --


King Henry the fifth5 note, too famous to live long6 note
!
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

Glo.
England ne'er had a king, until his time.
Virtue he had, deserving to command:
His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams;
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings7 note
;
His sparkling eyes replete with wrathful fire,
More dazzled and drove back his enemies,
Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces.
What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:

-- 10 --


He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered.

Exe.
We mourn in black; Why mourn we not in blood?
Henry is dead, and never shall revive:
Upon a wooden coffin we attend;
And death's dishonourable victory
We with our stately presence glorify,
Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
What? shall we curse the planets of mishap,
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French8 note


Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,
By magick verses have contriv'd his end?

Win.
He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.
Unto the French the dreadful judgment day
So dreadful will not be, as was his sight.
The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:
The church's prayers made him so prosperous.

Glo.
The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd,
His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:
None do you like but an effeminate prince,
Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe,

Win.
Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art protector;
And lookest to command the prince, and realm.
Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe.
More than God, or religious churchmen, may.

-- 11 --

Glo.
Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh;
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st,
Except it be to pray against thy foes.

Bed.
Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds in peace!
Let's to the altar:—Heralds, wait on us:—
Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms;
Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead.—
Posterity, await for wretched years,
When at their mothers' moisten'd eyes9 note babes shall suck;
Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears1 note








,

-- 12 --


And none but women left to wail the dead.—
Henry the fifth! thy ghost I invocate;
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils!
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
A far more glorious star thy soul will make,
Than Julius Cæsar, or bright2 note

&lblank; Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
My honourable lords, health to you all!
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture:
Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans3 note,

-- 13 --


Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.

Bed.
What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
Speak softly; or the loss of those great towns
Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death.

Glo.
Is Paris lost? is Roüen yielded up?
If Henry were recall'd to life again,
These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.

Exe.
How were they lost? what treachery was us'd?

Mess.
No treachery; but want of men and money.
Among the soldiers this is muttered,—
That here you maintain several factions;
And, whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your generals.
One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
A third thinks4 note, without expence at all,
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English nobility!
Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot:
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
Of England's coat one half is cut away.

Exe.
Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
These tidings would call forth her flowing tides5 note.

Bed.
Me they concern; regent I am of France:—
Give me my steeled coat, I'll fight for France.—
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!

-- 14 --


Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes,
To weep their intermissive miseries6 note. Enter another Messenger.

2 Mess.
Lords, view these letters, full of bad mischance,
France is revolted from the English quite;
Except some petty towns of no import:
The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims;
The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
Reignier, duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
The duke of Alençon flieth to his side.

Exe.
The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

Glo.
We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats:—
Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.

Bed.
Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
Wherewith already France is over-run.
Enter a third Messenger.

3 Mess.
My gracious lords,—to add to your laments,
Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse,—
I must inform you of a dismal fight,
Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French.

Win.
What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?

3 Mess.
O, no; wherein lord Talbot was o'erthrown:
The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord,

-- 15 --


Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
Having full scarce six thousand in his troop7 note
,
By three and twenty thousand of the French
Was round encompassed and set upon:
No leisure had he to enrank his men;
He wanted pikes to set before his archers;
Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges,
They pitched in the ground confusedly,
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
More than three hours the fight continued;
Where valiant Talbot, above human thought,
Enacted wonders8 note

with his sword and lance.
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;
Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he slew9 note:
The French exclaim'd, The devil was in arms;
All the whole army stood agaz'd on him:
His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,
A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain,
And rush'd into the bowels of the battle1 note



.
Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up,
If sir John Fastolfe2 note








had not play'd the coward;

-- 16 --


He being in the vaward, (plac'd behind3 note

,
With purpose to relieve and follow them,)
Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;
Enclosed were they with their enemies:
A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,
Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back;

-- 17 --


Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength,
Durst not presume to look once in the face.

Bed.
Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself,
For living idly here, in pomp and ease,
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
Unto his dastard foe-men is betray'd.

3 Mess.
O no, he lives; but is took prisoner,
And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford:
Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took, likewise.

Bed.
His ransom there is none but I shall pay:
I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne,
His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;
Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.—
Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,
To keep our great Saint George's feast withal:
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.

3 Mess.
So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd;
The English army is grown weak and faint:
The earl of Salisbury craveth supply,
And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.

Exe.
Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn;
Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.

Bed.
I do remember it; and here take leave,
To go about my preparation.
[Exit.

Glo.
I'll to the Tower, with all the haste I can,
To view the artillery and munition;
And then I will proclaim young Henry king.
[Exit.

Exe.
To Eltham will I, where the young king is,
Being ordain'd his special governor;
And for his safety there I'll best devise.
[Exit.

-- 18 --

Win.
Each hath his place and function to attend:
I am left out; for me nothing remains.
But long I will not be Jack-out-of-office;
The king from Eltham I intend to send,
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal4 note





. [Exit. Scene closes. SCENE II. France. Before Orleans. Enter Charles, with his Forces; Alençon, Reignier, and Others.

Char.
Mars his true moving5 note, even as in the heavens,

-- 19 --


So in the earth, to this day is not known:
Late did he shine upon the English side:
Now we are victors upon us he smiles.
What towns of any moment, but we have?
At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans;
Otherwhiles, the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

Alen.
They want their porridge, and their fat bull-beeves:
Either they must be dieted like mules,
And have their provender tyed to their mouths,
Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.

Reig.
Let's raise the siege; Why live we idly here?
Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear:
Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury;
And he may well in fretting spend his gall,
Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war.

Char.
Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on them.
Now for the honour of the forlorn French:—
Him I forgive my death, that killeth me,
When he sees me go back one foot, or fly.
[Exeunt. Alarums; Excursions; afterwards a Retreat. Re-enter Charles, Alençon, Reignier, and Others.

Char.
Who ever saw the like? what men have I?—
Dogs! cowards! dastards!—I would ne'er have fled,
But that they left me 'midst my enemies.

Reig.
Salisbury is a desperate homicide;
He fighteth as one weary of his life.
The other lords, like lions wanting food,

-- 20 --


Do rush upon us as their hungry prey6 note


.

Alen.
Froissard, a countryman of ours, records,
England all Olivers and Rowlands bred7 note

,
During the time Edward the third did reign.
More truly now may this be verified;
For none but Samsons, and Goliasses,
It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!
Lean raw-bon'd rascals! who would e'er suppose
They had such courage and audacity?

Char.
Let's leave this town; for they are hairbrain'd slaves,
And hunger will enforce them to be more eager8 note



:
Of old I know them; rather with their teeth
The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege.

Reig.
I think, by some odd gimmals9 note



or device,

-- 21 --


Their arms are set, like clocks1 note

, still to strike on;
Else ne'er could they hold out so, as they do.
By my consent, we'll e'en let them alone.

Alen.
Be it so.
Enter the Bastard of Orleans.

Bast.
Where's the prince Dauphin? I have news for him.

Char.
Bastard of Orleans2 note


thrice welcome to us.

-- 22 --

Bast.
Methinks, your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd3 note


;
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?
Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand:
A holy maid hither with me I bring,
Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven,
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege,
And drive the English forth the bounds of France.
The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome4 note;
What's past and what's to come, she can descry.
Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words5 note


,
For they are certain and unfallible.

Char.
Go, call her in: [Exit Bastard.] But, first, to try her skill,
Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place:

-- 23 --


Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern:—
By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. [Retires. Enter La Pucelle, Bastard of Orleans, and Others.

Reig.
Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wond'rous feats?

Puc.
Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?—
Where is the Dauphin?—come, come from behind:
I know thee well, though never seen before.
Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me:
In private will I talk with thee apart;—
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave a while.

Reig.
She takes upon her bravely at first dash.

Puc.
Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.
Heaven and our Lady gracious, hath it pleas'd
To shine on my contemptible estate6 note

:
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,
And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,
God's mother deigned to appear to me:
And, in a vision full of majesty7 note
,
Will'd me to leave my base vocation,
And free my country from calamity:
Her aid she promis'd, and assur'd success:
In cómplete glory she reveal'd herself;
And, whereas I was black and swart before,
With those clear rays which she infus'd on me,

-- 24 --


That beauty am I bless'd with, which you may see8 note.
Ask me what question thou canst possible,
And I will answer unpremeditated:
My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st,
And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
Resolve on this9 note

: Thou shalt be fortunate,
If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.

Char.
Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms;
Only this proof I'll of thy valour make,—
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me;
And, if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
Otherwise, I renounce all confidence.

Puc.
I am prepar'd: here is my keen-edg'd sword,
Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side1 note

;
The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's church-yard,
Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth2 note


.

-- 25 --

Char.
Then come o' God's name, I fear no woman.

Puc.
And, while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.
[They fight.

Char.
Stay, stay, thy hands; thou art an Amazon,
And fightest with the sword of Deborah.

Puc.
Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak.

Char.
Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me:
Impatiently I burn with thy desire3 note


;
My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd.
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,
Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be;
'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.

Puc.
I must not yield to any rites of love,
For my profession's sacred from above:
When I have chased all thy foes from hence,
Then will I think upon a recompense.

Char.
Mean time look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.

Reig.
My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.

Alen.
Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.

Reig.
Shall we disturb, him, since he keeps no mean?

Alen.
He may mean more than we poor men do know:

-- 26 --


These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.

Reig.
My lord, where are you? what devise you on?
Shall we give over Orleans, or no?

Puc.
Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants!
Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.

Char.
What she says, I'll confirm; we'll fight it out.

Puc.
Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.
This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
Expect Saint Martin's summer4 note, halcyon days,
Since I have entered into these wars.
Glory is like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,
Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought5 note



















.

-- 27 --


With Henry's death, the English circle ends;
Dispersed are the glories it included.
Now am I like that proud insulting ship,
Which Cæsar and his fortune bare at once6 note
.

Char.
Was Mahomet inspired with a dove7 note?
Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters8 note, were like thee.
Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
How may I reverently worship thee enough9 note


?

Alen.
Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.

-- 28 --

Reig.
Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;
Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd.

Char.
Presently we'll try:—Come, let's away about it:
No prophet will I trust, if she prove false.
[Exeunt. SCENE III. London. Hill before the Tower. Enter, at the Gates, the Duke of Gloster, with his Serving-men, in blue Coats.

Glo.
I am come to survey the Tower this day;
Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance1 note

.—
Where be these warders, that they wait not here?
Open the gates; Gloster it is that calls. [Servants knock.

1 Ward. [Within.]
Who is there that knocks so imperiously?

1 Serv.
It is the noble duke of Gloster.

2 Ward. [Within.]
Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in.

1 Serv.
Answer you so the lord protector, villains?

1 Ward. [Within.]
The Lord protect him! so we answer him:
We do no otherwise than we are will'd.

Glo.
Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine?
There's none protector of the realm, but I.—

-- 29 --


Break up the gates2 note


, I'll be your warrantize:
Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? Servants rush at the Tower Gates. Enter, to the Gates, Woodville, the Lieutenant.

Wood. [Within.]
What noise is this? what traitors have we here?

Glo.
Lieutenant, is it you, whose voice I hear?
Open the gates; here's Gloster that would enter.

Wood. [Within.]
Have patience, noble duke; I may not open;
The cardinal of Winchester forbids:
From him I have express commandement,
That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in.

Glo.
Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him, 'fore me?
Arrogant Winchester? that haughty prelate,
Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook?
Thou art no friend to God, or to the king:
Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.

1 Serv.
Open the gates unto the lord protector;
Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.

-- 30 --

Enter Winchester, attended by a Train of Servants in Tawny Coats3 note





.

Win.
How now, ambitious Humphry? what means this4 note?

Glo.
Peel'd priest5 note




, dost thou command me to be shut out?

-- 31 --

Win.
I do, thou most usurping proditor,
And not protector of the king or realm.

Glo.
Stand back, thou manifest conspirator,
Thou, that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord;
Thou that giv'st whores indulgences to sin6 note

:
I'll canvas thee in thy broad cardinal's hat7 note




,

-- 32 --


If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

Win.
Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot;
This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain8 note

,
To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.

Glo.
I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back:
Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing-cloth
I'll use, to carry thee out of this place.

Win.
Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy face.

Glo.
What? am I dar'd, and bearded to my face?—
Draw, men, for all this privileged place;
Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard; [Gloster and his Men attack the Bishop.
I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly:
Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat;
In spite of pope or dignities of church,
Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.

Win.
Gloster, thou'lt answer this before the pope.

-- 33 --

Glo.
Winchester goose9 note! I cry—a rope! a rope1 note!—
Now beat them hence, Why do you let them stay?—
Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.—
Out, tawny coats!—out, scarlet hypocrite2 note!
Here a great Tumult. In the midst of it, Enter the Mayor of London3 note, and Officers.

May.
Fye, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,
Thus contumeliously should break the peace!

Glo.
Peace, mayor; thou know'st little of my wrongs:
Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king,
Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.

Win.
Here's Gloster too, a foe to citizens4 note;
One that still motions war and never peace,
O'ercharging your free purses with large fines;
That seeks to overthrow religion,
Because he is protector of the realm;
And would have armour here out of the Tower,
To crown himself king, and suppress the prince.

Glo.
I will not answer thee with words, but blows.
[Here they skirmish again.

May.
Nought rests for me, in this tumultuous strife,

-- 34 --


But to make open proclamation:—
Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou can'st. Off.

All manner of men, assembled here in arms this day, against God's peace and the king's, we charge and command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death.

Glo.
Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law:
But we shall meet, and break our minds at large.

Win.
Gloster, we'll meet; to thy dear cost, be sure:5 note
Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.

May.
I'll call for clubs, if you will not away6 note

:—
This cardinal is more haughty than the devil.

Glo.
Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou may'st.

Win.
Abominable Gloster! guard thy head;
For I intend to have it, ere long.
[Exeunt.

May.
See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.—
Good God! that nobles should such stomachs7 note



bear!
I myself fight not once in forty year8 note



. [Exeunt.

-- 35 --

SCENE IV. France. Before Orleans. Enter, on the Walls, the Master-Gunner and his Son.

M. Gun.
Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieg'd;
And how the English have the suburbs won.

Son.
Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,
Howe'er, unfortunate, I miss'd my aim.

M. Gun.
But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd by me:
Chief master-gunner am I of this town;

-- 36 --


Something I must do to procure me grace.
The prince's espials9 note


have informed me,
How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd,
Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars
In yonder tower, to overpeer the city1 note




;
And thence discover, how, with most advantage,
They may vex us, with shot, or with assault.
To intercept this inconvenience,
A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd;
And fully even these three days have I watch'd,
If I could see them.
Now, do thou watch, for I can stay no longer2 note




.

-- 37 --


If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;
And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit.

Son.
Father, I warrant you; take you no care;
I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.
Enter in an upper Chamber of a Tower, the Lords Salisbury and Talbot3 note, Sir William Glansdale, Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Others.

Sal.
Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!
How wert thou handled, being prisoner?
Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd?
Discourse, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top.

Tal.
The duke of Bedford had a prisoner,
Called—the brave lord Ponton de Santrailes;
For him I was exchang'd and ransomed.
But with a baser man of arms by far,
Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me:
Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death
Rather than I would be so vile-esteem'd4 note



.

-- 38 --


In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd.
But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart!
Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
If I now had him brought into my power.

Sal.
Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert entertain'd.

Tal.
With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts.
In open market-place produc'd they me,
To be a publick spectacle to all;
Here, said they, is the terror of the French,

-- 39 --


The scare-crow that affrights our children so5 note
.
Then broke I from the officers that led me;
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground,
To hurl at the beholders of my shame.
My grisly countenance made others fly;
None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread,
That they suppos'd, I could rend bars of steel,
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,
That walk'd about me every minute-while;
And if I did but stir out of my bed,
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.

Sal.
I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd;
But we will be reveng'd sufficiently.
Now it is supper-time in Orleans:
Here thorough this grate, I count each one6 note
,
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify;
Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee.—
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale,
Let me have your express opinions,
Where is best place to make our battery next.

Gar.
I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords.

-- 40 --

Glan.
And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.

Tal.
For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled7 note.
[Shot from the Town. Salisbury and Sir Tho. Gargrave fall.

Sal.
O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

Gar.
O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man!

Tal.
What chance is this, that suddenly hath cross'd us?—
Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak;
How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men?
One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off8 note!—
Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand,
That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy!
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;
Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars;
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.—
Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,
One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace9 note

:
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.—
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!—
Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it.—
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?
Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.

-- 41 --


Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;
Thou shalt not die, whiles—
He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me;
As who should say, When I am dead and gone,
Remember to avenge me on the French.—
Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero1 note



,
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
Wretched shall France be only in my name. [Thunder heard; afterwards an Alarum.
What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens?
Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise? Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd head:
The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,—
A holy prophetess, new risen up,—
Is come with a great power to raise the siege.
[Salisbury groans.

Tal.
Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan!
It irks his heart, he cannot be reveng'd.—
Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you:—
Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish2 note




,

-- 42 --


Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels,
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.—
Convey me Salisbury into his tent,
And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare3 note
. [Exeunt, bearing out the Bodies.

-- 43 --

SCENE V. The Same. Before one of the Gates. Alarum. Skirmishings. Talbot pursueth the Dauphin, and driveth him in: then enter Joan la Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her. Then enter Talbot.

Tal.
Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?
Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them;
A woman, clad in armour, chaseth them. Enter La Pucelle.
Here, here she comes:—I'll have a bout with thee;
Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:
Blood will I draw on thee4 note, thou art a witch,
And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.

Puc.
Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.
[They fight.

Tal.
Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?
My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage,
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder,
But I will chástise this high-minded strumpet.

Puc.
Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:
I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved5 note

men;
Help Salisbury to make his testament:

-- 44 --


This day is ours, as many more shall be. [Pucelle enters the Town, with Soldiers.

Tal.
My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel6 note;
I know not where I am, nor what I do:
A witch, by fear7 note, not force, like Hannibal,
Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists:
So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench,
Are from their hives, and houses, driven away.
They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs;
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. [A short Alarum.
Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight,
Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:
Sheep run not half so timorous8 note from the wolf,
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard,
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. [Alarum. Another skirmish.
It will not be:—Retire into your trenches:
You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.—
Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,
In spite of us, or aught that we could do.
O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
The shame hereof will make me hide my head.
[Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Talbot and his Forces, &c.

-- 45 --

SCENE VI. The Same. Enter, on the Walls, Pucelle, Charles, Reignier, Alencon, and Soldiers.

Puc.
Advance our waving colours on the walls;
Rescu'd is Orleans from the English9 note


:—
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

Char.
Divinest creature, Astræa's daughter,
How shall I honour th ee for this success?
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens1 note



,

-- 46 --


That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next.—
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!—

-- 47 --


Recover'd is the town of Orleans:
More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.

Reig.
Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town2 note



?
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires,
And feast and banquet in the open streets,
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.

Alen.
All France will be replete with mirth and joy,
When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.

Char.
'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;
For which, I will divide my crown with her:
And all the priests and friars in my realm
Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise.
A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear,
Than Rhodope's3 note






, or Memphis', ever was:

-- 48 --


In memory of her, when she is dead,
Her ashes, in an urn more precious
Than the rich-jewel'd coffer of Darius4 note

,

-- 49 --


Transported shall be at high festivals
Before the kings and queens of France5 note
.
No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry,
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.
Come in; and let us banquet royally,
After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. The Same. Enter to the Gates, a French Sergeant, and Two Sentinels.

Serg.
Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant:
If any noise, or soldier, you perceive,
Near to the walls, by some apparent sign,
Let us have knowledge at the court of guard6 note.

1 Sent.
Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Sergeant.] Thus are poor servitors
(When others sleep upon their quiet beds,)
Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.
Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and Forces, with scaling Ladders, their Drums beating a dead march.

Tal.
Lord regent,—and redoubted Burgundy,—

-- 50 --


By whose approach, the regions of Artois,
Walloon and Picardy, are friends to us,—
This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,
Having all day carous'd and banqueted:
Embrace we then this opportunity;
As fitting best to quittance their deceit,
Contriv'd by art, and baleful sorcery.

Bed.
Coward of France!—how much he wrongs his fame,
Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
To join with witches, and the help of hell.

Bur.
Traitors have never other company.—
But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure?

Tal.
A maid, they say.

Bed.
A maid! and be so martial!

Bur.
Pray God, she prove not masculine ere long;
If underneath the standard of the French,
She carry armour, as she hath begun.

Tal.
Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:
God is our fortress; in whose conquering name,
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

Bed.
Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.

Tal.
Not altogether: better far, I guess,
That we do make our entrance several ways;
That, if it chance the one of us do fail,
The other yet may rise against their force.

Bed.
Agreed; I'll to yon corner.

Bur.
And I to this.

Tal.
And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.—
Now, Salisbury! for thee, and for the right
Of English Henry, shall, this night appear
How much in duty I am bound to both.
[The English scale the Walls, crying St. George! a Talbot! and all enter by the Town.

-- 51 --

Sent. [Within.]
Arm, arm! the enemy doth make assault!
The French leap over the Walls in their Shirts. Enter, several ways, Bastard, Alencon, Reignier, half ready, and half unready.

Alen.
How now, my lords? what, all unready so7 note




?

Bast.
Unready? ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well.

Reig.
'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,
Hearing alarums at our chamber doors8 note
.

Alen.
Of all exploits, since first I follow'd arms,
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprize
More venturous, or desperate than this.

Bast.
I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell.

Reig.
If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.

Alen.
Here cometh Charles; I marvel, how he sped.

-- 52 --

Enter Charles and La Pucelle.

Bast.
Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.

Char.
Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?
Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,
Make us partakers of a little gain,
That now our loss might be ten times so much?

Puc.
Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend?
At all times will you have my power alike?
Sleeping or waking, must I still prevail,
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?—
Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,
This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.

Char.
Duke of Alençon, this was your default;
That, being captain of the watch to-night,
Did look no better to that weighty charge.

Alen.
Had all your quarters been as safely kept,
As that whereof I had the government,
We had not been thus shamefully surpriz'd.

Bast.
Mine was secure.

Reig.
And so was mine, my lord.

Char.
And, for myself, most part of all this night,
Within her quarter, and mine own precinct,
I was employed in passing to and fro,
About relieving of the sentinels:
Then how, or which way, should they first break in?

Puc.
Question, my lords, no further of the case,
How, or which way; 'tis sure, they found some place
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
And now there rests no other shift but this,—
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd,
And lay new platforms9 note to endamage them.

-- 53 --

Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying, a Talbot! a Talbot1 note





! They fly, leaving their Clothes behind.

Sold.
I'll be so bold to take what they have left.
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;
For I have loaden me with many spoils,
Using no other weapon but his name.
[Exit.

-- 54 --

SCENE II. Orleans. Within the Town. Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain, and Others.

Bed.
The day begins to break, and night is fled,
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.
[Retreat sounded.

Tal.
Bring forth the body of old Salisbury;
And here advance it in the market-place,
The middle centre of this cursed town.—
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul2 note


;
For every drop of blood was drawn from him,
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night.
And, that hereafter ages may behold
What ruin happen'd in revenge of him,
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd:
Upon the which, that every one may read,
Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans;
The treacherous manner of his mournful death,
And what a terror he had been to France.
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,
I muse, we met not with the Dauphin's grace;
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc;
Nor any of his false confederates.

Bed.
'Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight began,
Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds

-- 55 --


They did, amongst the troops of armed men,
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.

Bur.
Myself (as far as I could well discern,
For smoke, and dusky vapours of the night,)
Am sure, I scar'd the Dauphin, and his trull;
When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves,
That could not live asunder day or night.
After that things are set in order here,
We'll follow them with all the power we have.
Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
All hail, my lords! which of this princely train
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
So much applauded through the realm of France?

Tal.
Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him?

Mess.
The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne,
With modesty admiring thy renown,
By me entreats, good lord, thou would'st vouchsafe
To visit her poor castle where she lies3 note;
That she may boast she hath beheld the man
Whose glory fills the world with loud report.

Bur.
Is it even so? Nay, then, I see, our wars
Will turn unto a peaceful comick sport,
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.—
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.

Tal.
Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men
Could not prevail with all their oratory,
Yet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd:—
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks:
And in submission will attend on her.—
Will not your honours bear me company?

-- 56 --

Bed.
No, truly; it is more than manners will:
And I have heard it said,—Unbidden guests
Are often welcomest when they are gone.

Tal.
Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,
I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.
Come hither, captain. [Whispers.]—You perceive my mind.

Capt.
I do, my lord; and mean accordingly.
[Exeunt. SCENE III. Auvergne. Court of the Castle. Enter the Countess and her Porter.

Count.
Porter, remember what I gave in charge;
And, when you have done so, bring the keys to me.

Port.
Madam, I will.
[Exit.

Count.
The plot is laid: if all things fall out right,
I shall as famous be by this exploit,
As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death.
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight,
And his achievements of no less account:
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
To give their censure4 note
of these rare reports.
Enter Messenger and Talbot.

Mess.
Madam,
According as your ladyship desir'd,
By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come.

Count.
And he is welcome. What! is this the man?

-- 57 --

Mess.
Madam, it is.

Count.
Is this the scourge of France?
Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad,
That with his name the mothers still their babes5 note

?
I see report is fabulous and false:
I thought, I should have seen some Hercules,
A second Hector, for his grim aspéct,
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf:
It cannot be, this weak and writhled6 note



shrimp
Should strike such terror to his enemies.

Tal.
Madam, I have been bold to trouble you:
But, since your ladyship is not at leisure,
I'll sort some other time to visit you.

Count.
What means he now?—Go ask him, whither he goes.

Mess.
Stay, my lord Talbot; for my lady craves
To know the cause of your abrupt departure.

Tal.
Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
I go to certify her, Talbot's here.
Re-enter Porter, with Keys.

Count.
If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.

Tal.
Prisoner! to whom?

Count.
To me, blood-thirsty lord;
And for that cause I train'd thee to my house.

-- 58 --


Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
For in my gallery thy picture hangs:
But now the substance shall endure the like;
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,
That hast by tyranny, these many years,
Wasted our country, slain our citizens,
And sent our sons and husbands captivate7 note

.

Tal.
Ha, ha, ha!

Count.
Laughest thou, wretch; thy mirth shall turn to moan.

Tal.
I laugh to see your ladyship so fond8 note
,
To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow,
Whereon to practise your severity.

Count.
Why, art not thou the man?

Tal.
I am indeed.

Count.
Then have I substance too.

Tal.
No, no, I am but shadow of myself9 note
:
You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here;
For what you see, is but the smallest part
And least proportion of humanity:
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,
Your roof were not sufficient to contain it.

Count.
This is a riddling merchant for the nonce1 note


;
He will be here, and yet he is not here:
How can these contrarieties agree?

-- 59 --

Tal.
That will I show you presently2 note
. He winds a Horn. Drums heard; then a Peal of Ordnance. The Gates being forced, enter Soldiers.
How say you, madam? are you now persuaded,
That Talbot is but shadow of himself?
These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength,
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks;
Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns,
And in a moment makes them desolate.

Count.
Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse:
I find, thou art no less than fame hath bruited3 note

,
And more than may be gather'd by thy shape.
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath;
For I am sorry, that with reverence
I did not entertain thee as thou art.

Tal.
Be not dismay'd fair lady; nor misconstrue
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
The outward composition of his body.
What you have done hath not offended me:
No other satisfaction do I crave,
But only (with your patience,) that we may
Tatse of your wine, and see what cates you have;
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.

Count.
With all my heart; and think me honoured
To feast so great a warrior in my house.
[Exeunt.

-- 60 --

SCENE IV. London. The Temple Garden. Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick; Richard Plantagenet, Vernon, and another Lawyer4 note.

Plan.
Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this silence?
Dare no man answer in a case of truth?

Suf.
Within the Temple hall we were too loud;
The garden here is more convenient.

Plan.
Then say at once, if I maintain'd the truth;
Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error5 note



?

Suf.
'Faith, I have been a truant in the law;
And never yet could frame my will to it;
And, therefore, frame the law unto my will.

Som.
Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then between us.

War.
Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch,
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth,
Between two blades, which bears the better temper,
Between two horses, which doth bear him best6 note
,

-- 61 --


Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye,
I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment:
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.

Plan.
Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:
The truth appears so naked on my side,
That any purblind eye may find it out.

Som.
And on my side it is so well apparell'd,
So clear, so shining, and so evident,
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.

Plan.
Since you are tongue-ty'd, and so loath to speak,
In dumb significants7 note

proclaim your thoughts:
Let him, that is a true-born gentleman,
And stands upon the honour of his birth,
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me8 note





.

-- 62 --

Som.
Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer,
But dare maintain the party of the truth,
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.

War.
I love no colours9 note

; and, without all colour
Of base insinuating flattery,
I pluck this white rose, with Plantagenet.

Suf.
I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset;
And say withal, I think he held the right.

Ver.
Stay, lords, and gentlemen; and pluck no more,
Till you conclude—that he, upon whose side
The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree,
Shall yield the other in the right opinion.

Som.
Good master Vernon, it is well objected1 note






;
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.

Plan.
And I.

Ver.
Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,

-- 63 --


I pluck this pale, and maiden blossom here,
Giving my verdict on the white rose side.

Som.
Prick not your finger as you pluck it off;
Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red,
And fall on my side so against your will.

Ver.
If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed,
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt,
And keep me on the side where still I am.

Som.
Well, well, come on: Who else?

Law.
Unless my study and my books be false,
The argument you held, was wrong in you; [To Somerset.
In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too.

Plan.
Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

Som.
Here, in my scabbard; meditating that,
Shall die your white rose in a bloody red.

Plan.
Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
The truth on our side.

Som.
No, Plantagenet,
'Tis not for fear; but anger,—that thy cheeks2 note
Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses;
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.

Plan.
Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

Som.
Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

Plan.
Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;
Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.

Som.
Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding-roses,
That shall maintain what I have said is true,
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.

Plan.
Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,

-- 64 --


I scorn thee and thy faction3 note




, peevish boy.

Suf.
Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.

Plan.
Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him and thee.

Suf.
I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.

Som.
Away, away, good William De-la-Poole!
We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him.

War.
Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;
His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence4 note,
Third son to the third Edward king of England;

-- 65 --


Spring crestless yeomen5 note from so deep a root?

Plan.
He bears him on the place's privilege6 note

,
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.

Som.
By him that made me, I'll maintain my words
On any plot of ground in Christendom:
Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge,
For treason executed in our late king's days7 note?
And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted,
Corrupted, and exempt8 note from ancient gentry?
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman.

Plan.
My father was attached, not attainted;
Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;
And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,
Were growing time once ripen'd9 note
to my will.
For your partaker Poole1 note



, and you yourself,

-- 66 --


I'll note you in my book of memory2 note




,
To scourge you for this apprehension3 note


:
Look to it well; and say you are well warn'd.

Som.
Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still:
And know us, by these colours, for thy foes;
For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear.

Plan.
And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate4 note




,
Will I for ever, and my faction, wear;
Until it wither with me to my grave,
Or flourish to the height of my degree.

-- 67 --

Suf.
Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition!
And so farewell, until I meet thee next.
[Exit.

Som.
Have with thee, Poole.—Farewell, ambitious Richard.
[Exit.

Plan.
How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure it!

War.
This blot, that they object against your house,
Shall be wip'd out5 note in the next parliament,
Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster:
And, if thou be not then created York,
I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
Mean time, in signal of my love to thee,
Against proud Somerset, and William Poole,
Will I upon thy party wear this rose:
And here I prophecy,—This brawl to-day,
Grown to this faction, in the Temple garden,
Shall send, between the red rose and the white,
A thousand souls to death and deadly night.

Plan.
Good master Vernon, I am bound to you,
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.

Ver.
In your behalf still will I wear the same.

Law.
And so will I.

Plan.
Thanks, gentle sir6 note


.
Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say,
This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt.

-- 68 --

SCENE V. The Same. A Room in the Tower. Enter Mortimer7 note















, brought in a Chair by Two Keepers.

Mor.
Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,

-- 69 --


Let dying Mortimer here rest himself8 note




.—
Even like a man new haled from the rack,

-- 70 --


So fare my limbs with long imprisonment:
And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death9 note,

-- 71 --


Nestor-like aged, in an age of care,
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
These eyes,—like lamps whose wasting oil is spent1 note
,—

-- 72 --


Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent2 note


:
Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'ning grief;
And pithless arms3 note



, like to a wither'd vine
That droops his sapless branches to the ground:—
Yet are these feet—whose strengthless stay is numb,
Unable to support this lump of clay,—
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,
As witting I no other comfort have.—
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?

1 Keep.
Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come:
We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber;
And answer was return'd that he will come.

Mor.
Enough: my soul shall then be satisfied.—
Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
(Before whose glory I was great in arms,)
This loathsome sequestration have I had4 note
;
And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd,
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance:
But now, the arbitrator of despairs,
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries5 note



,

-- 73 --


With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence;
I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd,
That so he might recover what was lost. Enter Richard Plantagenet.

1 Keep.
My lord, your loving nephew now is come.

Mor.
Richard Plantagenet, my friend? Is he come?

Plan.
Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd,
Your nephew, late-despised6 note Richard, comes.

Mor.
Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck,
And in his bosom spend my latter gasp:
O, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks,
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.—
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,
Why didst thou say—of late thou wert despis'd?

Plan.
First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;
And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease7 note








.

-- 74 --


This day, in argument upon a case,
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me:
Among which terms he used his lavish tongue,
And did upbraid me with my father's death;
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
Else with the like I had requited him:
Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,
In honour of a true Plantagenet,
And for alliance' sake, declare the cause
My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head.

Mor.
That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me,
And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth,
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,
Was cursed instrument of his decease.

Plan.
Discover more at large what cause that was;
For I am ignorant, and cannot guess.

Mor.
I will; if that my fading breath permit,
And death approach not ere my tale be done.
Henry the fourth, grandfather to this king,
Depos'd his nephew Richard8 note

; Edward's son,

-- 75 --


The first-begotten, and the lawful heir
Of Edward king, the third of that descent:
During whose reign, the Percies of the north,
Finding his usurpation most unjust,
Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne:
The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this,
Was—for that (young king Richard9 note thus remov'd,
Leaving no heir begotten of his body,)
I was the next by birth and parentage;
For by my mother I derived am
From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son1 note
To king Edward the third, whereas he,
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
Being but fourth of that heroick line.
But mark; as, in this haughty great attempt2 note


,
They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
Long after this, when Henry the fifth,—
Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,
Thy father, earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd
From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York,
Marrying my sister, that thy mother was,
Again, in pity of my hard distress,
Levied an army3 note; weening to redeem,

-- 76 --


And have install'd me in, the diadem:
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl;
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were suppress'd.

Plan.
Of which, my lord, your honour is the last.

Mor.
True; and thou seest, that I no issue have;
And that my fainting words do warrant death:
Thou art my heir; the rest, I wish thee gather4 note:
But yet be wary in thy studious care.

Plan.
Thy grave admonishments prevail with me:
But yet, methinks, my father's execution
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.

Mor.
With silence, nephew, be thou politick;
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,
And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd5 note
.
But now thy uncle is removing hence;
As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd
With long continuance in a settled place.

Plan.
O, uncle, 'would some part of my young years
Might but redeem the passage of your age6 note



!

-- 77 --

Mor.
Thou dost then wrong me; as the slaught'rer doth,
Which giveth many wounds, when one will kill7 note


.
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
Only, give order for my funeral;
And so farewell; and fair be all thy hopes8 note


!
And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war! [Dies.

Plan.
And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul!
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,
And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.—
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
And what I do imagine, let that rest.—
Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself

-- 78 --


Will see his burial better than his life.— [Exeunt Keepers, bearing out Mortimer.
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Chok'd with ambition9 note


of the meaner sort:—
And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house,—
I doubt not, but with honour to redress:
And therefore haste I to the parliament;
Either to be restored to my blood,
Or make my ill1 note



the advantage of my good. [Exit.

-- 79 --

ACT III. SCENE I. The Same. The Parliament-House2 note. Flourish. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Gloster, Warwick, Somerset, and Suffolk; the Bishop of Winchester, Richard Plantagenet, and Others. Gloster offers to put up a Bill; Winchester snatches it, and tears it.

Win.
Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines,
With written pamphlets studiously devis'd,
Humphrey of Gloster? if thou canst accuse,
Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,
Do it without invention suddenly;
As I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

Glo.
Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience,
Or thou should'st find thou hast dishonour'd me.
Think not, although in writing I preferr'd
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
As very infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernicious usurer;
Froward by nature, enemy to peace;

-- 80 --


Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy profession, and degree;
And for thy treachery, What's more manifest?
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
As well at London bridge, as at the Tower?
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
From envious malice of thy swelling heart.

Win.
Gloster, I do defy thee.—Lords, vouchsafe
To give me hearing what I shall reply.
If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse4 note
,
As he will have me, How am I so poor?
Or how haps it, I seek not to advance
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
And for dissention, Who preferreth peace
More than I do,—except I be provok'd?
No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
It is not that, that hath incens'd the duke:
It is, because no one should sway but he;
No one, but he, should be about the king;
And that engenders thunder in his breast,
And makes him roar these accusations forth.
But he shall know, I am as good—

Glo.
As good?
Thou bastard of my grandfather5 note!—

Win.
Ay, lordly sir; For what are you, I pray,
But one imperious in another's throne?

Glo.
Am I not the protector6 note, saucy priest?

-- 81 --

Win.
And am I not a prelate of the church?

Glo.
Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,
And useth it to patronage his theft.

Win.
Unreverent Gloster!

Glo.
Thou art reverent
Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.

Win.
Rome shall remedy this7 note


.

War.
Roam thither then8 note


.

Som.
My lord, it were your duty to forbear9 note


.

War.
Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.

Som.
Methinks, my lord should be religious,
And know the office that belongs to such.

War.
Methinks, his lordship should be humbler;
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.

Som.
Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.

War.
State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that?
Is not his grace protector to the king?

Plan.
Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue;
Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should;
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?

-- 82 --


Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [Aside.

K. Hen.
Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester,
The special watchmen of our English weal;
I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,
To join your hearts in love and amity.
O, what a scandal is it to our crown,
That two such noble peers as ye, should jar!
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell,
Civil dissention is a viperous worm,
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.— [A Noise within; Down with the tawny coats!
What tumult's this?

War.
An uproar, I dare warrant,
Begun through malice of the bishop's men.
[A Noise again; Stones! Stones! Enter the Mayor of London, attended.

May.
O, my good lords,—and virtuous Henry,—
Pity the city of London, pity us!
The bishop and the duke of Gloster's men,
Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble-stones;
And, banding themselves in contráry parts,
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate,
That many have their giddy brains knock'd out:
Our windows are broke down in every street,
And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops.
Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of Gloster and Winchester, with bloody pates.

K. Hen.
We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace.
Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife.

1 Serv.
Nay, if we be
Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth.

-- 83 --

2 Serv.
Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.
[Skirmish again.

Glo.
You of my household, leave this peevish broil,
And set this unaccustom'd fight1 note


aside.

1 Serv.
My lord, we know your grace to be a man
Just and upright; and, for your royal birth,
Inferior to none, but to his majesty2 note



:
And, ere that we will suffer such a prince,
So kind a father of the commonweal,
To be disgraced by a inkhorn mate3 note

,
We, and our wives, and our children, all will fight,
And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes.

3 Serv.
Ay, and the very parings of our nails
Shall pitch a field, when we are dead.
[Skirmish again.

Glo.
Stay, stay, I say4 note!
And, if you love me, as you say you do,

-- 84 --


Let me persuade you to forbear a while.

K. Hen.
O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!—
Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears, and will not once relent?
Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace,
If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

War.
Yield, my lord protector5 note!—yield, Winchester;—
Except you mean, with obstinate repulse,
To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm.
You see what mischief, and what murder too,
Hath been enacted through your enmity;
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.

Win.
He shall submit, or I will never yield.

Glo.
Compassion on the king commands me stoop;
Or, I would see his heart out, ere the priest
Should ever get that privilege of me.

War.
Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear:
Why look you still so stern, and tragical?

Glo.
Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.

K. Hen.
Fye, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach,
That malice was a great and grievous sin:
And will not you maintain the thing you teach,
But prove a chief offender in the same?

War.
Sweet king!—the bishop hath a kindly gird6 note


.—

-- 85 --


For shame, my lord of Winchester! relent;
What, shall a child instruct you what to do?

Win.
Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee;
Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give.

Glo.
Ay; but I fear me, with a hollow heart.—
See here, my friends, and loving countrymen;
This token serveth for a flag of truce,
Betwixt ourselves, and all our followers:
So help me God, as I dissemble not!

Win.
So help me God, as I intend it not!
[Aside.

K. Hen.
O loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster7 note
,
How joyful am I made by this contráct!—
Away, my masters! trouble us no more;
But join in friendship, as your lords have done.

1 Serv.
Content; I'll to the surgeon's.

2 Serv.
And so will I.

3 Serv.
And I will see what physick the tavern affords.
[Exeunt Servants, Mayor, &c.

War.
Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign;
Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet
We do exhibit to your majesty.

Glo.
Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick;—for, sweet prince,

-- 86 --


An if your grace mark every circumstance,
You have great reason to do Richard right:
Especially, for those occasions
At Eltham-place I told your majesty.

K. Hen.
And those occasions, uncle, were of force:
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is,
That Richard be restored to his blood.

War.
Let Richard be restored to his blood;
So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd.

Win.
As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.

K. Hen.
If Richard will be true, not that alone8 note,
But all the whole inheritance I give,
That doth belong unto the house of York,
From whence you spring by lineal descent.

Plan.
Thy humble servant vows obedience,
And humble service, till the point of death.

K. Hen.
Stoop then, and set your knee against my foot;
And, in reguerdon9 note

of that duty done,
I girt thee with the valiant sword of York:
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet;
And rise created princely duke of York.

Plan.
And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall!
And as my duty springs so perish they
That grudge one thought against your majesty,

All.
Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of York!

Som.
Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York!
[Aside.

Glo.
Now will it best avail your majesty,

-- 87 --


To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France:
The presence of a king engenders love
Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends;
As it disanimates his enemies.

K. Hen.
When Gloster says the word, king Henry goes;
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.

Glo.
Your ships already are in readiness.
[Exeunt all but Exeter.

Exe.
Ay, we may march in England, or in France,
Not seeing what is likely to ensue;
This late dissention, grown betwixt the peers,
Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love1 note,
And will at last break out into a flame:
As fester'd members rot but by degrees,
Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away,
So will this base and envious discord breed2 note.
And now I fear that fatal prophecy,
Which, in the time of Henry, nam'd the fifth,
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe,—
That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all;
And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all:
Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish
His days may finish ere that hapless time3 note.
[Exit.

-- 88 --

SCENE II. France. Before Roüen. Enter La Pucelle disguised, and Soldiers dressed like Countrymen, with Sacks upon their Backs.

Puc.
These are the city gates, the gates of Roüen4 note


,
Through which our policy must make a breach:
Take heed, be wary how you place your words;
Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men,
That come to gather money for their corn.
If we have entrance, (as, I hope, we shall,)
And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,
That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.

1 Sold.
Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city5 note,
And we be lords and rulers over Roüen;
Therefore we'll knock.
[Knocks.

Guard. [Within.]
Qui est là6 note

?

-- 89 --

Puc.
Paisans, pauvres gens de France:
Poor market-folks, that come to sell their corn.

Guard.
Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung.
[Opens the gates.

Puc.
Now, Roüen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground.
[Pucelle, &c. enter the City. Enter Charles, Bastard of Orleans, Alençon, and Forces.

Char.
Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem!
And once again we'll sleep secure in Roüen.

Bast.
Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants7 note


;
Now she is there, how will she specify
Where is8 note the best and safest passage in?

Alen.
By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;
Which, once discerned, shows, that her meaning is,—
No way to that9 note


, for weakness, which she enter'd. Enter La Pucelle on a Battlement: holding out a Torch burning.

Puc.
Behold, this is the happy wedding torch,
That joineth Roüen unto her countrymen;
But burning fatal to the Talbotites.

-- 90 --

Bast.
See, noble Charles! the beacon of our friend,
The burning torch in yonder turret stands.

Char.
Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
A prophet to the fall of all our foes!

Alen.
Defer no time, Delays have dangerous ends;
Enter, and cry—The Dauphin!—presently,
And then do execution on the watch.
[They enter. Alarums. Enter Talbot, and certain English.

Tal.
France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears1 note
,
If Talbot but survive thy treachery.—
Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress,
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,
That hardly we escap'd the pride of France2 note







. [Exeunt to the Town.

-- 91 --

Alarum: Excursions. Enter, from the Town, Bedford, brought in sick, in a Chair, with Talbot, Burgundy, and the English Forces. Then, enter on the Walls, La Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Alençon3 note, and Others.

Puc.
Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?
I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast,
Before he'll buy again at such a rate:
'Twas full of darnel4 note




; Do you like the taste?

Bur.
Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless courtezan!
I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own,
And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.

Char.
Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that time.

Bed.
O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!

-- 92 --

Puc.
What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance,
And run a tilt at death within a chair?

Tal.
Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours!
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age,
And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.

Puc.
Are you so hot, sir?—Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.— [Talbot, and the rest, consult together.
God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker?

Tal.
Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field?

Puc.
Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools,
To try if that our own be ours, or no.

Tal.
I speak not to that railing Hecaté,
But unto thee, Alençon, and the rest;
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?

Alen.
Signior, no.

Tal.
Signior, hang!—base muleteers of France!
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls,
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.

Puc.
Captains, away: let's get us from the walls;
For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks.—
God be wi' you, my lord! we came, but to tell you5 note
That we are here.
[Exeunt La Pucelle, &c. from the Walls.

Tal.
And there will we be too, ere it be long,

-- 93 --


Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!—
Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,
(Prick'd on by publick wrongs, sustain'd in France,)
Either to get the town again, or die;
And I,—as sure as English Henry lives,
And as his father here was conqueror;
As sure as in this late-betrayed town
Great Cœur-de-lion's heart was buried;
So sure I swear, to get the town, or die.

Bur.
My vows are equal partners with thy vows.

Tal.
But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,
The valiant duke of Bedford:—Come, my lord,
We will bestow you in some better place,
Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age.

Bed.
Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me:
Here will I sit before the walls of Roüen,
And will be partner of your weal, or woe,

Bur.
Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.

Bed.
Not to be gone from hence: for once I read,
That stout Pendragon, in his litter6 note








, sick,

-- 94 --


Came to the field, and vanquished his foes:
Methinks, I should revive the soldiers' hearts,
Because I ever found them as myself.

Tal.
Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!—
Then be it so:—Heavens keep old Bedford safe!—
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
But gather we our forces out of hand,
And set upon our boasting enemy.
[Exeunt Burgundy, Talbot, and Forces, leaving Bedford, and Others. Alarum: Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolfe, and a Captain.

Cap.
Whither away, sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?

Fast.
Whither away? to save myself by flight7 note;
We are like to have the overthrow again.

Cap.
What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot?

Fast.
Ay,
All the Talbots in the world, to save my life.
[Exit.

Cap.
Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!
[Exit. Retreat: Excursions. Enter, from the Town, La Pucelle, Alençon, Charles, &c. and Exeunt, flying.

Bed.
Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,
For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.

-- 95 --


What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
They, that of late were daring with their scoffs,
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. [Dies8 note, and is carried off in his Chair. Alarum. Enter Talbot, Burgundy, amd Others.

Tal.
Lost, and recover'd in a day again!
This is a double honour, Burgundy:
Yet, heavens have glory for this victory!

Bur.
Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects
Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument.

Tal.
Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle now?
I think her old familiar is asleep:
Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks?
What, all a-mort9 note
? Roüen hangs her head for grief,
That such a valiant company are fled.
Now will we take some order1 note


in the town,
Placing therein some expert officers;
And then depart to Paris to the king;
For there young Harry, with his nobles, lies.

Bur.
What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy.

Tal.
But yet, before we go, let's not forget
The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd,
But see his exequies fulfill'd in Roüen;

-- 96 --


A braver soldier never couched lance2 note




,
A gentler heart did never sway in court:
But kings, and mightiest potentates, must die;
For that's the end of human misery. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The Same. The Plains near the City. Enter Charles, the Bastard, Alençon, La Pucelle, and Forces.

Puc.
Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
Nor grieve that Roüen is so recovered:
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive3 note,
For things that are not to be remedied.
Let frantick Talbot triumph for a while,
And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
We'll pull his plumes, and take away his train,
If Dauphin, and the rest, will be but rul'd.

Char.
We have been guided by thee hitherto,
And of thy cunning had no diffidence;
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.

Bast.
Search out thy wit for secret policies,
And we will make thee famous through the world.

Alen.
We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint;
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.

Puc.
Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:

-- 97 --


By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd words,
We will entice the duke of Burgundy
To leave the Talbot, and to follow us.

Char.
Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
France were no place for Henry's warriors;
Nor should that nation boast it so with us,
But be extirped from our provinces4 note
.

Alen.
For ever should they be expuls'd from France5 note




,
And not have title to an earldom here.

Puc.
Your honours shall perceive how I will work,
To bring this matter to the wished end. [Drums heard.
Hark! by the sound of drum, you may perceive
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. An English March. Enter, and pass over at a distance, Talbot and his Forces.
There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread;
And all the troops of English after him. A French March. Enter the Duke of Burgundy and Forces.
Now, in the rearward, comes the duke, and his;
Fortune, in favour, makes him lag behind.
Summon a parley, we will talk with him.
[A Parley sounded.

-- 98 --

Char.
A parley with the duke of Burgundy.

Bur.
Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?

Puc.
The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.

Bur.
What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.

Char.
Speak, Pucelle; and enchant him with thy words.

Puc.
Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.

Bur.
Speak on; but be not over-tedious.

Puc.
Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
And see the cities and the towns defac'd
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe!
As looks the mother on her lowly babe6 note

,
When death doth close his tender dying eyes,
See, see, the pining malady of France;
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast!
O, turn thy edged sword another way;
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!
One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom,
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore;
Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears,
And wash away thy country's stained spots!

Bur.
Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,
Or nature makes me suddenly relent.

Puc.
Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,

-- 99 --


Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
Who join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation,
That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake?
When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill,
Who then, but English Henry, will be lord,
And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive?
Call we to mind,—and mark but this, for proof;—
Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe?
And was he not in England prisoner?
But, when they heard he was thine enemy,
They set him free7 note, without his ransom paid,
In spite of Burgundy, and all his friends.
See then! thou fight'st against thy countrymen,
And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men.
Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord;
Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms.

Bur.
I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers
Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot8 note






,

-- 100 --


And made me almost yield upon my knees.—
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen!
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace:
My forces and my power of men are yours;—
So, farewell, Talbot: I'll no longer trust thee.

Puc.
Done like a Frenchman; turn, and turn again9 note




!

Char.
Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.

Bast.
And doth beget new courage in our breasts.

Alen.
Pucelle hath bravely played her part in this,
And doth deserve a coronet of gold.

Char.
Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers;
And seek how we may prejudice the foe.
[Exeunt.

-- 101 --

SCENE IV. Paris. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Gloster, and other Lords, Vernon, Basset, &c. To them Talbot, and some of his Officers.

Tal.
My gracious prince,—and honourable peers,—
Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
I have a while given truce unto my wars,
To do my duty to my sovereign:
In sign whereof, this arm—that hath reclaim'd
To your obedience fifty fortresses,
Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength,
Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,—
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet;
And, with submissive loyalty of heart,
Ascribes the glory of his conquest got,
First to my God, and next unto your grace.

K. Hen.
Is this the lord Talbot, uncle Gloster1 note



,
That hath so long been resident in France?

Glo.
Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.

K. Hen.
Welcome, brave captain, and victorious lord!
When I was young, (as yet I am not old,)
I do remember how my father said2 note,
A stouter champion never handled sword.

-- 102 --


Long since we were resolved of your truth3 note

,
Your faithful service, and your toil in war;
Yet never have you tasted our reward,
Or been reguerdon'd4 note with so much as thanks,
Because till now we never saw your face:
Therefore, stand up; and, for these good deserts,
We here create you earl of Shrewsbury;
And in our coronation take your place. [Exeunt King Henry, Gloster, Talbot, and Nobles.

Ver.
Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea,
Disgracing of these colours that I wear5 note

In honour of my noble lord of York,—
Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st?

Bas.
Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage
The envious barking of your saucy tongue
Against my lord, the duke of Somerset.

Ver.
Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.

Bas.
Why, what is he? as good a man as York.

Ver.
Hark ye; not so: in witness, take ye that.
[Strikes him.

Bas.
Villain, thou know'st, the law of arms is such,
That, who so draws a sword, 'tis present death6 note



;

-- 103 --


Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
But I'll unto his majesty, and crave
I may have liberty to venge this wrong;
When thou shalt see, I'll meet thee to thy cost.

Ver.
Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;
And, after, meet you sooner than you would.
[Exeunt.

-- 104 --

ACT IV. SCENE I. The Same. A Room of State. Enter King Henry, Gloster, Exeter, York, Suffolk, Somerset, Winchester, Warwick, Talbot, the Governour of Paris, and Others.

Glo.
Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.

Win.
God save king Henry, of that name the sixth!

Glo.
Now, governour of Paris, take your oath,— [Governour kneels.
That you elect no other king but him;
Esteem none friends, but such as are his friends;
And none your foes, but such as shall pretend7 note



Malicious practices against his state:
This shall ye do, so help you righteous God! [Exeunt Gov. and his Train. Enter Sir John Fastolfe.

Fast.
My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,
To haste unto your coronation,
A letter was deliver'd to my hands,
Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgundy.

Tal.
Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee!
I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next,
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg8 note


, [Plucking it off.

-- 105 --


(Which I have done) because unworthily
Thou wast installed in that high degree.—
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest:
This dastard, at the battle of Patay9 note

,
When but in all I was six thousand strong,
And that the French were almost ten to one,—
Before we met, or that a stroke was given,
Like to a trusty squire, did run away;
In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;
Myself, and divers gentlemen beside,
Were there surpriz'd, and taken prisoners.
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss;
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
This ornament of knighthood, yea, or no.

Glo.
To say the truth, this fact was infamous,
And ill beseeming any common man;
Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader.

Tal.
When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,

-- 106 --


Knights of the garter were of noble birth;
Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage1 note,
Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,
But always resolute in most extremes2 note


.
He then, that is not furnish'd in this sort,
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,
Profaning this most honourable order;
And should (if I were worthy to be judge,)
Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.

K. Hen.
Stain to thy countrymen! thou hear'st thy doom:
Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight;
Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.— [Exit Fastolfe.
And now, my lord protector, view the letter
Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy.

Glo.
What means his grace, that he hath chang'd his style? [Viewing the superscription.
No more but, plain and bluntly,—To the king?
Hath he forgot, he is his sovereign?
Or doth this churlish superscription
Pretend some alteration in good will3 note?
What's here?—I have upon especial cause,— [Reads.
  Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck,
  Together with the pitiful complaints

-- 107 --


  Of such as your oppression feeds upon,—
  Forsaken your pernicious faction,
  And join'd with Charles, the rightful king of France.
O monstrous treachery! Can this be so;
That in alliance, amity, and oaths,
There should be found such false dissembling guile?

K. Hen.
What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?

Glo.
He doth, my lord; and is become your foe.

K. Hen.
Is that the worst, this letter doth contain?

Glo.
It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.

K. Hen.
Why then, lord Talbot there shall talk with him,
And give him chastisement for this abuse:—
How say you, my lord4 note


? are you not content?

Tal.
Content, my liege? Yes, but that I am prevented5 note



,
I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.

K. Hen.
Then gather strength, and march unto him straight:
Let him perceive, how ill we brook his treason;
And what offence it is, to flout his friends.

Tal.
I go, my lord; in heart desiring still,
You may behold confusion of your foes.
[Exit.

-- 108 --

Enter Vernon and Basset.

Ver.
Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign!

Bas.
And me, my lord, grant me the combat too!

York.
This is my servant; Hear him, noble prince!

Som.
And this is mine; Sweet Henry, favour him!

K. Hen.
Be patient, lords; and give them leave to speak.—
Say, gentlemen, What makes you thus exclaim?
And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom?

Ver.
With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.

Bas.
And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.

K. Hen.
What is that wrong whereof you both complain?
First let me know, and then I'll answer you.

Bas.
Crossing the sea from England into France,
This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,
Upbraided me about the rose I wear;
Saying—the sanguine colour of the leaves
Did represent my master's blushing cheeks,
When stubbornly he did repugn the truth6 note

,
About a certain question in the law,
Argu'd betwixt the duke of York and him;
With other vile and ignominious terms:
In confutation of which rude reproach,
And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
I crave the benefit of law of arms.

Ver.
And that is my petition, noble lord:
For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit,

-- 109 --


To set a gloss upon his bold intent,
Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him;
And he first took exceptions at this badge,
Pronouncing—that the paleness of this flower
Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.

York.
Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?

Som.
Your private grudge, my lord of York, will out,
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.

K. Hen.
Good Lord! what madness rules in brainsick men;
When, for so slight and frivolous a cause,
Such factious emulations shall arise!—
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.

York.
Let this dissention first be tried by fight,
And then your highness shall command a peace.

Som.
The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.

York.
There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.

Ver.
Nay, let it rest where it began at first.

Bas.
Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.

Glo.
Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife!
And perish ye, with your audacious prate!
Presumptuous vassals! are you not asham'd,
With this immodest clamorous outráge
To trouble and disturb the king and us?
And you, my lords,—methinks, you do not well,
To bear with their perverse objections;
Much less, to take occasion from their mouths
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves;
Let me persuade you take a better course.

Exe.
It grieves his highness;—Good my lords; be friends.

K. Hen.
Come hither, you that would be combatants:
Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour,

-- 110 --


Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause.—
And you, my lords,—remember where we are;
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation:
If they perceive dissention in our looks,
And that within ourselves we disagree,
How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd
To wilful disobedience, and rebel?
Beside, What infamy will there arise,
When foreign princes shall be certified,
That, for a toy, a thing of no regard,
King Henry's peers, and chief nobility,
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France?
O, think upon the conquest of my father;
My tender years; and let us not forego
That for a trifle, that was bought with blood!
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
I see no reason, if I wear this rose, [Putting on a red Rose.
That any one should therefore be suspicious
I more incline to Somerset, than York:
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both:
As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.
But your discretions better can persuade,
Than I am able to instruct or teach:
And therefore, as we hither came in peace,
So let us still continue peace and love.—
Cousin of York, we institute your grace
To be our regent in these parts of France:—
And good my lord of Somerset, unite
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;—
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
Go cheerfully together, and digest
Your angry choler on your enemies.
Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest,
After some respite, will return to Calais;
From thence to England; where I hope ere long

-- 111 --


To be presented, by your victories,
With Charles, Alençon, and that traitorous rout. [Flourish. Exeunt King Henry, Glo. Som. Win. Suf. and Basset.

War.
My lord of York, I promise you, the king
Prettily, methought, did play the orator.

York.
And so he did; but yet I like it not,
In that he wears the badge of Somerset.

War.
Tush! that was but his fancy, blame him not;
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.

York.
And, if I wist, he did7 note









,—But let it rest;

-- 112 --


Other affairs must now be managed. [Exeunt York, Warwick, and Vernon.

Exe.
Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice:
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear, we should have seen decipher'd there
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,
Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd.
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
This jarring discord of nobility,
This should'ring of each other in the court,
This factious bandying of their favourites,
But that it doth presage some ill event8 note.
'Tis much9 note

, when scepters are in children's hands;
But more, when envy breeds unkind division1 note;
There comes the ruin, there begin's confusion. [Exit.

-- 113 --

SCENE II. France. Before Bourdeaux. Enter Talbot, with his Forces.

Tal.
Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter,
Summon their general unto the wall. Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter, on the Walls, the General of the French Forces, and Others.
English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,
Servant in arms to Harry king of England;
And thus he would,—Open your city gates,
Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours,
And do him homage as obedient subjects,
And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power:
But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,
You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire2 note

;
Who, in a moment, even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,
If you forsake the offer of their love3 note


.

-- 114 --

Gen.
Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge!
The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canst not enter, but by death:
For, I protest, we are well fortified,
And strong enough to issue out and fight:
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee:
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd,
To wall thee from the liberty of flight;
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil,
And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery4 note



Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,

-- 115 --


Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit:
This is the latest glory of thy praise,
That I, thy enemy, due thee withal5 note




;
For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
Finish the process of his sandy hour,
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead. [Drum afar off.
Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy musick to thy timorous soul;
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. [Exeunt General, &c. from the Walls.

Tal.
He fables not6 note



, I hear the enemy;—
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.—
O, negligent and heedless discipline!
How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale;
A little herd of England's timorous deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs!

-- 116 --


If we be English deer, be then in blood7 note


:
Not rascal-like8 note

, to fall down with a pinch;
But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel9 note,
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
And they shall find dear deer of us1 note

, my friends.—
God, and Saint George! Talbot, and England's right!
Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! [Exeunt. SCENE III. Plains in Gascony. Enter York, with Forces; to him, a Messenger.

York.
Are not the speedy scouts return'd again,
That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?

Mess.
They are return'd, my lord; and give it out,

-- 117 --


That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,
To fight with Talbot: As he march'd along,
By your espials were discovered
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led;
Which join'd with him, and made their march for Bourdeaux.

York.
A plague upon that villain Somerset;
That thus delays my promised supply
Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid;
And I am lowted2 note











by a traitor villain,
And cannot help the noble chevalier:
God comfort him in this necessity!

-- 118 --


If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. Enter Sir William Lucy3 note.

Lucy.
Thou princely leader of our English strength,
Never so needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot;
Who now is girdled with a waist of iron4 note

,
And hemm'd about with grim destruction:
To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York!
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.

York.
O God! that Somerset—who in proud heart
Doth stop my cornets—were in Talbot's place!
So should we save a valiant gentleman,
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep,
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.

Lucy.
O, send some succour to the distress'd lord!

York.
He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word:
We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get;
All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.

Lucy.
Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul!
And on his son, young John; whom, two hours since.
I met in travel toward his warlike father!
This seven years did not Talbot see his son;

-- 119 --


And now they meet where both their lives are done5 note.

York.
Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have,
To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.—
Lucy, farewell: no more my fortune can,
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.—
Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away,
'Long all of Somerset, and his delay.
[Exit.

Lucy.
Thus, while the vulture6 note of sedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror,
That ever-living man of memory,
Henry the fifth:—Whiles they each other cross,
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss.
[Exit. SCENE IV. Other Plains of Gascony. Enter Somerset, with his Forces; an Officer of Talbot's with him.

Som.
It is too late; I cannot send them now:
This expedition was by York, and Talbot,
Too rashly plotted; all our general force
Might with a sally of the very town
Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot
Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour7 note,

-- 120 --


By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure:
York set him on to fight, and die in shame,
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.

Off.
Here is sir William Lucy, who with me
Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid.
Enter Sir William Lucy.

Som.
How now, sir William? whither were you sent?

Lucy.
Whither, my lord? from bought and sold lord Talbot8 note



;
Who, ring'd about9 note


with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat assailing death from his weak legions1 note.
And whiles the honourable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage ling'ring2 note

, looks for rescue,
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation3 note



.

-- 121 --


Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succours that should lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman,
Yields4 note up his life unto a world of odds:
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy5 note,
Alençon, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your default.

Som.
York set him on, York should have sent him aid.

Lucy.
And York as fast upon your grace exclaims;
Swearing that you withhold his levied host,
Collected for this expedition.

Som.
York lies; he might have sent and had the horse:
I owe him little duty, and less love;
And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending.

Lucy.
The fraud of England, not the force of France,
Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot!
Never to England shall he bear his life:
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.

Som.
Come, go; I will despatch the horsemen straight:
Within six hours they will be at his aid.

Lucy.
Too late comes rescue; he is ta'en, or slain:
For fly he could not, if he would have fled;
And fly would Talbot never, though he might.

-- 122 --

Som.
If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu!

Lucy.
His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.
[Exeunt. SCENE V. The English Camp near Bourdeaux. Enter Talbot and John his Son.

Tal.
O young John Talbot! I did send for thee,
To tutor thee in stratagems of war;
That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd,
When sapless age, and weak unable limbs,
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
But,—O malignant and ill-boding stars!—
Now thou art come unto a feast of death6 note


,
A terrible and unavoided7 note


danger:
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
By sudden flight: come, dally not, begone.

John.
Is my name Talbot? and am I your son?
And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother,
Dishonour not her honourable name,
To make a bastard, and a slave of me:
The world will say—He is not Talbot's blood,
That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood8 note

.

-- 123 --

Tal.
Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.

John.
He, that flies so, will ne'er return again.

Tal.
If we both stay, we both are sure to die.

John.
Then let me stay; and father, do you fly:
Your loss is great, so your regard9 note should be;
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boast;
In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;
But mine it will, that no exploit have done:
You fled for vantage every one will swear;
But, if I bow, they'll say—it was for fear.
There is no hope that ever I will stay,
If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away.
Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,
Rather than life preserv'd with infamy.

Tal.
Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?

John.
Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.

Tal.
Upon my blessing I command thee go.

John.
To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.

Tal.
Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee.

John.
No part of him, but will be shame in me.

Tal.
Thou never had'st renown, nor canst not lose it.

John.
Yes, your renowned name; Shall flight abuse it?

Tal.
Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.

John.
You cannot witness for me, being slain.

-- 124 --


If death be so apparent, then both fly.

Tal.
And leave my followers here, to fight, and die?
My age was never tainted with such shame.

John.
And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?
No more can I be sever'd from your side,
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide:
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;
For live I will not, if my father die.

Tal.
Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,
Born to eclipse1 note


thy life this afternoon.
Come, side by side together live and die;
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.
[Exeunt. SCENE VI. A Field of Battle. Alarum: Excursions, wherein Talbot's Son is hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him.

Tal.
Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, fight:
The regent hath with Talbot broke his word,
And left us to the rage of France his sword.
Where is John Talbot?—pause, and take thy breath;
I gave thee life, and rescu'd thee from death.

John.
O twice my father! twice am I thy son2 note








:

-- 125 --


The life, thou gav'st me first, was lost and done3 note;
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,
To my determin'd time4 note


thou gav'st new date.

Tal.
When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire5 note
,
It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,
Quicken'd with youthful spleen, and warlike rage,
Beat down Alençon, Orleans, Burgundy,
And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee.
The ireful bastard Orleans—that drew blood
From thee, my boy; and had the maidenhood
Of thy first fight—I soon encountered;
And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed
Some of his bastard blood; and, in disgrace,
Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, base,
And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,
Mean and right poor; for that pure blood of mine,
Which thou did'st force from Talbot, my brave boy:—
Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy,

-- 126 --


Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care;
Art not thou weary, John? How dost thou fare?
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?
Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead;
The help of one stands me in little stead.
O, too much folly is it, well I wot,
To hazard all our lives in one small boat.
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
To-morrow I shall die with mickle age:
By me they nothing gain, an if I stay,
'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day6 note

:
In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame:
All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay;
All these are sav'd, if thou wilt fly away.

John.
The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart,
These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart7 note



:
On that advantage, bought with such a shame,
(To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame8 note







,)

-- 127 --


Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die!
And like me to the peasant boys of France9 note

;
To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance!
Surely, by all the glory you have won,
An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son:
Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.

-- 128 --

Tal.
Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,
Thou Icarus1 note



; thy life to me is sweet:
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;
And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. Another Part of the Same. Alarum: Excursions. Enter Talbot wounded, supported by a Servant.

Tal.
Where is my other life?—mine own is gone;—
O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?—
Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity2 note

!
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee:—
When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee,
His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,
And, like a hungry lion, did commence
Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience;
But when my angry guardant stood alone,

-- 129 --


Tend'ring my ruin3 note




, and assail'd of none,
Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart,
Suddenly made him from my side to start
Into the clust'ring battle of the French:
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
His overmounting spirit; and there died
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. Enter Soldiers, bearing the Body of John Talbot4 note.

Serv.
O my dear lord! lo, where your son is borne!

Tal.
Thou antick death5 note





, which laugh'st us here to scorn,
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,

-- 130 --


Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky6 note







,
In thy despite, shall 'scape mortality.—
O thou whose wounds become hard-favour'd death,
Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath:
Brave death by speaking, whether he will, or no;
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe.—
Poor boy! he smiles, methinks: as who should say—
Had death been French, then death had died to-day.
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms;
My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. [Dies. Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving the two Bodies. Enter Charles, Alençon, Burgundy, Bastard, La Pucelle, and Forces.

Char.
Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
We should have found a bloody day of this.

-- 131 --

Bast.
How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging-wood7 note



,
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood8 note!

Puc.
Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said,
Thou maiden youth be vanquish'd by a maid:
But—with a proud, majestical high scorn,—
He answer'd thus; Young Talbot was not born
To be the pillage of a giglot wench9 note



:
So, rushing in the bowels of the French1 note
,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

Bur.
Doubtless, he would have made a noble knight:
See, where he lies inhersed in the arms
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.

Bast.
Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder;
Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.

Char.
O, no; forbear: for that which we have fled
During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

-- 132 --

Enter Sir William Lucy, attended; a French Herald preceding.

Lucy.
Herald,
Conduct me to the Dauphin's tent; to know
Who hath obtain'd2 note


the glory of the day.

Char.
On what submissive message art thou sent?

Lucy.
Submission, Dauphin? 'tis a mere French word;
We English warriors wot not what it means.
I come to know what prisoners, thou hast ta'en,
And to survey the bodies of the dead.

Char.
For prisoners, ask'st thou? hell our prison is.
But tell me whom thou seek'st.

Lucy.
Where is the great Alcides3 note of the field,
Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury?
Created, for his rare success in arms,
Great earl of Washford4 note, Waterford, and Valence;

-- 133 --


Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton,
Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, lord Furnival of Sheffield,
The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge;
Knight of the noble order of Saint George,
Worthy Saint Michael, and the golden fleece;
Great mareshal to Henry the sixth,
Of all his wars within the realm of France?

Puc.
Here is a silly stately style indeed!
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath5 note,
Writes not so tedious a style as this.—
Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles,
Stinking, and fly-blown, lies here at our feet.

Lucy.
Is Talbot slain; the Frenchmen's only scourge,
Your kingdom's terrour and black Nemesis?
O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd,
That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces!
O, that I could but call these dead to life!
It were enough to fright the realm of France:
Were but his picture left among you here,
It would amaze6 note
the proudest of you all.
Give me their bodies; that I may bear them hence,
And give them burial as beseems their worth.

Puc.
I think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.

-- 134 --


For God's sake, let him have 'em7 note; to keep them here,
They would but stink, and putrefy the air.

Char.
Go, take their bodies hence,

Lucy.
I'll bear them hence:
But from their ashes shall be rear'd
A phœnix8 note




that shall make all France afeard.

Char.
So we be rid of them, do with 'em what thou wilt9 note.
And now to Paris, in this conquering vein;
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.
[Exeunt. ACT V. 1 note SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Exeter.

K. Hen.
Have you perus'd the letters from the pope,

-- 135 --


The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac?

Glo.
I have, my lord; and their intent is this,—
They humbly sue unto your excellence,
To have a godly peace concluded of,
Between the realms of England and of France.

K. Hen.
How doth your grace affect their motion?

Glo.
Well, my good lord; and as the only means
To stop effusion of our Christian blood,
And 'stablish quietness on every side.

K. Hen.
Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought,
It was both impious and unnatural,
That such immanity2 note and bloody strife
Should reign among professors of one faith.

Glo.
Beside, my lord,—the sooner to effect,
And surer bind, this knot of amity,—
The earl of Armagnac—near knit to Charles,
A man of great authority in France,—
Proffers his only daughter to your grace
In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.

K. Hen.
Marriage, uncle! alas! my years are young3 note;
And fitter is my study and my books,
Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
Yet, call the ambassadors; and, as you please,
So let them have their answers every one:
I shall be well content with any choice,
Tends to God's glory, and my country's weal.

-- 136 --

Enter a Legate, and Two Ambassadors, with Winchester, in a Cardinal's Habit.

Exe.
What! is my lord of Winchester install'd,
And call'd unto a cardinal's degree4 note


!
Then, I perceive that will be verified,
Henry the fifth did sometime prophecy,—
If once he come to be a cardinal,
He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.

K. Hen.
My lords ambassadors, your several suits
Have been consider'd and debated on.
Your purpose is both good and reasonable:
And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd,
To draw conditions of a friendly peace;
Which, by my lord of Winchester, we mean
Shall be transported presently to France.

Glo.
And for the proffer of my lord your master,—
I have inform'd his highness so at large,
As—liking of the lady's virtuous gifts,
Her beauty, and the value of her dower,—
He doth intend she shall be England's queen.

K. Hen.
In argument and proof of which contráct,
Bear her this jewel, [To the Amb.] pledge of my affection.

-- 137 --


And so, my lord protector, see them guarded,
And safely brought to Dover; where, inshipp'd,
Commit them to the fortune of the sea. [Exeunt King Henry and Train; Gloster, Exeter, and Ambassadors.

Win.
Stay, my lord legate; you shall first receive
The sum of money, which I promised
Should be deliver'd to his holiness
For clothing me in these grave ornaments.

Leg.
I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.

Win.
Now, Winchester will not submit, I trow,
Or be inferior to the proudest peer.
Humphrey of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive,
That, neither in birth5 note, or for authority,
The bishop will be overborne by thee:
I'll either make thee stoop, and bend thy knee,
Or sack this country with a mutiny.
[Exeunt. SCENE II. France. Plains in Anjou. Enter Charles, Burgundy, Alençon, La Pucelle, and Forces, marching.

Char.
These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping spirits:
'Tis said, the stout Parisians do revolt,
And turn again unto the warlike French.

Alen.
Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,
And keep not back your powers in dalliance.

Puc.
Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;

-- 138 --


Else, ruin combat with their palaces! Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
Success unto our valiant general,
And happiness to his accomplices!

Char.
What tidings send our scouts? I pr'ythee, speak.

Mess.
The English army, that divided was
Into two parties6 note, is now conjoin'd in one;
And means to give you battle presently.

Char.
Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;
But we will presently provide for them.

Bur.
I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there;
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.

Puc.
Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd:—
Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine;
Let Henry fret, and all the world repine.

Char.
Then on, my lords; And France be fortunate!
[Exeunt. SCENE III. The Same. Before Angiers. Alarums: Excursions. Enter La Pucelle.

Puc.
The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.—
Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts7 note

;

-- 139 --


And ye choice spirits that admonish me,
And give me signs of future accidents! [Thunder.
You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
Under the lordly monarch of the north8 note

,
Appear, and aid me in this enterprize! Enter Fiends.
This speedy quick appearance argues proof
Of your accustom'd diligence to me.
Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd
Out of the powerful regions under earth9 note



,
Help me this once, that France may get the field. [They walk about, and speak not.
O, hold me not with silence over-long!

-- 140 --


Where1 note
I was wont to feed you with my blood,
I'll lop a member off, and give it you,
In earnest of a further benefit;
So you do condescend to help me now.— [They hang their heads.
No hope to have redress?—My body shall
Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. [They shake their heads.
Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice,
Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?
Then take my soul; my body, soul, and all,
Before that England give the French the foil. [They depart.
See! they forsake me. Now the time is come,
That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest2 note


,
And let her head fall into England's lap.
My ancient incantations are too weak,
And hell too strong for me to buckle with:
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Exit. Alarums. Enter French and English, fighting, La Pucelle and York fight hand to hand. La Pucelle is taken. The French fly.

York.
Damsel of France, I think, I have you fast:
Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms,
And try if they can gain your liberty.—
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!
See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows,
As if, with Circe, she would change my shape3 note
.

-- 141 --

Puc.
Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be.

York.
O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man;
No shape but his can please your dainty eye.

Puc.
A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and thee!
And may ye both be suddenly surpriz'd
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!

York.
Fell, banning hag4 note
! enchantress, hold thy tongue.

Puc.
I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse a while.

York.
Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.
[Exeunt. Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Lady Margaret.

Suf.
Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. [Gazes on her.
O fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly;
For I will touch thee but with reverent hands,
And lay them gently on thy tender side.
I kiss these fingers [Kissing her hand.] for eternal peace5 note








:

-- 142 --


Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee.

Mar.
Margaret my name; and daughter to a king,
The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.

Suf.
An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.
Be not offended, nature's miracle,
Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me:
So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,
Keeping them prisoners underneath her wings7 note.
Yet, if this servile usage once offend,
Go, and be free again as Suffolk's friend. [She turns away as going.
O, stay!—I have no power to let her pass;
My hand would free her, but my heart says—no8 note

.
As plays the sun upon the glassy streams9 note





,

-- 143 --


Twinkling another counterfeited beam,
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.
Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak:
I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind:
Fye, De la Poole! disable not thyself1 note

;
Hast not a tongue? is she not here thy prisoner2 note?
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?
Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such,
Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough3 note.

Mar.
Say, earl of Suffolk,—if thy name be so,—
What ransom must I pay before I pass?
For, I perceive, I am thy prisoner.

Suf.
How canst thou tell, she will deny thy suit
Before thou make a trial of her love?
[Aside.

Mar.
Why speak'st thou not? what ransom must I pay?

Suf.
She's beautiful; and therefore to be woo'd:
She is a woman; therefore to be won4 note.
[Aside.

Mar.
Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no?

Suf.
Fond man! remember, that thou hast a wife;
Then how can Margaret be thy paramour?
[Aside.

Mar.
I were best leave him, for he will not hear.

-- 144 --

Suf.
There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card5 note
.

Mar.
He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.

Suf.
And yet a dispensation may be had.

Mar.
And yet I would that you would answer me.

Suf.
I'll win this lady Margaret. For whom?
Why, for my king: Tush! that's a wooden thing6 note



.

Mar.
He talks of wood: It is some carpenter.

Suf.
Yet so my fancy7 note


may be satisfied,
And peace established between these realms.
But there remains a scruple in that too:
For though her father be the king of Naples,
Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor,
And our nobility will scorn the match. [Aside.

Mar.
Hear ye, captain? Are you not at leisure?

Suf.
It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much:
Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.—
Madam, I have a secret to reveal.

Mar.
What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a knight,
And will not any way dishonour me.
[Aside.

-- 145 --

Suf.
Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.

Mar.
Perhaps, I shall be rescu'd by the French;
And then I need not crave his courtesy.
[Aside.

Suf.
Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause—

Mar.
Tush! women have been captivate ere now.
[Aside.

Suf.
Lady, wherefore talk you so?

Mar.
I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo.

Suf.
Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose
Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?

Mar.
To be a queen in bondage, is more vile,
Than is a slave in base servility;
For princes should be free.

Suf.
And so shall you,
If happy England's royal king be free.

Mar.
Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?

Suf.
I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen;
To put a golden scepter in thy hand,
And set a precious crown upon thy head,
If thou wilt condescend to be my—8 note




Mar.
What?

Suf.
His love.

Mar.
I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.

Suf.
No, gentle madam; I unworthy am
To woo so fair a dame to be his wife,
And have no portion in the choice myself.
How say you, madam; are you so content?

Mar.
An if my father please, I am content.

Suf.
Then call our captains, and our colours, forth:

-- 146 --


And, madam, at your father's castle walls
We'll crave a parley, to confer with him. [Troops come forward. A Parley sounded. Enter Reignier, on the Walls.

Suf.
See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner.

Reig.
To whom?

Suf.
To me.

Reig.
Suffolk, what remedy?
I am a soldier; and unapt to weep,
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.

Suf.
Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord:
Consent, (and, for thy honour, give consent,)
Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king;
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto;
And this her easy-held imprisonment
Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty.

Reig.
Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?

Suf.
Fair Margaret knows,
That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign9 note


.

Reig.
Upon thy princely warrant, I descend,
To give thee answer of thy just demand.
[Exit, from the Walls.

Suf.
And here I will expect thy coming.
Trumpets sounded. Enter Reignier, below.

Reig.
Welcome, brave earl, into our territories;
Command in Anjou what your honour pleases.

Suf.
Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child,
Fit to be made companion with a king:

-- 147 --


What answer makes your grace unto my suit?

Reig.
Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth1 note



,
To be the princely bride of such a lord;
Upon condition I may quietly
Enjoy mine own, the county Maine2 note, and Anjou,
Free from oppression, or the stroke of war,
My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please.

Suf.
That is her ransom, I deliver her;
And those two counties, I will undertake,
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy.

Reig.
And I again,—in Henry's royal name,
As deputy unto that gracious king,
Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith.

Suf.
Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,
Because this is in traffick of a king:
And yet, methinks, I could be well content
To be mine own attorney in this case. [Aside.
I'll over then to England with this news,
And make this marriage to be solemniz'd;
So, farewell, Reignier! Set this diamond safe
In golden palaces, as it becomes.

Reig.
I do embrace thee, as I would embrace
The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here.

Mar.
Farewell, my lord! Good wishes, praise, and prayers,
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret.
[Going.

-- 148 --

Suf.
Farewell, sweet madam! But hark you, Margaret;
No princely commendations to my king?

Mar.
Such commendations as become a maid,
A virgin, and his servant, say to him.

Suf.
Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly3 note directed.
But, madam, I must trouble you again,—
No loving token to his majesty?

Mar.
Yes, my good lord; a pure unspotted heart,
Never yet taint with love, I send the king.

Suf.
And this withal.
[Kisses her.

Mar.
That for thyself;—I will not so presume,
To send such peevish tokens4 note

to a king. [Exeunt Reignier and Margaret.

Suf.
O, wert thou for myself!—But, Suffolk, stay;
Thou may'st not wander in that labyrinth;
There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk.
Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise:
Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount;
Mad, natural graces5 note





that extinguish art;

-- 149 --


Repeat their semblance often on the seas,
That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet,
Thou may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder. [Exit. SCENE IV. Camp of the Duke of York, in Anjou. Enter York, Warwick, and Others.

York.
Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn.
Enter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd.

Shep.
Ah, Joan! this kills thy father's heart6 note out-right!
Have I sought every country far and near,
And, now it is my chance to find thee out,
Must I behold thy timeless7 note
cruel death?

-- 150 --


Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee!

Puc.
Decrepit miser8 note






! base ignoble wretch!
I am descended of a gentler blood;
Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine.

Shep.
Out, out!—My lords, an please you, 'tis not so;
I did beget her, all the parish knows:
Her mother liveth yet, can testify,
She was the first fruit of my bachelorship.

War.
Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage?

York.
This argues what her kind of life hath been;
Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes9 note

.

Shep.
Fye, Joan! that thou wilt be so obstacle1 note



!

-- 151 --


God knows, thou art a collop of my flesh2 note


;
And for thy sake have I shed many a tear:
Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan.

Puc.
Peasant, avaunt!—You have suborn'd this man,
Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.

Shep.
'Tis true, I gave a noble3 note
to the priest,
The morn that I was wedded to her mother.—
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.
Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time
Of thy nativity! I would, the milk
Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her breast,
Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake!
Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field,
I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee!
Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?
O, burn her, burn her; hanging is too good.
[Exit.

York.
Take her away; for she hath liv'd too long,
To fill the world with vicious qualities.

Puc.
First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd;
Not me4 note begotten of a shepherd swain,
But issu'd from the progeny of kings;
Virtuous, and holy; chosen from above,

-- 152 --


By inspiration of celestial grace,
To work exceeding miracles on earth.
I never had to do with wicked spirits:
But you,—that are polluted with your lusts,
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,—
Because you want the grace that others have,
You judge it straight a thing impossible
To compass wonders, but by help of devils.
No, misconceived5 note! Joan of Arc hath been
A virgin from her tender infancy,
Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd,
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.

York.
Ay, ay;—away with her to execution.

War.
And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,
Spare for no fagots, let there be enough:
Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,
That so her torture may be shortened.

Puc.
Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?—
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity;
That warranteth by law to be thy privilege6 note.—
I am with child, ye bloody homicides:
Murder not then the fruit within my womb,
Although ye hale me to a violent death.

York.
Now heaven forefend! the holy maid with child?

War.
The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought:
Is all your strict preciseness come to this?

York.
She and the Dauphin have been juggling:
I did imagine what would be her refuge.

-- 153 --

War.
Well, go to; we will have no bastards live;
Especially, since Charles must father it.

Puc.
You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his;
It was Alençon, that enjoy'd my love.

York.
Alençon! that notorious Machiavel7 note






!
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.

Puc.
O, give me leave, I have deluded you;
'Twas neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam'd,
But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd.

War.
A married man! that's most intolerable.

York.
Why, here's a girl! I think, she knows not well,
There were so many, whom she may accuse.

War.
It's sign, she hath been liberal and free.

York.
And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.—
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee:
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.

Puc.
Then lead me hence;—with whom I leave my curse:
May never glorious sun reflex his beams
Upon the country where you make abode!
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
Environ you; till mischief, and despair,

-- 154 --


Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves9 note
! [Exit, guarded.

York.
Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes,
Thou foul accursed minister of hell!
Enter Cardinal Beaufort, attended.

Car.
Lord regent, I do greet your excellence
With letters of commission from the king.
For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,
Mov'd with remorse1 note

of these outrageous broils,
Have earnestly implor'd a general peace
Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French;
And here at hand the Dauphin, and his train,
Approacheth, to confer about some matter.

York.
Is all our travail turn'd to this effect?
After the slaughter of so many peers,
So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers,
That in this quarrel have been overthrown,
And sold their bodies for their country's benefit,
Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace?
Have we not lost most part of all the towns,
By treason, falsehood, and by treachery,
Our great progenitors had conquered?—
O, Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief
The utter loss of all the realm of France.

War.
Be patient, York: if we conclude a peace,
It shall be with such strict and severe covenants,

-- 155 --


As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. Enter Charles, attended; Alençon, Bastard, Reignier, and Others.

Char.
Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed,
That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France,
We come to be informed by yourselves
What the conditions of that league must be.

York.
Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes
The hollow passage of my poison'd voice2 note

,
By sight of these our baleful enemies3 note


.

Win.
Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:
That—in regard king Henry gives consent,
Of mere compassion, and of lenity,
To ease your country of distressful war,
And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,—
You shall become true liegemen to his crown:
And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear
To pay him tribute, and submit thyself,
Thou shalt be plac'd as viceroy under him,
And still enjoy thy regal dignity.

Alen.
Must he be then as shadow of himself?
Adorn his temples with a coronet4 note



;

-- 156 --


And yet, in substance and authority,
Retain but privilege of a private man?
This proffer is absurd and reasonless.

Char.
'Tis known, already that I am possess'd
With more than half the Gallian territories,
And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king:
Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd,
Detract so much from that prerogative,
As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole?
No, lord ambassador; I'll rather keep
That which I have, than, coveting for more,
Be cast from possibility of all.

York.
Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means
Used intercession to obtain a league;
And, now the matter grows to compromise,
Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison5 note?
Either accept the title thou usurp'st,
Of benefit6 note
proceeding from our king,
And not of any challenge of desert,
Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.

Reig.
My lord, you do not well in obstinacy
To cavil in the course of this contráct:
If once it be neglected, ten to one,
We shall not find like opportunity.

Alen.
To say the truth, it is your policy,
To save your subjects from such massacre,
And ruthless slaughters, as are daily seen

-- 157 --


By our proceeding in hostility:
And therefore take this compact of a truce,
Although you break it when your pleasure serves. [Aside, to Charles.

War.
How say'st thou, Charles? shall our condition stand?

Char.
It shall; only reserv'd, you claim no interest
In any of our towns of garrison.

York.
Then swear allegiance to his majesty;
As thou art knight, never to disobey,
Nor be rebellious to the crown of England.
Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England,— [Charles, and the rest, give tokens of fealty.
So, now dismiss your army when ye please;
Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still,
For here we entertain a solemn peace.
[Exeunt. SCENE V. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, in conference with Suffolk; Gloster and Exeter following.

K. Hen.
Your wond'rous rare description, noble earl,
Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me:
Her virtues, graced with external gifts,
Do breed love's settled passions in my heart:
And like as rigour in tempestuous gusts
Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide;
So am I driven7 note, by breath of her renown,
Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive

-- 158 --


Where I may have fruition of her love.

Suf.
Tush! my good lord! this superficial tale
Is but a preface of her worthy praise:
The chief perfections of that lovely dame,
(Had I sufficient skill to utter them,)
Would make a volume of enticing lines,
Able to ravish any dull conceit.
And, which is more, she is not so divine,
So full replete with choice of all delights,
But, with as humble lowliness of mind,
She is content to be at your command;
Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents,
To love and honour Henry as her lord.

K. Hen.
And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume.
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent,
That Margaret may be England's royal queen.

Glo.
So should I give consent to flatter sin.
You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd
Unto another lady of esteem;
How shall we then dispense with that contráct,
And not deface your honour with reproach?

Suf.
As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths:
Or one, that, at a triumph8 note


having vow'd
To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists
By reason of his adversary's odds:
A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds,
And therefore may be broke without offence.

Glo.
Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than that?

-- 159 --


Her father is no better than an earl,
Although in glorious titles he excel.

Suf.
Yes, my good lord9 note, her father is a king,
The king of Naples and Jerusalem;
And of such great authority in France,
As his alliance will confirm our peace,
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.

Glo.
And so the earl of Armagnac may do,
Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.

Exe.
Beside, his wealth doth warrant liberal dower;
While Reignier sooner will receive, than give.

Suf.
A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king,
That he should be so abject, base, and poor,
To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love.
Henry is able to enrich his queen,
And not to seek a queen to make him rich:
So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,
As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.
Marriage is a matter of more worth,
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship1 note



;
Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects,
Must be companion of his nuptial bed:
And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,
It most2 note of all these reasons bindeth us,
In our opinions she should be preferr'd.

-- 160 --


For what is wedlock forced, but a hell,
An age of discord and continual strife?
Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss3 note


,
And is a pattern of celestial peace.
Whom should we match, with Henry, being a king,
But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?
Her peerless feature, joined with her birth,
Approves her fit for none, but for a king:
Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit,
(More than in women commonly is seen,)
Will answer our hope in issue of a king4 note;
For Henry, son unto a conqueror,
Is likely to beget more conquerors,
If with a lady of so high resolve,
As is fair Margaret, he be link'd in love.
Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me,
That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.

K. Hen.
Whether it be through force of your report,
My noble lord of Suffolk; or for that
My tender youth was never yet attaint
With any passion of inflaming love,
I cannot tell; but this I am assur'd,
I feel such sharp dissention in my breast,

-- 161 --


Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear,
As I am sick with working of my thoughts5 note
.
Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France:
Agree to any covenants: and procure
That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come
To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd
King Henry's faithful and anointed queen:
For your expences and sufficient charge,
Among the people gather up a tenth.
Be gone, I say; for, till you do return,
I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.—
And you, good uncle, banish all offence:
If you do censure me by what you were6 note,
Not what you are, I know it will excuse
This sudden execution of my will.
And so conduct me, where from company
I may revolve and ruminate my grief7 note. [Exit.

Glo.
Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.
[Exeunt Gloster and Exeter.

Suf.
Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd: and thus he goes,
As did the youthful Paris once to Greece;
With hope to find the like event in love,
But prosper better than the Trojan did.
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king;
But I will rule both her, the king, and realm.
[Exit8. note

-- 162 --





-- 163 --

Volume 18: The Second Part of King Henry the Sixth

-- 164 --

Introductory matter

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

This and The Third Part of King Henry VI. contain that troublesome period of this prince's reign which took in the whole contention betwixt the houses of York and Lancaster: and under that title were these two plays first acted and published. The present scene opens with King Henry's marriage, which was in the twenty-third year of his reign [A. D. 1445:] and closes with the first battle fought at St. Alban's, and won by the York faction, in the thirty-third year of his reign [A. D. 1455]: so that it comprizes the history and transactions of ten years. Theobald.

This play was altered by Crowne, and acted in the year 1681. Steevens.

In a note prefixed to the preceding play, I have briefly stated my opinion concerning the drama now before us, and that which follows it; to which the original editors of Shakspeare's works in folio have given the titles of The Second and Third Parts of King Henry VI.

The Contention of the Two Famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster in two parts, was published in quarto, the first part in 1594, the second in 1595, and both were reprinted in 1600. On these two plays, which I believe to have been written by some preceding author, before the year 1590, Shakspeare formed, as I conceive, this and the following drama; altering, retrenching, or amplifying, as he thought proper. The reasons on which this hypothesis is founded, I shall subjoin at large at the end of The Third Part of King Henry VI. At present it is only necessary to apprize the reader of the method observed in the printing of these plays. All the lines printed in the usual manner, are found in the original quarto plays (or at least with such minute variations as are not worth noticing): and those, I conceive, Shakspeare adopted as he found them. The lines to which inverted commas are prefixed, were, if my hypothesis be well founded, retouched, and greatly improved by him; and those with asterisks were his own original production; the embroidery with which he ornamented the coarse stuff that had been aukwardly made up for the stage by some of his contemporaries. The speeches which he new-modelled, he improved, sometimes by amplification, and sometimes by retrenchment.

Dr. Johnson observes very justly, p. 167, that these two parts were not written without a dependance on the first. Undoubtedly not; the old play of King Henry VI. (or, as it is now called, The First Part,) certainly had been exhibited before these were written in any

-- 165 --

form. But it does not follow from this concession, either that The Contention of the Two Houses, &c. in two parts, was written by the author of the former play, or that Shakspeare was the author of these two pieces as they originally appeared. Malone.

As Mr. Malone varied in his opinion as to the period at which these plays were altered by Shakspeare, I have reserved what is said upon that topic for the conclusion of his Dissertation, as the reader will there find the reasons upon which his first conjecture was founded, and will from thence be better able to judge how far his departure from it was an improvement. Boswell.

-- 166 --

PERSONS REPRESENTED. King Henry the Sixth: Humphrey, Duke of Gloster [Gloucester], his Uncle. Cardinal Beaufort [Winchester], Bishop of Winchester, great Uncle to the King. Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York. Edward, his Son. Richard, his Son. Duke of Somerset, of the King's Party. Duke of Suffolk, of the King's Party. Duke of Buckingham, of the King's Party. Lord Clifford, of the King's Party. Young Clifford [Young Clifford], his Son, of the King's Party. Earl of Salisbury, of the York Faction. Earl of Warwick, of the York Faction. Lord Scales, Governour of the Tower. Lord Say. Sir Humphrey Stafford [William Stafford], His Brother. Sir John Stanley. A Sea-captain [Lieutenant], Master Master's Mate Walter Whitmore. Two Gentlemen, Prisoners with Suffolk [Gentleman 1], [Gentleman 2]. A Herald. Vaux. Hume, Priest. Southwell, Priest. Bolingbroke, a Conjurer. A Spirit raised by him. Thomas Horner, an Armourer. Peter, his Man. Clerk of Chatham. Mayor of Saint Alban's. Simpcox, an Impostor. Two Murderers [Murderer 1], [Murderer 2]. Jack Cade, a Rebel: George, a Follower of Cade. John, a Follower of Cade. Dick, a Follower of Cade. Smith, the Weaver, a Follower of Cade. Michael, a Follower of Cade. Alexander Iden, a Kentish Gentleman. Margaret, Queen to King Henry. Eleanor, Duchess of Gloster. Margery Jourdain, a Witch. Wife to Simpcox. Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Petitioners, Aldermen, a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers; Citizens, Prentices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c. [Messenger], [Messenger 2], [Petitioner 1], [Petitioner 2], [Citizen], [Citizen 1], [Neighbour 1], [Neighbour 2], [Neighbour 3], [Prentice 1], [Prentice 2], [Servant], [Commons], [Soldier] SCENE, dispersedly in various Parts of England.

-- 167 --

SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT I. SCENE I. London. A Room of State in the Palace. Flourish of Trumpets: then Hautboys. Enter, on one side, King Henry, Duke of Gloster, Salisbury, Warwick, and Cardinal Beaufort; on the other, Queen Margaret, led in by Suffolk; York, Somerset, Buckingham, and Others, following.

Suf.
As by your high4 note

imperial majesty
I had in charge at my depart for France,
As procurator to your excellence2 note

,
To marry princess Margaret for your grace;
So, in the famous ancient city, Tours,—

-- 168 --


In presence of the kings of France and Sicil,
The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigne, and Alençon,
&mlquo;Seven earls, twelve barons, twenty reverend bishops,—
&mlquo;I have performed my task, and was espous'd:
&mlquo;And humbly now upon my bended knee,
In sight of England and her lordly† note peers,
Deliver up my title in the queen
To your most gracious hands, that are3 note
the substance
Of that great shadow I did represent;
The happiest gift that ever marquess gave,
The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Suffolk, arise.—Welcome, queen Margaret:
&mlquo;I can express no kinder sign of love,
&mlquo;Than this kind kiss.—O Lord, that lends me life,
&mlquo;Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
&mlquo;For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face,
&mlquo;A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
&mast;If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Great king of England, and my gracious lord;
&mlquo;The mutual conference4 note that my mind hath had—
&mlquo;By day, by night; waking, and in my dreams;
&mlquo;In courtly company, or at my beads,—
&mlquo;With you mine alder-liefest sovereign5 note




,

-- 169 --


&mlquo;Makes me the bolder to salute my king
&mlquo;With ruder terms; such as my wit affords,
&mlquo;And over-joy of heart doth minister.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Her sight did ravish: but her grace in speech,
&mlquo;Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,
&mlquo;Makes me, from wondering fall to weeping joys6 note









;
&mlquo;Such is the fulness of my heart's content.
&mlquo;Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.

-- 170 --

All.
Long live queen Margaret, England's happiness!

Q. Mar.
We thank you all.
[Flourish.

Suf.
My lord protector, so it please your grace,
Here are the articles of contracted peace,
Between our sovereign, and the French king Charles,
&mlquo;For eighteen months concluded by consent.
Glo. [Reads.]

Imprimis, It is agreed between the French king, Charles, and William de la Poole, marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry king of England,—that the said Henry shall espouse the lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier king of Naples, Sicilia, and Jerusalem; and crown her queen of England ere the thirtieth of May next ensuing.— Item,—That the dutchy of Anjou and the county of Maine6 note, shall be released and delivered to the king her father—

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Uncle, how now?

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Pardon me, gracious lord;
&mlquo;Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart,
&mlquo;And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further.

K. Hen.
Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on.
Win.

Item,—It is further agreed between them, —that the dutchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over to the king her father; and she sent over of the king of England's own proper cost and charges, without having dowry.

-- 171 --

K. Hen.
They please us well.—Lord marquess, kneel down;
We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,
And girt thee with the sword.—
Cousin of York, we here discharge your grace
From being regent in the parts of France,
Till term of eighteen months be full expir'd.—
Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloster, York, and Buckingham,
Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick;
We thank you all for this great favour done,
In entertainment to my princely queen.
Come, let us in; and with all speed provide
To see her coronation be perform'd.
[Exeunt King, Queen, and Suffolk.

Glo.
Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,
&mlquo;To you duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
&mlquo;Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
&mlquo;What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,
&mlquo;His valour, coin, and people, in the wars?
&mlquo;Did he so often lodge in open field,
&mlquo;In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat,
&mlquo;To conquer France, his true inheritance?
&mlquo;And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,
&mlquo;To keep by policy what Henry got?
&mlquo;Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
&mlquo;Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,
&mlquo;Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy?
&mlquo;Or hath my uncle Beaufort, and myself,
&mlquo;With all the learned council of the realm,
&mlquo;Studied so long, sat in the council-house,
&mlquo;Early and late, debating to and fro
&mlquo;How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe?
&mlquo;And hath his highness in his infancy
&mlquo;Been crown'd7 note in Paris, in despite of foes?
&mlquo;And shall these labours, and these honours, die?

-- 172 --


&mlquo;Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,
&mlquo;Your deeds of war, and all our counsel, die?
&mlquo;O peers of England, shameful is this league!
&mlquo;Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame;
&mlquo;Blotting your names from books of memory:
&mlquo;Razing the characters of your renown;
&mlquo;Defacing monuments of conquer'd France;
&mlquo;Undoing all, as all had never been!

&mast;Car.
&mast;Nephew, what means this passionate discourse?
&mast;This peroration with such circumstance8 note?
&mast;For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can;
&mast;But now it is impossible we should;
Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,
&mlquo;Hath given the dutchies of Anjou and Maine
&mast;Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style
&mast;Agrees not with the leanness of his purse9 note
.

&mast;Sal.
&mast;Now, by the death of him that died for all,
&mast;These counties were the keys of Normandy:—
But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;For grief, that they are past recovery:
&mlquo;For, were there hope to conquer them again,
&mlquo;My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.
&mlquo;Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;
&mlquo;Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer:
&mlquo;And are the cities1 note

, that I got with wounds,

-- 173 --


&mlquo;Deliver'd up again with peaceful words?
&mlquo;Mort Dieu!

&mast;York.
&mast;For Suffolk's duke—may he be suffocate,
&mast;That dims the honour of this warlike isle!
&mast;France should have torn and rent my very heart,
&mast;Before I would have yielded to this league.
&mlquo;I never read but England's kings have had
&mlquo;Large sums of gold, and dowries, with their wives:
&mlquo;And our king Henry gives away his own,
&mlquo;To match with her that brings no vantages.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;A proper jest, and never heard before,
&mast;That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth,
&mast;For costs and charges in transporting her!
&mast;She should have staid in France, and starv'd in France,
&mast;Before—

&mast;Car.
&mast;My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot;
&mast;It was the pleasure of my lord the king.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;My lord of Winchester, I know your mind;
&mlquo;'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,
&mlquo;But 'tis my presence that doth trouble you.
&mlquo;Rancour will out: Proud prelate, in thy face
&mlquo;I see thy fury: if I longer stay,
&mlquo;We shall begin our ancient bickerings2 note




.—

-- 174 --


Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,
I prophesied—France will be lost ere long. [Exit.

Car.
So, there goes our protector in a rage.
'Tis known to you, he is mine enemy:
&mast;Nay, more, an enemy unto you all;
&mast;And no great friend, I fear me, to the king.
&mast;Consider, lords, he is the next of blood,
&mast;And heir apparent to the English crown;
&mast;Had Henry got an empire by his marriage,
&mast;And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west3 note

,
&mast;There's reason he should be displeas'd at it.
&mast;Look to it, lords; let not his smoothing words
&mast;Bewitch your hearts; be wise, and circumspect.
&mlquo;What though the common people favour him,
&mlquo;Calling him—Humphrey the good Duke of Gloster;
&mlquo;Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice—
&mlquo;Jesu maintain your royal excellence!
&mlquo;With—God preserve the good duke Humphrey!
&mlquo;I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,
&mlquo;He will be found a dangerous protector.

&mast;Buck.
&mast;Why should he then protect our sovereign,
&mast;He being of age to govern of himself?—
&mlquo;Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,
&mlquo;And all together—with the duke of Suffolk,—
&mlquo;We'll quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his seat.

-- 173 --

&mast;Car.
&mast;This weighty business will not brook delay;
&mast;I'll to the duke of Suffolk presently.
[Exit.

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride,
&mlquo;And greatness of his place be grief to us,
&mlquo;Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal;
&mlquo;His insolence is more intolerable
&mlquo;Than all the princes in the land beside;
&mlquo;If Gloster be displac'd, he'll be protector.

Buck.
Or thou, or I, Somerset will be protector,
&mast;Despight duke Humphrey, or the cardinal.
[Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset.

Sal.
Pride went before, ambition follows him4 note




.
&mlquo;While these do labour for their own preferment,
&mlquo;Behoves it us to labour for the realm.
&mlquo;I never saw but Humphrey duke of Gloster
&mlquo;Did bear him like a noble gentleman.
&mlquo;Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal—
&mlquo;More like a soldier, than a man o' the church,
&mlquo;As stout, and proud, as he were lord of all,—
&mlquo;Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself
&mlquo;Unlike the ruler of a common-weal.—
&mlquo;Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age!
&mlquo;Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy house-keeping,
&mlquo;Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,
&mlquo;Excepting none but good duke Humphrey.—
&mlquo;And, brother York5 note, thy acts in Ireland,

-- 176 --


&mlquo;In bringing them to civil discipline6 note;
&mlquo;Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France,
&mlquo;When thou wert regent for our sovereign,
&mlquo;Have made thee fear'd, and honour'd, of the people:—
&mlquo;Join we together, for the publick good;
&mlquo;In what we can to bridle and suppress
&mlquo;The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal,
&mlquo;With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition;
&mlquo;And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds,
&mlquo;While they do tend the profit of the land7 note



.

&mast;War.
&mast;So God help Warwick, as he loves the land,
&mast;And common profit of his country!

&mast;York.
&mast;And so says York, for he hath greatest cause.

&mlquo;Sal.
&mlquo;Then let's make haste away, and look unto the main8 note
.

-- 177 --

War.
Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost;
&mlquo;That Maine, which by main force Warwick did win,
&mast;And would have kept, so long as breath did last:
Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine;
Which I will win from France, or else be slain.
[Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury.

York.
Anjou and Maine are given to the French.
&mast;Paris is lost; the state of Normandy
&mast;Stands on a tickle point9 note





, now they are gone:
&mast;Suffolk concluded on the articles;
&mast;The peers agreed; and Henry was well pleas'd,
&mast;To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.
&mast;I cannot blame them all; What is't to them,
&mast;'Tis thine they give away, and not their own.
&mast;Pirates may take cheap pennyworths of their pillage,
&mast;And purchase friends, and give to courtezans,
&mast;Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone:
&mast;While as the silly owner of the goods
&mast;Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands,
&mast;And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof,
&mast;While all is shar'd, and all is borne away;
&mast;Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own.
&mast;So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue,
&mast;While his own lands are bargain'd for, and sold.

-- 178 --


&mast;Methinks, the realms of England, France, and Ireland,
&mast;Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood,
&mast;As did the fatal brand Althea burn'd,
&mast;Unto the prince's heart of Calydon1 note

.
Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French!
Cold news for me; for I had hope of France,
Even as I have of fertile England's soil.
A day will come, when York shall claim his own;
And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts,
And make a show of love to proud duke Humphrey,
And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown,
For that's the golden mark I seek to hit:
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,
Nor hold the scepter in his childish fist,
Nor wear the diadem upon his head,
Whose church-like humours fit not for a crown.
Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve:
Watch thou, and wake, when others be asleep,
To pry into the secrets of the state;
Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,
With his new bride, and England's dear-bought queen,
And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars:
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,
With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd;
And in my standard bear the arms of York,
To grapple with the house of Lancaster;
And force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown,
Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. [Exit.

-- 179 --

SCENE II. The Same. A Room in the Duke of Gloster's House. Enter Gloster and the Duchess.

Duch.
Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn,
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?
&mast;Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows,
&mast;As frowning at the favours of the world?
&mast;Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth,
&mast;Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?
&mlquo;What see'st thou there? king Henry's diadem,
&mast;Enchas'd with all the honours of the world?
&mast;If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,
&mast;Until thy head be circled with the same.
&mlquo;Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold:—
&mlquo;What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine:
&mast;And, having both together heav'd it up,
&mast;We'll both together lift our heads to heaven;
&mast;And never more abase our sight so low,
&mast;As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,
&mlquo;Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts2 note
:
&mast;And may that thought, when I imagine ill
&mast;Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,
&mast;Be my last breathing in this mortal world!
&mlquo;My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.

-- 180 --

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it
&mlquo;With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Methought, this staff, mine office-badge in court,
&mlquo;Was broke in twain; by whom, I have forgot,
&mlquo;But, as I think, it was by the cardinal;
&mlquo;And on the pieces of the broken wand
&mlquo;Were plac'd the heads of Edmond duke of Somerset,
&mlquo;And William de la Poole first duke of Suffolk.
&mlquo;This was my dream; what it doth bode, God knows.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;Tut, this was nothing but an argument,
That he that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove,
&mlquo;Shall lose his head for his presumption.
&mlquo;But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke:
&mlquo;Methought, I sat in seat of majesty,
&mlquo;In the cathedral church of Westminster,
&mlquo;And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd;
&mlquo;Where Henry, and dame Margaret, kneel'd to me,
&mlquo;And on my head did set the diadem.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright:
&mast;Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor3 note

!
Art thou not second woman in the realm† note;
And the protector's wife, belov'd of him?
&mast;Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,

-- 181 --


&mast;Above the reach or compass of thy thought?
And wilt thou still be hammering treachery,
&mast;To tumble down thy husband, and thyself,
&mast;From top of honour to disgrace's feet?
Away from me, and let me hear no more.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;What, what, my lord! are you so cholerick
&mlquo;With Eleanor, for telling but her dream?
&mlquo;Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself,
&mlquo;And not be check'd.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again4 note

.
Enter a Messenger.

&mlquo;Mess.
&mlquo;My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure,
&mlquo;You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's,
&mlquo;Whereas the king and queen do mean to hawk5 note








.

Glo.
I go.—Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;Yes, good my lord, I'll follow presently. [Exeunt Gloster and Messenger.

-- 182 --


&mlquo;Follow I must, I cannot go before,
&mast;While Gloster bears this base and humble mind.
&mast;Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,
&mast;I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks,
&mast;And smooth my way upon their headless necks:
&mast;And, being a woman, I will not be slack
&mast;To play my part in fortune's pageant.
&mlquo;Where are you there? Sir John6 note! nay, fear not, man,
&mlquo;We are alone; here's none but thee, and I. Enter Hume.

Hume.
Jesu preserve your royal majesty!

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;What say'st thou, majesty! I am but grace.

Hume.
But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice,
&mlquo;Your grace's title shall be multiplied.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd
&mlquo;With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch7 note;
&mlquo;And Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?
&mlquo;And will they undertake to do me good?

-- 183 --

&mlquo;Hume.
&mlquo;This they have promised,—to show your highness
&mlquo;A spirit rais'd from depth of under ground,
&mlquo;That shall make answer to such questions,
&mlquo;As by your grace shall be propounded him.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;It is enough8 note











; I'll think upon the questions:
&mlquo;When from Saint Alban's we do make return,
&mlquo;We'll see these things effected to the full.
&mlquo;Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man,
&mlquo;With thy confederates in this weighty cause. [Exit Duchess.

&mast;Hume.
&mast;Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold;
&mlquo;Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume?
&mlquo;Seal up your lips, and give no words but—mum!
&mlquo;The business asketh silent secrecy.
&mast;Dame Eleanor gives gold, to bring the witch:
&mast;Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.
&mlquo;Yet have I gold, flies from another coast:
&mlquo;I dare not say, from the rich cardinal,
&mlquo;And from the great and new-made duke of Suffolk;
&mlquo;Yet I do find it so: for, to be plain,

-- 184 --


&mlquo;They, knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humour,
&mlquo;Have hired me to undermine the duchess,
&mlquo;And buz these conjurations in her brain.
&mast;They say, A crafty knave does need no broker8 note




;
&mast;Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker.
&mast;Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near
&mast;To call them both—a pair of crafty knaves.
&mast;Well, so it stands: And thus, I fear, at last,
&mast;Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck;
&mast;And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall:
&mast;Sort how it will9 note



, I shall have gold for all. [Exit. SCENE III. The Same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Peter, and Others, with Petitions.

&mlquo;1 Pet.

&mlquo;My masters, let's stand close; my lord protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in the quill1 note

.&mrquo;

-- 185 --

&mlquo;2 Pet.

&mlquo;Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man! Jesu bless him!&mrquo;

Enter Suffolk and Queen Margaret.

&mast;1 Pet.

&mast;Here 'a comes, methinks, and the queen with him: I'll be the first, sure.&mast;

&mlquo;2 Pet.

&mlquo;Come back, fool; this is the duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Suf.

&mlquo;How now, fellow? would'st any thing with me?&mrquo;

&mlquo;1 Pet.

&mlquo;I pray, my lord, pardon me! I took ye for my lord protector.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Q. Mar. [Reading the superscription.]

&mlquo;To my lord protector! are your supplications to his lordship? Let me see them: What is thine?&mrquo;

&mlquo;1 Pet.

&mlquo;Mine is, an't please your grace, against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Suf.

&mlquo;Thy wife too? that is some wrong, indeed2 note. —What's your's?—What's here! [Reads.]

-- 186 --

Against the duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of Melford.—How now, sir knave?&mrquo;

&mlquo;2 Pet.

&mlquo;Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Peter. [Presenting his petition.]

&mlquo;Against my master, Thomas Horner, for saying, That the duke of York was rightful heir to the crown.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Q. Mar.

&mlquo;What say'st thou? Did the duke of York say, he was rightful heir to the crown.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Pet.

&mlquo;That my master was3 note

? No, forsooth: my master said, That he was; and that the king was an usurper* note


.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Suf.

&mlquo;Who is there? [Enter Servants.]—Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently:—we'll hear more of your matter before the king.&mrquo;

[Exeunt Servants with Peter.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;And as for you, that love to be protected
&mlquo;Under the wings of our protector's grace,
&mlquo;Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. [Tears the Petition.
&mlquo;Away, base cullions!—Suffolk, let them go.

-- 187 --

&mast;All.
&mast;Come, let's be gone.
[Exeunt Petitioners.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,
&mast;Is this the fashion in the court of England?
&mast;Is this the government of Britain's isle,
&mast;And this the royalty of Albion's king?
&mast;What, shall king Henry be a pupil still,
&mast;Under the surly Gloster's governance?
&mast;Am I a queen in title and in style,
&mast;And must be made a subject to a duke?
&mlquo;I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours
&mlquo;Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love,
&mlquo;And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France;
&mlquo;I thought king Henry had resembled thee,
&mlquo;In courage, courtship, and proportion:
&mlquo;But all his mind is bent to holiness,
&mast;To number Ave-Maries on his beads:
&mast;His champions are—the prophets and apostles;
&mast;His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ;
&mast;His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves
&mast;Are brazen images of canoniz'd saints.
&mast;I would, the college of cardinals
&mast;Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome,
&mast;And set the triple crown upon his head;
&mast;That were a state fit for his holiness.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Madam, be patient: as I was cause
&mlquo;Your highness came to England, so will I
&mlquo;In England work your grace's full content.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Beside the haught protector, have we Beaufort,
&mast;The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham,
&mast;And grumbling York: and not the least of these,
&mast;But can do more in England than the king.

&mast;Suf.
&mast;And he of these, that can do most of all,
&mast;Cannot do more in England than the Nevils:

-- 188 --


&mast;Salisbury, and Warwick, are no simple peers.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Not all these lords do vex me half so much,
&mlquo;As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife,
&mlquo;She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,
&mlquo;More like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife:
Strangers in court do take her for the queen:
&mast;She bears a duke's revenues on her back3 note,
&mast;And in her heart she scorns our poverty:
&mast;Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her?
&mast;Contemptuous base-born callat as she is,
&mlquo;She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day,
&mlquo;The very train of her worst wearing-gown
&mlquo;Was better worth than all my father's lands,
&mast;Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms4 note for his daughter.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her5 note




;
&mast;And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds,
&mast;That she will light to listen to the lays,
&mast;And never mount to trouble you again.
&mast;So, let her rest: And, madam, list to me;
&mast;For I am bold to counsel you in this.
&mast;Although we fancy not the cardinal,
&mast;Yet must we join with him, and with the lords,
&mast;Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace.
&mast;As for the duke of York,—this late complaint6 note

-- 189 --


&mast;Will make but little for his benefit:
&mast;So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last,
&mast;And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. Enter King Henry, York, and Somerset, conversing with him; Duke and Duchess of Gloster, Cardinal Beaufort, Buckingham, Salisbury, and Warwick.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;For my part, noble lords, I care not which;
&mlquo;Or Somerset, or York, all's one to me.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;If York have ill demean'd himself in France,
&mlquo;Then let him be denay'd7 note


the regentship.

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;If Somerset be unworthy of the place,
&mlquo;Let York be regent, I will yield to him.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no,
&mlquo;Dispute not that: York is the worthier.

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.

War.
The cardinal's not my better in the field.

&mlquo;Buck.
&mlquo;All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.

War.
Warwick may live to be the best of all.

&mast;Sal.
&mast;Peace, son;—and show some reason, Buckingham,
&mast;Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Because the king, forsooth, will have it so.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Madam, the king is old enough himself

-- 190 --


&mlquo;To give his censure8 note




: these are no women's matters.

Q. Mar.
If he be old enough, what needs your grace
&mlquo;To be protector of his excellence?

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Madam, I am protector of the realm;
&mlquo;And, at his pleasure, will resign my place.

Suf.
Resign it then, and leave thine insolence.
&mlquo;Since thou wert king, (as who is king, but thou?)
&mlquo;The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck:
&mast;The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas;
&mast;And all the peers and nobles of the realm
&mast;Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.

&mast;Car.
&mast;The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags
&mast;Are lank and lean with thy extortions.

&mast;Som.
&mast;Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's attire,
&mast;Have cost a mass of publick treasury.

&mast;Buck.
&mast;Thy cruelty in execution,
&mast;Upon offenders, hath exceeded law,
&mast;And left thee to the mercy of the law.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Thy sale of offices, and towns in France,—
&mast;If they were known, as the suspect is great,—
&mast;Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. [Exit Gloster. The Queen drops her Fan.

-- 191 --


&mlquo;Give me my fan9 note
: What, minion! can you not? [Gives the Duchess a box on the ear.
&mlquo;I cry you mercy, madam; Was it you?

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;Was't I? yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman:
&mlquo;Could I come near your beauty with my nails,
I'd set my ten commandments in your face1 note




.

K. Hen.
Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;Against her will! Good king, look to't in time;
&mlquo;She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby:
&mast;Though in this place most master wear no breeches,
She shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng'd. [Exit Duchess2 note



.

&mast;Buck.
&mast;Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,
&mast;And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds:
&mast;She's tickled now3 note




; her fume needs no spurs,

-- 192 --


&mast;She'll gallop fast enough4 note to her destruction. [Exit Buckingham. Re-enter Gloster.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Now, lords, my choler being over-blown,
&mast;With walking once about the quadrangle,
&mast;I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.
&mast;As for your spiteful false objections,
&mast;Prove them, and I lie open to the law:
&mast;But God in mercy so deal with my soul,
&mast;As I in duty love my king and country!
&mast;But, to the matter that we have in hand:—
&mast;I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man
&mast;To be your regent in the realm of France.

&mast;Suf.
&mast;Before we make election, give me leave
&mlquo;To show some reason, of no little force,
&mlquo;That York is most unmeet of any man.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet.
&mlquo;First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride:
&mast;Next, if I be appointed for the place,
&mast;My lord of Somerset will keep me here,

-- 193 --


&mast;Without discharge, money, or furniture,
&mast;Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands.
&mast;Last time, I danc'd attendance on his will,
&mast;Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost.

&mast;War.
&mast;That I can witness; and a fouler fact
&mast;Did never traitor in the land commit.

Suf.
Peace, head-strong Warwick!

War.
Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?
Enter Servants of Suffolk, bringing in Horner and Peter.

Suf.
Because here is a man accus'd of treason;
Pray God, the duke of York excuse himself!

&mast;York.
&mast;Doth any one accuse York for a traitor?

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;What mean'st thou, Suffolk? tell me: What are these?

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Please it your majesty, this is the man
&mlquo;That doth accuse his master of high treason:
&mlquo;His words were these;—that Richard, duke of York,
&mlquo;Was rightful heir unto the English crown:
&mlquo;And that your majesty was an usurper.

&mlquo;K. Hen.

&mlquo;Say, man, were these thy words?&mrquo;

Hor.

An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am falsely accused by the villain.

&mlquo;Pet.

&mlquo;By these ten bones5 note




, my lords, [Holding

-- 194 --

up his Hands.] he did speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my lord of York's armour.&mrquo;

&mast;York.
&mast;Base dunghill villain, and mechanical,
&mast;I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech:—
&mlquo;I do beseech your royal majesty,
&mlquo;Let him have all the rigour of the law.

Hor.

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 villain's accusation.

K. Hen.
Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;This doom, my lord, if I may judge.
&mlquo;Let Somerset be regent o'er the French,
&mlquo;Because in York this breeds suspicion:
&mlquo;And let these have a day appointed them6 note








&mlquo;For single combat in convenient place;
&mlquo;For he hath witness of his servant's malice:

-- 195 --


&mlquo;This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom7 note













.

Som.
I humbly thank your royal majesty.

Hor.
And I accept the combat willingly.

Pet.

Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; &mast; for God's

-- 196 --

&mast;sake, pity my case! the spite of man prevaileth &mast;against me. O, Lord have mercy upon me! I &mast;shall never be able to fight a blow: O Lord, my &mast;heart!

Glo.
Sirrah, or you must fight or else be hang'd.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Away with them to prison: and the day
&mlquo;Of combat shall be the last of the next month.—
&mast;Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away.
[Exeunt. SCENE IV. The Same. The Duke of Gloster's Garden. Enter8 note




Margery Jourdain, Hume, Southwell
, and Bolingbroke.

&mast;Hume.

&mast;Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell &mast;you, expects performance of your promises.

&mast;Boling.

&mast;Master Hume, we are therefore provided: &mast;Will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms9 note

?

&mast;Hume.

&mast;Ay; What else? fear you not her courage.

-- 197 --

&mast;Boling.

&mast;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 God's name, and leave us. [Exit Hume.] mast;&mlquo;Mother &mlquo;Jourdain, be you prostrate, and grovel on the &mlquo;earth:—&mast;John Southwell, read you; and let us &mast;to our work.&mast;&mrquo;

Enter Duchess, above.

&mast;Duch.

&mast;Well said, my masters; and welcome &mast;all. To this geer; the sooner the better.

&mast;Boling.
&mast;Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night1 note

















,

-- 198 --


&mlquo;The time of night when Troy was set on fire;
&mlquo;The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl2 note

,
&mlquo;And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves,
&mlquo;That time best fits the work we have in hand.
&mlquo;Madam, sit you, and fear not; whom we raise,
&mlquo;We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. [Here they perform the Ceremonies appertaining, and make the Circle; Bolingbroke, or Southwell, reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth.

&mast;Spir.
&mast;Adsum.

&mast;M. Jourd.
&mast;Asmath.
&mast;By the eternal God, whose name and power
&mast;Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;

-- 199 --


&mast;For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence.

&mast;Spir.
&mast;Ask what thou wilt:—That I had said and done3 note


!

Boling.
First, of the king. What shall of him become4 note?
[Reading out of a Paper.

Spir.
The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
But him outlive, and die a violent death.
[As the Spirit speaks, Southwell writes the answer.

Boling.
What fate awaits the duke of Suffolk?

Spir.
By water shall he die, and take his end.

Boling.
What shall befall the duke of Somerset?

Spir.
Let him shun castles;
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
Than where castles mounted stand5 note



.

-- 200 --


&mlquo;Have done,for more I hardly can endure.

Boling.
Descend to darkness, and the burning lake:
&mlquo;False fiend, avoid6 note









! [Thunder and Lightning. Spirit descends. Enter York and Buckingham, hastily, with their Guards, and Others.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Lay hands upon these traitors, and their trash.
&mlquo;Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch.—
&mlquo;What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal
&mlquo;Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains;
&mlquo;My lord protector will, I doubt it not,
&mlquo;See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.

&mast;Duch.
&mast;Not half so bad as thine to England's king,
&mast;Injurious duke; that threat'st where is no cause.

-- 201 --

&mast;Buck.
&mast;True, madam, none at all. What call you this? [Shewing her the papers.
&mlquo;Away with them; let them be clapp'd up close,
&mlquo;And kept asunder:—You, madam, shall with us:—
&mlquo;Stafford, take her to thee.— [Exit Duchess from above.
&mlquo;We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming;
&mlquo;All.—Away!
[Exeunt Guards, with South. Boling. &c.

&mast;York.
&mast;Lord Buckingham, methinks7 note

, you watch'd her well:
&mast;A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!
Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.
What have we here? [Reads.
The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
But him outlive, and die a violent death.
&mast;Why, this is just,
&mast;Aio te, Æacida, Romanos vincere posse.
Well, to the rest:
Tell me8 note, what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk?
By water shall he die, and take his end.—
What shall betide the duke of Somerset?—
Let him shun castles;
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains,

-- 202 --


Than where castles mounted stand.
&mast;Come, come, my lords;
&mast;These oracles are hardily attain'd,
&mast;And hardly understood9 note



.
&mlquo;The king is now in progress toward Saint Albans,
&mlquo;With him the husband of this lovely lady:
&mlquo;Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them;
&mlquo;A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.

&mlquo;Buck.
&mlquo;Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of York,
&mlquo;To be the post, in hope of his reward.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;At your pleasure, my good lord.—Who's within there, ho! Enter a Servant.
&mlquo;Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick,
&mlquo;To sup with me to-morrow night.—Away!
[Exeunt.

-- 203 --

ACT II. SCENE I. Saint Albans. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Gloster, Cardinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers hollaing.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook1 note,
&mlquo;I saw not better sport these seven years' day:
&mlquo;Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high;
And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out2 note

.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,
&mlquo;And what a pitch she flew above the rest3 note


!—

-- 204 --


&mlquo;To see how God in all his creatures works!
&mast;Yea, man and birds, are fain of climbing high4 note



.

Suf.
No marvel, an it like your majesty,
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;
They know their master loves to be aloft5 note


,
&mast;And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind
&mlquo;That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;I thought as much; he'd be above the clouds.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Ay, my lord cardinal; How think you by that?
Were it not good, your grace could fly to heaven?

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;The treasury of everlasting joy!

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts
&mlquo;Beat on a crown6 note








, the treasure of thy heart;

-- 205 --


Pernicious protector, dangerous peer,
That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal!

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown perémptory?
&mast;Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ?
&mlquo;Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice;
&mlquo;With such holiness can you do it7 note



?

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;No malice, sir; no more than well becomes
&mlquo;So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer.

Glo.
As who, my lord?

-- 206 --

Suf.
Why, as you, my lord;
An't like your lordly lord-protectorship.

Glo.
Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.

Q. Mar.
And thy ambition, Gloster.

K. Hen.
I pr'ythee, peace,
Good queen; and whet not on these furious peers,
For blessed are the peacemakers on earth7 note.

Car.
Let me be blessed for the peace I make,
Against this proud protector, with my sword!

Glo.
'Faith, holy uncle, 'would 'twere come to that!
[Aside to the Cardinal.

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;Marry, when thou dar'st.
[Aside.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Make up no factious numbers for the matter,
&mlquo;In thine own person answer thy abuse.
[Aside.

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: an if thou dar'st,
&mlquo;This evening on the east side of the grove.
[Aside.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;How now, my lords?

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;Believe me, cousin Gloster,
&mlquo;Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
&mlquo;We had had more sport.—Come with thy two-hand sword.
[Aside to Glo.

Glo.
True, uncle.

Car.
Are you advis'd?—the east side of the grove?

Glo.
Cardinal,I am with you8 note

. [Aside.

-- 207 --

K. Hen.
Why, how now, uncle Gloster.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.—
Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this,
&mast;Or all my fence shall fail9 note
.
[Aside.

Car. [Aside.
Medice teipsum;
&mlquo;Protector, see to't well, protect yourself.

K. Hen.
The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords1 note.
&mast;How irksome is this musick to my heart!
&mast;When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?
&mast;I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.
Enter an Inhabitant of Saint Albans, crying, A Miracle2 note!

Glo.
What means this noise?

-- 208 --


Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?

Inhab.
A miracle! a miracle!

Suf.
Come to the king, and tell him what miracle.

Inhab.
Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine,
Within this half hour, hath receiv'd his sight;
A man, that ne'er saw in his life before.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Now, God be prais'd! that to believing souls
&mlquo;Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!
Enter the Mayor of Saint Albans, and his Brethren; and Simpcox, borne between two persons in a Chair; his Wife and a great Multitude following.

&mast;Car.
&mast;Here come the townsmen on procession,
&mast;To present your highness with the man.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
&mast;Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Stand by, my masters,bring him near the king,
&mast;His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,
&mast;That we for thee may glorify the Lord.
What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd?

Simp.
Born blind, an't please your grace.

Wife.
Ay, indeed, was he.

Suf.
What woman is this?

Wife.
His wife, an't like your worship.

Glo.
Had'st thou been his mother, thou could'st have better told.

-- 209 --

K. Hen.
Where wert thou born?

Simp.
At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Poor soul! God's goodness hath been great to thee:
&mlquo;Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass,
&mlquo;But still remember what the Lord hath done.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by chance,
&mast;Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?

&mlquo;Simp.
&mlquo;God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd
&mlquo;A hundred times, and oft'ner, in my sleep
&mlquo;By good Saint Alban; who said,—Simpcox3 note



, come;
&mlquo;Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.

&mast;Wife.
&mast;Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft
&mast;Myself have heard a voice to call him so.

Car.
What, art thou lame?

Simp.
Ay, God Almighty help me!

Suf.
How cam'st thou so?

Simp.
A fall off of a tree

Wife.
A plum-tree, master.

Glo.
How long hast thou been blind?

Simp.
O, born so, master.

Glo.
What, and would'st climb a tree?

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

&mast;Wife.
&mast;Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that would'st venture so.

-- 210 --

&mlquo;Simp.
&mlquo;Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some damsons,
&mlquo;And made me climb, with danger of my life.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.—
&mlquo;Let me see thine eyes:—wink now;—now open them:—
&mlquo;In my opinion yet thou see'st not well.

&mlquo;Simp.

&mlquo;Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God, and Saint Alban.&mrquo;

Glo.

Say'st thou me so3 note
? What colour is this cloak of?

Simp.

Red, master; red as blood.

Glo.

Why, that's well said: What colour is my gown of?

Simp.

Black, forsooth; coal-black, as jet.

K. Hen.

Why then, thou know'st what colour jet is of?

Suf.

And yet, I think, jet did he never see.

Glo.

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

&mast;Wife.

&mast;Never, before this day, in all his life.

Glo.

Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?

Simp.

Alas, master, I know not.

Glo.

What's his name?

Simp.

I know not.

Glo.

Nor his?

Simp.

No, indeed, master.

Glo.

What's thine own name?

Simp.

Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.

Glo.
Then, Saunder, sit there5 note, the lyingest knave
In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind,

-- 211 --


Thou might'st as well have known all our names5 note


as thus
To name the several colours we do wear.
Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly
To nominate them all, it is impossible6 note
.—
My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle;
And would ye not think that cunning7 note to be great,
That could restore this cripple to his legs again8 note?

Simp.

O, master, that you could!

Glo.

My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips?

May.

Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.

Glo.

Then send for one presently.

May.

Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.

[Exit an Attendant.

Glo.

Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A Stool brought out.] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool, and run away.

Simp.

Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone: You go about to torture me in vain.

Re-enter Attendant, with the Beadle.

Glo.

Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.

-- 212 --

Bead.

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

Simp.

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 the People follow and cry, A Miracle!

&mast;K. Hen.

&mast;O God, see'st thou this, and bear'st so long?

&mast;Q. Mar.

&mast;It made me laugh to see the villain run.

&mast;Glo.

&mast;Follow the knave; and take this drab away.

&mast;Wife.

&mast;Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.

&mlquo;Glo.

&mlquo;Let them be whipped through every market town, till they come to Berwick, whence they came.&mrquo;

[Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, &c.

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to day.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;True; made the lame to leap, and fly away.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;But you have done more miracles than I;
You made, in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly9 note
.
Enter Buckingham.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?

&mlquo;Buck.
&mlquo;Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold1 note








.

-- 213 --


&mlquo;A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent2 note

,—
&mlquo;Under the countenance and confederacy
&mlquo;Of lady Eleanor, the protector's wife,
&mlquo;The ringleader and head of all this rout,—
&mlquo;Have practis'd dangerously against your state,
&mlquo;Dealing with witches, and with conjurers:
&mlquo;Whom we have apprehended in the fact;
&mlquo;Raising up wicked spirits from under ground,
&mlquo;Demanding of king Henry's life and death,
&mlquo;And other of your highness' privy council,
&mlquo;As more at large your grace shall understand.

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;And so, my lord protector, by this means
&mlquo;Your lady is forthcoming3 note yet at London.
&mlquo;This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge;
&mlquo;'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.
[Aside to Gloster.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart!
&mast;Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers:
&mast;And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee,
&mast;Or to the meanest groom.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones;
&mast;Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!

-- 214 --

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest;
&mast;And, look, thyself be faultless, thou wert best.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Madam, for myself4 note







, to heaven I do appeal,
&mlquo;How I have lov'd my king, and commonweal:
&mlquo;And, for my wife, I know not how it stands;
&mlquo;Sorry I am to hear what I have heard:
&mlquo;Noble she is; but if she have forgot
&mlquo;Honour, and virtue, and convers'd with such
&mlquo;As, like to pitch, defile nobility,
&mlquo;I banish her, my bed, and company;
&mlquo;And give her, as a prey, to law, and shame,
&mlquo;That hath dishonour'd Gloster's honest name.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Well, for this night, we will repose us here:
&mlquo;To-morrow, toward London, back again,
&mlquo;To look into this business thoroughly,
&mlquo;And call these foul offenders to their answers;
&mlquo;And poise the cause in justice' equal scales,
&mlquo;Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails5 note


.
[Flourish. Exeunt.

-- 215 --

SCENE II. London. The Duke of York's Garden. Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Now, my good lords of Salisbury and Warwick,
&mlquo;Our simple supper ended, give me leave,
&mlquo;In this close walk, to satisfy myself,
&mlquo;In craving your opinion of my title,
&mlquo;Which is infallible6 note

, to England's crown.

&mast;Sal.
&mast;My lord, I long to hear it at full.

War.
Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good,
The Nevils are thy subjects to command.

York.
Then thus:—
&mlquo;Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons:
&mlquo;The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of Wales;
&mlquo;The second, William of Hatfield; and the third,
&mlquo;Lionel, duke of Clarence; next to whom,
&mlquo;Was John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster;
&mlquo;The fifth, was Edmond Langley7 note, duke of York;
&mlquo;The sixth, was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloster;
&mlquo;William of Windsor was the seventh, and last.
&mlquo;Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father;
&mlquo;And left behind him Richard, his only son,
&mlquo;Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign'd as king;

-- 216 --


&mlquo;Till Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster,
&mlquo;The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
&mlquo;Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth,
&mlquo;Seized on the realm; depos'd the rightful king;
&mlquo;Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came,
&mlquo;And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know8 note
,
&mlquo;Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously.

&mast;War.
&mast;Father, the duke hath told the truth;
&mast;Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.

&mast;York.
&mast;Which now they hold by force, and not by right;
&mast;For Richard, the first son's heir being dead,
&mast;The issue of the next son should have reign'd.

&mast;Sal.
&mast;But William of Hatfield died without an heir.

&mast;York.
&mast;The third son, duke of Clarence, (from whose line
&mast;I claim the crown,) had issue—Philippe, a daughter,
&mast;Who married Edmund Mortimer, earl of March,
&mast;Edmund had issue—Roger, earl of March:
&mast;Roger had issue—Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor.

&mlquo;Sal.
&mlquo;This Edmund9 note, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
&mlquo;As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;
&mlquo;And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,

-- 217 --


&mlquo;Who kept him in captivity, till he died1 note



.
&mast;But, to the rest.

-- 218 --

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;His eldest sister, Anne,
&mlquo;My mother being heir unto the crown,
&mlquo;Married Richard, earl of Cambridge; who was son
&mlquo;To Edmund Langley, Edward the third's fifth son.
&mlquo;By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir
&mlquo;To Roger, earl of March; who was the son
&mlquo;Of Edmund Mortimer; who married Philippe,
&mlquo;Sole daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence:
&mlquo;So, if the issue of the elder son
&mlquo;Succeed before the younger, I am king.

-- 219 --

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;What plain proceedings are more plain than this?
&mlquo;Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
&mlquo;The fourth son; York claims it from the third.
&mlquo;Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign;
&mlquo;It fails not yet; but flourishes in thee,
&mlquo;And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.—
&mlquo;Then, father Salisbury, kneel we both together;
&mlquo;And, in this private plot2 note, be we the first,
&mlquo;That shall salute our rightful sovereign
&mlquo;With honour of his birthright to the crown.

Both.
Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king!

&mlquo;York.
We thank you, lords. But I am not your king
&mlquo;Till I be crown'd; and that my sword be stain'd
&mlquo;With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster:
&mast;And that's not suddenly to be perform'd;
&mast;But with advice, and silent secrecy.
&mast;Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days,
&mast;Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence,
&mast;At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
&mast;At Buckingham, and all the crew of them,
&mast;Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock,
&mast;That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey:
&mast;'Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that,
&mast;Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.

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

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;My heart assures me3 note, that the earl of Warwick
&mlquo;Shall one day make the duke of York a king.

-- 220 --

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;And, Nevil, this I do assure myself,—
&mlquo;Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick
&mlquo;The greatest man in England, but the king.
[Exeunt. SCENE III. The Same. A Hall of Justice. Trumpets sounded. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Gloster, York, Suffolk, and Salisbury; the Duchess of Gloster, Margery Jourdain, Southwell, Hume, and Bolingbroke, under guard.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloster's wife:
&mlquo;In sight of God, and us, your guilt is great;
&mlquo;Receive the sentence of the law, for sins
&mlquo;Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death.—
&mast;You four, from hence to prison back again; [To Jourd. &c,
&mast;From thence, unto the place of execution:
&mast;The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes,
&mast;And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.—
&mlquo;You, madam, for you are more nobly born,
&mlquo;Despoiled of your honour in your life,
&mlquo;Shall, after three days' open penance4 note done,
&mlquo;Live in your country here, in banishment,
&mlquo;With sir John Stanley, in the isle of Man.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;Welcome is banishment, welcome were my death.

-- 221 --

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee;
&mast;I cannot justify whom the law condemns.— [Exeunt the Duchess, and the other Prisoners, guarded.
&mlquo;Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
&mlquo;Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age
&mlquo;Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!—
&mlquo;I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go;
&mlquo;Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease5 note.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster: ere thou go,
&mlquo;Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself
&mlquo;Protector be: and God shall be my hope,
&mlquo;My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet6 note;
&mlquo;And go in peace, Humphrey; no less belov'd,
&mlquo;Than when thou wert protector to thy king.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;I see no reason, why a king of years
&mast;Should be to be protected like a child.—
&mlquo;God and king Henry govern England's helm7 note





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

-- 222 --

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;My staff?—here, noble Henry, is my staff:
&mlquo;As willingly do I the same resign,
&mlquo;As e'er thy father Henry made it mine;
And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it,
As others would ambitiously receive it.
&mlquo;Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone,
May honourable peace attend thy throne!
[Exit.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen;
&mast;And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself,
&mast;That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once,—
&mast;His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off;
&mast;This staff of honour raught8 note



:—&mlquo;There let it stand,
&mlquo;Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.

&mast;Suf.
&mast;Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his sprays;
&mast;Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days9 note

.

-- 223 --

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Lords, let him go1 note.—Please it your majesty,
&mlquo;This is the day appointed for the combat;
&mlquo;And ready are the appellant and defendant,
&mlquo;The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,
&mlquo;So please your highness to behold the fight.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore
&mast;Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;O' God's name, see the lists and all things fit;
&mlquo;Here let them end it, and God defend the right!

&mast;York.
&mast;I never saw a fellow worse bested2 note,
&mast;Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,
&mast;The servant of this armourer, my lords.
Enter, on one side, Horner, and his Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters bearing his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it3 note



; a drum before him: at the other side, Peter, with a drum and a similar staff; accompanied by Prentices drinking to him.

1 Neigh.

Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you

-- 224 --

in a cup of sack; And fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.

2 Neigh.

And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco4 note



.

3 Neigh.

And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour: drink, and fear not your man.

Hor.

Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; And a fig for Peter!

1 Pren.

Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not afraid.

2 Pren.

Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master; fight for credit of the prentices.

Peter.

I thank you all: &mast; drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for, I think, I have taken my last draught in this world5 note


.&mast;—Here, Robin, an if I die,

-- 225 --

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 so much fence already.

Sal.

Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows.—Sirrah, what's thy name?

Peter.

Peter, forsooth.

Sal.

Peter! what more?

Peter.

Thump.

Sal.

Thump! then see thou thump thy master well.

Hor.

Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave, and myself an honest man: &mast; and touching the &mast;duke of York,—will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen: &mast;And therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow, &mast; as Bevis of Southampton fell upon Ascapart6 note



.

&mast;York.

&mast;Despatch: this knave's tongue begins to double7 note

.

-- 226 --

&mast;Sound trumpets, alarum to the combatants.

[Alarum. They fight, and Peter strikes down his Master.

Hor.

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

[Dies.

&mast;York.
&mast;Take away his weapon:—Fellow, thank

-- 227 --


&mast;God, and the good wine in thy master's way.

&mlquo;Peter.

&mlquo;O God! have I overcome mine enemies in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right!&mrquo;

K. Hen.
Go, take hence that traitor from our sight;
For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt8 note:
And God, in justice, hath reveal'd to us
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,
Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully.—
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.
[Exeunt. SCENE IV. The Same. A Street. Enter Gloster and Servants, in mourning Cloaks.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day a cloud;
&mast;And, after summer, evermore succeeds
&mast;Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold9 note


:

-- 228 --


&mast;So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet1 note



.—
Sirs, what's o'clock?

Serv.
Ten, my lord* note

2 note
.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Ten is the hour that was appointed me,
&mlquo;To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess:
&mlquo;Uneath3 note




may she endure the flinty streets,
&mlquo;To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
The abject people, gazing on thy face,
With envious4 note looks still laughing at thy shame5 note;
That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels,
When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
&mast;But, soft! I think, she comes; and I'll prepare
&mast;My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.

-- 229 --

Enter the Duchess of Gloster, in a white sheet, with papers pinn'd upon her back, her feet bare, and a taper burning in her hand; Sir John Stanley, a Sheriff, and Officers.

Serv.
So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by6 note


.

Duch.
Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze!
&mlquo;See, how the giddy multitude do point,
&mlquo;And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee!
&mlquo;Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks;
&mlquo;And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine.

Glo.
Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.

Duch.
Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget myself:
For, whilst I think I am thy married wife,
And thou a prince, protector of this land,
&mlquo;Methinks, I should not thus be led along,
Mail'd up in shame7 note, with papers on my back;
&mast;And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice
&mast;To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet8 note
groans.
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet;
And, when I start, the envious people laugh,
And bid me be advised how I tread.
&mlquo;Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?

-- 230 --


&mast;Trow'st thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world;
&mast;Or count them happy, that enjoy the sun?
&mast;No; dark shall be my light, and night my day;
&mast;To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell.
Sometime I'll say, I am duke Humphrey's wife;
And he a prince, and ruler of the land:
Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was,
As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
&mlquo;Was made a wonder, and a pointing-stock,
To every idle rascal follower.
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.
For Suffolk,—he that can do all in all
&mlquo;With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all,—
And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest,
Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings,
And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee:
&mast;But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd,
&mast;Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Ah, Nell, forbear; thou aimest all awry;
&mast;I must offend, before I be attainted:
&mast;And had I twenty times so many foes,
&mast;And each of them had twenty times their power,
&mast;All these could not procure me any scathe9 note

,
&mast;So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.
&mlquo;Would'st have me rescue thee from this reproach?
&mlquo;Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away,
&mlquo;But I in danger for the breach of law.
&mlquo;Thy greatest help is quiet1 note, gentle Nell:
&mlquo;I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;

-- 231 --


&mlquo;These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald.

Her.

I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament, holden at Bury the first of this next month.

Glo.
And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before!
This is close dealing.—Well, I will be there. [Exit Herald.
My Nell, I take my leave:—and, master sheriff,
Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.

&mlquo;Sher.
&mlquo;An't please your grace, here my commission stays:
&mlquo;And sir John Stanley is appointed now
&mlquo;To take her with him to the isle of Man.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Must you, sir John, protect my lady here?

&mlquo;Stan.
&mlquo;So am I given in charge, may't please your grace.

Glo.
Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray
You use her well: the world may laugh again2 note;
And I may live to do you kindness, if
You do it her. And so, sir John, farewell.

Duch.
What gone, my lord; and bid me not farewell?

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.
[Exeunt Gloster and Servants.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;Art thou gone too? &mast; All comfort go with thee!
&mast;For none abides with me: my joy is—death;
&mast;Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd,
&mast;Because I wish'd this world's eternity.—
&mlquo;Stanley, I pr'ythee, go, and take me hence;
&mlquo;I care not whither, for I beg no favour,
&mlquo;Only convey me where thou art commanded.

-- 232 --

&mast;Stan.
&mast;Why, madam, that is to the isle of Man;
&mast;There to be used according to your state.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;That's bad enough, for I am but reproach:
&mast;And shall I then be us'd reproachfully?

&mast;Stan.
&mast;Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's lady,
&mast;According to that state you shall be used.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare;
&mlquo;Although thou hast been conduct of my shame3 note



!

&mlquo;Sher.
&mlquo;It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharg'd.—
&mlquo;Come, Stanley, shall we go?

&mlquo;Stan.
&mlquo;Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,
&mlquo;And go we to attire you for our journey.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:
&mast;No, it will hang upon my richest robes,
&mast;And show itself, attire me how I can.
&mast;Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison4 note





. [Exeunt.

-- 233 --

ACT III. SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury. Enter to the Parliament, King Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, York, Buckingham, and Others.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;I muse5 note
, my lord of Gloster is not come:
&mlquo;'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
&mlquo;Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Can you not see? or will you not observe
&mlquo;The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?
&mlquo;With what a majesty he bears himself;
&mlquo;How insolent of late he is become,
&mlquo;How proud, how peremptory6 note
, and unlike himself?
&mlquo;We know the time, since he was mild and affable;
&mlquo;And, if we did but glance a far-off look,
&mlquo;Immediately he was upon his knee,
&mlquo;That all the court admir'd him for submission:
&mlquo;But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,
&mlquo;When every one will give the time of day,
&mlquo;He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye,
&mlquo;And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,
&mlquo;Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
&mlquo;Small curs are not regarded, when they grin;

-- 234 --


&mlquo;But great men tremble, when the lion roars;
&mlquo;And Humphrey is no little man in England.
&mlquo;First, note, that he is near you in descent;
&mlquo;And should you fall, he is the next will mount.
&mlquo;Me seemeth7 note then, it is no policy,—
&mlquo;Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears,
&mlquo;And his advantage following your decease,—
&mlquo;That he should come about your royal person,
&mlquo;Or be admitted to your highness' council.
&mlquo;By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts;
&mlquo;And, when he please to make commotion,
&mlquo;'Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him.
&mlquo;Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;
&mlquo;Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden,
&mlquo;And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
&mlquo;The reverent care, I bear unto my lord,
&mlquo;Made me collect8 note these dangers in the duke.
&mlquo;If it be fond9 note



, call it a woman's fear;
&mlquo;Which fear if better reasons can supplant,
&mlquo;I will subscribe and say—I wrong'd the duke.
&mlquo;My lord of Suffolk,—Buckingham,—and York,—
&mlquo;Reprove my allegation, if you can;
&mlquo;Or else conclude my words effectual.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Well hath your highness seen into this duke;
&mlquo;And, had I first been put to speak my mind,
I think, I should have told your grace's tale1 note.

-- 235 --


&mast;The duchess, by his subornation,
&mast;Upon my life, began her devilish practices:
&mast;Or if he were not privy to those faults,
&mast;Yet, by reputing of his high descent2 note
,
&mast;(As next the king, he was successive heir,)
&mast;And such high vaunts of his nobility,
&mast;Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess,
&mast;By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall.
Smooth runs the water, where the brook is deep;
&mast;And in his simple show he harbours treason.
The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb.
No, no, my sovereign; Gloster is a man
Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.

&mast;Car.
&mast;Did he not, contrary to form of law,
&mast;Devise strange deaths for small offences done?

York.
And did he not, in his protectorship,
&mast;Levy great sums of money through the realm,
&mast;For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it?
&mast;By means whereof, the towns each day revolted.

&mast;Buck.
&mast;Tut! these are petty faults to faults unknown,
&mast;Which time will bring to light in smooth duke Humphrey.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;My lords, at once: The care you have of us,
&mast;To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
&mast;Is worthy praise: But shall I speak my conscience?
&mast;Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent
&mast;From meaning treason to our royal person,
&mast;As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove:
&mast;The duke is virtuous, mild; and too well given,

-- 236 --


&mast;To dream on evil, or to work my downfall.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance!
&mast;Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd,
&mast;For he's disposed as the hateful raven.
&mast;Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him,
&mast;For he's inclin'd as are the ravenous wolves,
&mast;Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit?
&mast;Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all
&mast;Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.
Enter Somerset.

&mast;Som.
&mast;All health unto my gracious sovereign!

K. Hen.
Welcome, lord Somerset. What news from France?

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;That all your interest in those territories
&mlquo;Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.

K. Hen.
Cold news, lord Somerset: But God's will be done!

York.
Cold news for me3 note; for I had hope of France,
As firmly as I hope for fertile England.
&mast;Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,
&mast;And caterpillars eat my leaves away:
&mast;But I will remedy this gear4 note



ere long,
&mast;Or sell my title for a glorious grave. [Aside. Enter Gloster.

Glo.
&mast;All happiness unto my lord the king!

-- 237 --


Pardon my liege, that I have staid so long.

Suf.
Nay, Gloster, know, that thou art come too soon,
&mlquo;Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art:
I do arrest thee of high treason here.

Glo.
Well, Suffolk's duke5 note


, thou shalt not see me blush,
Nor change my countenance for this arrest;
&mast;A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.
&mast;The purest spring is not so free from mud,
&mast;As I am clear from treason to my sovereign:
Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?

York.
'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.

Glo.
Is it but thought so? What are they that think it?
&mlquo;I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay,
&mlquo;Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
&mlquo;So help me God, as I have watch'd the night,—
&mlquo;Ay, night by night,—in studying good for England!
&mlquo;That doit that e'er I wrested from the king,
&mlquo;Or any groat I hoarded to my use,
&mlquo;Be brought against me at my trial day!
&mlquo;No! many a pound of mine own proper store,
&mlquo;Because I would not tax the needy commons,

-- 238 --


&mlquo;Have I dispursed to the garrisons,
&mlquo;And never ask'd for restitution.

&mast;Car.
&mast;It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;I say no more than truth, so help me God!

York.
In your protectorship, you did devise
Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of,
That England was defam'd by tyranny.

Glo.
Why, 'tis well known, that whiles I was protector,
Pity was all the fault that was in me;
&mast;For I should melt at an offender's tears,
&mast;And lowly words were ransom for their fault.
&mlquo;Unless it were a bloody murderer,
&mlquo;Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers,
&mlquo;I never gave them cóndign punishment:
&mlquo;Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd
&mlquo;Above the felon, or what trespass else.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;My lord, these faults are easy6 note

, quickly answer'd:
&mlquo;But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,
&mlquo;Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.
&mlquo;I do arrest you in his highness' name;
&mlquo;And here commit you to my lord cardinal
&mlquo;To keep, until your further time of trial.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;My lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope,
&mlquo;That you will clear yourself from all suspects7 note




;

-- 239 --


My conscience tells me, you are innocent.

Glo.
Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous!
&mast;Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition,
&mast;And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand;
&mast;Foul subornation is predominant,
&mast;And equity exíl'd your highness' land.
&mast;I know, their complot is to have my life;
&mlquo;And, if my death might make this island happy,
&mlquo;And prove the period of their tyranny,
&mlquo;I would expend it with all willingness:
&mlquo;But mine is made the prologue to their play;
&mlquo;For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril,
&mlquo;Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
&mlquo;Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
&mlquo;And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;
&mlquo;Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue
&mlquo;The envious load that lies upon his heart;
&mlquo;And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
&mlquo;Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back,
&mlquo;By false accuse8 note doth level at my life:—
&mlquo;And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,
&mlquo;Causeless have laid disgraces on my head;
&mast;And with your best endeavour, have stirr'd up
&mast;My liefest9 note




liege to be mine enemy:—
&mast;Ay, all of you have laid your heads together,
&mast;Myself had notice of your conventicles,
&mlquo;I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
&mlquo;Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt;

-- 240 --


&mlquo;The ancient proverb will be well affected,—
A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.

&mast;Car.
&mast;My liege, his railing is intolerable:
&mast;If those that care to keep your royal person
&mast;From treason's secret knife, and traitors' rage,
&mast;Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at,
&mast;And the offender granted scope of speech,
&mast;'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.

Suf.
Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here,
&mlquo;With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd,
&mlquo;As if she had suborned some to swear
&mlquo;False allegations to o'erthrow his state?

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;But I can give the loser leave to chide.

Glo.
Far truer spoke, than meant: I lose, indeed;—
&mlquo;Beshrew the winners, for they played me false!
&mast;And well such losers may have leave to speak.

Buck.
He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day:—
&mlquo;Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner.

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure.

Glo.
Ah, thus king Henry throws away his crutch,
Before his legs be firm to bear his body:
&mlquo;Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
&mlquo;And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.
&mlquo;Ah, that my fear were false1 note

! ah, that it were!
&mlquo;For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear.
[Exeunt Attendants with Gloster.

K. Hen.
My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best,

-- 241 --


Do, or undo, as if ourself were here.

Q. Mar.
What, will your highness leave the parliament?

K. Hen.
Ay, Margaret2 note






; my heart is drown'd with grief,
&mast;Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes;
&mast;My body round engirt with misery;
&mast;For what's more miserable than discontent?—
&mast;Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see
&mast;The map of honour3 note
, truth, and loyalty;
&mast;And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come,
&mast;That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith.
&mast;What low'ring star now envies thy estate,
&mast;That these great lords, and Margaret our queen,
&mast;Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?
&mast;Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong:
&mast;And as the butcher takes away the calf,
&mast;And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays4 note

,

-- 242 --


&mast;Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house;
&mast;Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence.
&mast;And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
&mast;Looking the way her harmless young one went,
&mast;And can do nought but wail her darling's loss;
&mast;Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case,
&mast;With sad unhelpful tears; and with dimm'd eyes
&mast;Look after him, and cannot do him good;
&mast;So mighty are his vowed enemies.
&mlquo;His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan,
&mlquo;Say—Who's a traitor? Gloster he is none. [Exit.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Free lords5 note




, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams.
&mast;Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,
&mast;Too full of foolish pity: and Gloster's show
&mast;Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile
&mast;With sorrow snares relenting passengers;

-- 243 --


&mast;Or as the snake, roll'd in a flowering bank6 note,
&mast;With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child,
&mast;That for the beauty, thinks it excellent.
&mast;Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I,
&mast;(And yet, herein, I judge mine own wit good,)
&mlquo;This Gloster should be quickly rid the world,
&mlquo;To rid us from the fear we have of him.

&mast;Car.
&mast;That he should die is worthy policy;
&mast;But yet we want a colour for his death:
&mast;'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.

&mast;Suf.
&mast;But, in my mind that were no policy:
&mast;The king will labour still to save his life;
&mast;The commons haply rise to save his life;
&mast;And yet we have but trivial argument,
&mast;More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.

&mast;York.
&mast;So that, by this, you would not have him die.

&mast;Suf.
&mast;Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I.

&mast;York.
&mast;'Tis York that hath more reason for his death7 note



.—
&mast;But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suffolk,—
&mast;Say, as you think, and speak it from your souls,—
&mast;Wer't not all one, an empty eagle were set
&mast;To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,

-- 244 --


&mast;As place duke Humphrey for the king's protector?

Q. Mar.
So the poor chicken should be sure of death.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Madam, 'tis true: And wer't not madness then,
&mlquo;To make the fox surveyor of the fold?
&mlquo;Who being accus'd a crafty murderer,
&mlquo;His guilt should be but idly posted over,
&mlquo;Because his purpose is not executed.
&mlquo;No; let him die, in that he is a fox,
&mlquo;By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock,
&mlquo;Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood;
&mlquo;As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege8 note
















.

-- 245 --


&mlquo;And do not stand on quillets how to slay him:
&mlquo;Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty,
&mlquo;Sleeping, or waking, 'tis no matter how,
&mlquo;So he be dead; for that is good deceit
&mlquo;Which mates him first, that first intends deceit9 note

.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Thrice noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.

&mast;Suf.
&mast;Not resolute, except so much were done;
&mast;For things are often spoke, and seldom meant:
&mast;But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue,—
&mast;Seeing the deed is meritorious,
&mast;And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,—

-- 246 --


&mast;Say but the word, and I will be his priest1 note.

&mast;Car.
&mast;But I would have him dead, my lord of Suffolk,
&mast;Ere you can take due orders for a priest:
&mast;Say, you consent, and censure well the deed2 note,
&mast;And I'll provide his executioner,
&mast;I tender so the safety of my liege.

&mast;Suf.
&mast;Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;And so say I.

&mast;York.
&mast;And I: and now we three3 note



have spoke it,
&mast;It skills not4 note

greatly who impugns our doom. Enter a Messenger.

&mlquo;Mess.
&mlquo;Great lords5 note






, from Ireland am I come amain,

-- 247 --


&mlquo;To signify—that rebels there are up,
&mlquo;And put the Englishmen unto the sword:
&mast;Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,
&mast;Before the wound do grow incurable;
&mast;For, being green, there is great hope of help.

&mast;Car.
&mast;A breach, that craves a quick expedient stop6 note
!
&mlquo;What counsel give you in this weighty cause?

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;That Somerset be sent as regent thither:
&mlquo;'Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ'd;
&mlquo;Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;If York, with all his far-fet policy,
&mlquo;Had been the regent there instead of me,
&mlquo;He never would have staid in France so long.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done:
&mlquo;I rather would have lost my life betimes,
&mast;Than bring a burden of dishonour home,
&mast;By staying there so long, till all were lost.
&mast;Show me one scar charácter'd on thy skin:
&mast;Men's flesh preserv'd so whole, do seldom win.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
&mast;If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with:—
&mast;No more, good York;—sweet Somerset, be still;—
&mast;Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,
&mast;Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.

York.
What, worse than naught? nay, then a shame take all!

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;And, in the number, thee, that wishest shame!

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;My lord of York, try what your fortune is.
&mlquo;The uncivil Kernes of Ireland are in arms,
&mlquo;And temper clay with blood of Englishmen:
&mlquo;To Ireland will you lead a band of men,

-- 248 --


&mlquo;Collected choicely, from each county some,
&mlquo;And try your hap against the Irishmen?

&mast;York.
&mast;I will, my lord, so please his majesty.

&mast;Suf.
&mast;Why our authority is his consent;
&mast;And what we do establish, he confirms:
&mast;Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;I am content: Provide me soldiers, lords,
&mlquo;Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;A charge, lord York, that I will see perform'd7 note









.
&mlquo;But now return we to the false duke Humphrey.

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;No more of him; for I will deal with him,
&mlquo;That henceforth, he shall trouble us no more.
&mlquo;And so break off; the day is almost spent:
&mlquo;Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days,
&mlquo;At Bristol I expect my soldiers;
&mlquo;For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

Suf.
I'll see it truly done, my lord of York.
[Exeunt all but York.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,
&mlquo;And change misdoubt to resolution:
&mast;Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art
&mast;Resign to death, it is not worth the enjoying:
&mast;Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man,
&mast;And find no harbour in a royal heart.

-- 249 --


&mast;Faster than spring-time showers, comes thought on thought;
&mast;And not a thought, but thinks on dignity.
&mast;My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,
&mast;Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
&mast;Well, nobles, well, 'tis politickly done,
&mast;To send me packing with an host of men:
&mast;I fear me you but warm the starved snake,
&mast;Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts.
'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me:
&mlquo;I take it kindly; yet, be well assur'd
&mlquo;You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
&mlquo;Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
&mast;I will stir up in England some black storm,
&mast;Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell;
&mast;And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
&mast;Until the golden circuit on my head8 note







,
&mast;Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
&mast;Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw9 note

.

-- 250 --


&mlquo;And, for a minister of my intent,
&mlquo;I have seduc'd a head-strong Kentishman,
&mlquo;John Cade of Ashford,
&mlquo;To make commotion, as full well he can,
&mlquo;Under the title of John Mortimer.
&mast;In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
&mast;Oppose himself against a troop of Kernes1 note;
&mast;And fought so long2 note, till that his thighs with darts
&mast;Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine:
&mast;And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him
&mast;Caper upríght like a wild Mórisco3 note


,

-- 251 --


&mast;Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
&mast;Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty Kerne4 note,
&mast;Hath he conversed with the enemy;
&mast;And undiscover'd come to me again,
&mast;And given me notice of their villainies.
&mast;This devil here shall be my substitute;
&mast;For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
&mast;In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:
&mlquo;By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
&mlquo;How they affect the house and claim of York.
&mlquo;Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortured;
&mlquo;I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him,
&mlquo;Will make him say—I mov'd him to those arms.
&mlquo;Say, that he thrive, (as 'tis great like he will,)
&mlquo;Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength,
&mlquo;And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd:
&mlquo;For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
&mlquo;And Henry put apart, the next for me5 note


. [Exit.

-- 252 --

6 note









. SCENE II Bury. A Room in the Palace. Enter certain Murderers, hastily.

1 Mur.
Run to my lord of Suffolk; let him know,
&mast;We have despatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

&mast;2 Mur.
&mast;O, that it were to do!—What have we done?
&mast;Didst ever hear a man so penitent?
Enter Suffolk.

&mlquo;1 Mur.
&mlquo;Here comes my lord.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Now, sirs, have you
&mlquo;Despatch'd this thing?

&mlquo;1 Mur.
&mlquo;Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;
&mlquo;I will reward you for this venturous deed.
&mlquo;The king and all the peers are here at hand:—
&mlquo;Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well,
&mlquo;According as I gave directions?

-- 253 --

&mlquo;1 Mur.
&mlquo;'Tis, my good lord.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Away, be gone!
[Exeunt Murderers. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal Beaufort, Somerset, Lords, and Others.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Go, call our uncle to our presence straight;
&mlquo;Say, we intend to try his grace to-day,
&mlquo;If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;I'll call him presently, my noble lord.
[Exit.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Lords, take your places;—And, I pray you all,
&mlquo;Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster,
&mlquo;Than from true evidence, of good esteem,
&mlquo;He be approv'd in practice culpable.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;God forbid any malice should prevail,
&mast;That faultless may condemn a nobleman!
&mast;Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion!

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;I thank thee, Margaret; these words content me much7 note



.—

-- 254 --

Re-enter Suffolk.
&mlquo;How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
&mlquo;Where is our uncle? what is the matter, Suffolk?

Suf.
Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Marry, God forefend!

&mast;Car.
&mast;God's secret judgment:—I did dream to-night,
&mast;The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word.
[The King swoons.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;How fares my lord?—Help, lords! the king is dead.

&mast;Som.
&mast;Rear up his body; wring him by the nose8 note.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Run, go, help, help!—O, Henry, ope thine eyes!

&mast;Suf.
&mast;He doth revive again;—Madam, be patient.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;O heavenly God!

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;How fares my gracious lord?

Suf.
Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!

-- 255 --

K. Hen.
What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now9 note to sing a raven's note,
&mast;Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;
And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren,
&mlquo;By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
&mlquo;Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
&mast;Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words.
&mast;Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
&mast;Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
&mlquo;Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
&mlquo;Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
&mlquo;Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding:—
&mlquo;Yet do not go away;—Come, basilisk,
&mlquo;And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight1 note






:
&mast;For in the shade of death I shall find joy;
&mast;In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead.

Q. Mar.
Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus?
&mast;Although the duke was enemy to him,
&mast;Yet he, most christian-like, laments his death:
&mast;And for myself,—foe as he was to me,
&mast;Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
&mast;Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,
&mast;I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
&mast;Look pale as primrose, with blood-drinking sighs2 note



,

-- 256 --


&mast;And all to have the noble duke alive.
&mlquo;What know I how the world may deem of me?
&mlquo;For it is known, we were but hollow friends;
&mlquo;It may be judg'd, I made the duke away:
&mast;So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
&mast;And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
&mast;This get I by his death: Ah me, unhappy!
&mast;To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man!

Q. Mar.
Be woe for me3 note, more wretched than he is.
What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face?
I am no loathsome leper, look on me.
&mast;What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf4 note





















?

-- 257 --


&mast;Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen.
&mast;Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb?
&mast;Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy:
&mast;Erect his statue then, and worship it,
&mast;And make my image but an alehouse sign.
Was I, for this, nigh wreck'd upon the sea;
&mlquo;And twice by aukward wind5 note





from England's bank
&mlquo;Drove back again unto my native clime?
What boded this, but well-forewarning wind
Did seem to say,—Seek not a scorpion's nest,
&mast;Nor set no footing on this unkind shore?
&mast;What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts6 note,
&mast;And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves;
&mast;And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,
&mast;Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock?
&mast;Yet Æolus would not be a murderer,
&mast;But left that hateful office unto thee:
&mast;The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me;
&mast;Knowing, that thou would'st have me drown'd on shore,
&mast;With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness:

-- 258 --


&mast;The splitting rocks cow'rd in the sinking sands7 note







,
&mast;And would not dash me with their ragged sides;
&mast;Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
&mast;Might in thy palace perish Margaret8 note

.
&mast;As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,
&mast;When from the shore the tempest beat us back,
&mast;I stood upon the hatches in the storm:
&mast;And when the dusky sky began to rob
&mast;My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
&mast;I took a costly jewel from my neck,—
&mast;A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,—
&mast;And threw it towards thy land;—the sea receiv'd it;
&mast;And so, I wish'd, thy body might my heart:
&mast;And even with this, I lost fair England's view,
&mast;And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart;
&mast;And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
&mast;For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
&mast;How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue
&mast;(The agent of thy foul inconstancy,)
&mast;To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did,

-- 259 --


&mast;When he to madding Dido, would unfold
&mast;His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy9 note




?
&mast;Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him1 note



?
&mast;Ah me, I can no more! Die, Margaret!
&mast;For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long.

-- 260 --

Noise within. Enter Warwick and Salisbury. The Commons press to the door.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;It is reported, mighty sovereign,
&mlquo;That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd
&mlquo;By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means.
&mlquo;The commons, like an angry hive of bees,
&mlquo;That want their leader, scatter up and down,
&mlquo;And care not who they sting in his revenge.
&mlquo;Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
&mlquo;Until they hear the order of his death.

K. Hen.
That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;
But how he died, God knows, not Henry2 note:
&mlquo;Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
&mlquo;And comment then upon his sudden death.

War.
That I shall do, my liege:—Stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude, till I return.
[Warwick goes into an inner Room, and Salisbury retires.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;O thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts;
&mast;My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul,
&mast;Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life!
&mast;If my suspect be false, forgive me, God;
&mast;For judgment only doth belong to thee!
&mast;Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
&mast;With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain3 note



-- 261 --


&mast;Upon his face an ocean of salt tears;
&mast;To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
&mast;And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling:
&mast;But all in vain are these mean obsequies;
&mast;And, to survey his dead and earthy image,
What were it but to make my sorrow greater? The folding Doors of an inner Chamber are thrown open, and Gloster is discovered dead in his Bed: Warwick and others standing by it4 note.

&mast;War.
&mast;Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;That is to see how deep my grave is made:
&mast;For, with his soul, fled all my worldly solace;
&mast;For seeing him, I see my life in death5 note







.

-- 262 --

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;As surely as my soul intends to live
&mlquo;With that dread King that took our state upon him
&mlquo;To free us from his Father's wrathful curse,
&mlquo;I do believe that violent hands were laid
&mlquo;Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.

Suf.
A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!
&mlquo;What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow?

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;See, how the blood is settled in his face!
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost6 note

























,

-- 263 --


&mlquo;Of ashy semblance7 note
, meager, pale, and bloodless,

-- 264 --


&mlquo;Being all descended to the labouring heart8 note
;
&mlquo;Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
‘Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;
&mlquo;Which with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth
&mlquo;To blush and beautify the cheek again.
&mlquo;But, see, his face is black, and full of blood;
&mlquo;His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd,
&mlquo;Staring full ghastly like a strangled man:
&mlquo;His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling;
&mlquo;His hands abroad display'd9 note, as one that grasp'd
&mlquo;And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd.
&mlquo;Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking;
&mlquo;His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
&mlquo;Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd.

-- 265 --


&mlquo;It cannot be, but he was murder'd here;
&mlquo;The least of all these signs were probable.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death?
&mlquo;Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection;
&mlquo;And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;But both of you were vow'd duke Humphrey's foes;
&mlquo;And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep:
&mlquo;'Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend;
&mlquo;And 'tis well seen he found an enemy.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen
&mlquo;As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death.

War.
Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding fresh,
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,
But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,
But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Are you the butcher, Suffolk; where's your knife?
Is Beaufort term'd a kite? where are his talons?

Suf.
I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men;
But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart,
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge:—
Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death.
[Exeunt Cardinal, Som. and Others.

War.
What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?

Q. Mar.
He dares not calm his contumelious spirit,

-- 266 --


Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

War.
Madam, be still; with reverence may I say:
For every word, you speak in his behalf,
Is slander to your royal dignity.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour!
If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much,
Thy mother took into her blameful bed
Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock
Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art,
And never of the Nevils' noble race.

War.
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 sovereign's 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 meant'st,
That thou thyself wast born in bastardy:
And, after all this fearful homage done,
Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell,
Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men!

Suf.
Thou shalt be waking, while I shed thy blood,
If from this presence thou dar'st go with me.

War.
Away even now, or I will drag thee hence:
&mast;Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee,
&mast;And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost.
[Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick.

&mast;K. Hen.
What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted?
&mast;Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just2 note

;

-- 267 --


&mast;And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
&mast;Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. [A Noise within.

Q. Mar.
What noise is this?
Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their Weapons drawn.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Why, how now, lords? your wrathful weapons drawn
&mlquo;Here in our presence? dare you be so bold?—
&mlquo;Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?

Suf.
The traitorous Warwick, with the men of Bury,
Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.
Noise of a Croud within. Re-enter Salisbury.

&mast;Sal.
&mast;Sirs, stand apart; the king shall know your mind.— [Speaking to those within.
Dread lord, the commons send you word by me,
Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death,
Or banished fair England's territories,
&mlquo;They will by violence tear him from your palace,
&mast;And torture him with grievous ling'ring death,
They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died;
&mlquo;They say, in him they fear your highness' death;
&mlquo;And mere instinct of love, and loyalty,—
&mlquo;Free from a stubborn opposite intent,
&mlquo;As being thought to contradict your liking,—
&mlquo;Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
&mast;&mlquo;They say, in care of your most royal person,
&mast;That, if your highness should intend to sleep,
&mast;And charge—that no man should disturb your rest,
&mast;In pain of your dislike, or pain of death;
&mast;Yet notwithstanding such a strait edict,
&mast;Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,
&mast;That slily glided towards your majesty,

-- 268 --


&mast;It were but necessary, you were wak'd;
&mast;Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
&mast;The mortal worm3 note



might make the sleep eternal:
&mast;And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
&mast;That they will guard you, whe'r you will, or no,
&mast;From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is;
&mast;With whose envenomed and fatal sting,
&mast;Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
&mast;They say, is shamefully bereft of life.

Commons. [Within.]
An answer from the king, my lord of Salisbury.

Suf.
'Tis like, the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds,
Could send such message to their sovereign:
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
To show how quaint an orator4 note you are:
But all the honour Salisbury hath won,
Is—that he was the lord ambassador,
Sent from a sort5 note


of tinkers to the king.

Commons. [Within.]
An answer from the king, or we'll all break in.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me,
&mlquo;I thank them for their tender loving care:
&mlquo;And had I not been 'cited so by them,

-- 269 --


&mlquo;Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;
&mlquo;For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
&mlquo;Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means.
&mlquo;And therefore,—by His majesty I swear,
&mlquo;Whose far unworthy deputy I am,—
&mlquo;He shall not breathe infection in this air6 note
&mlquo;But three days longer, on the pain of death. [Exit Salisbury.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk.
&mlquo;No, more, I say; if thou dost plead for him,
&mlquo;Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
&mlquo;Had I but said, I would have kept my word;
&mlquo;But, when I swear, it is irrevocable:—
&mast;If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found
&mast;On any ground that I am ruler of,
&mast;The world shall not be ransom for thy life.—
&mlquo;Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;
&mlquo;I have great matters to impart to thee.
[Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords, &c.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you7 note
!
&mlquo;Heart's discontent, and sour affliction,
&mlquo;Be playfellows to keep you company!
&mlquo;There's two of you; the devil make a third!
&mlquo;And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!

&mast;Suf.
&mast;Cease, gentle queen, these execrations,
&mast;And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

-- 270 --

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Fye, coward woman, and soft-hearted wretch!
&mlquo;Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies?

Suf.
A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them?
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan8 note


,
&mlquo;I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
&mast;As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
&mlquo;With full as many signs of deadly hate,
As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave:
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words:
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;
My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract;
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:
And even now my burden'd heart would break,
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink9 note!

-- 271 --


Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!
Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees1 note!
Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks!
Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings2 note

!
Their musick, frightful as the serpent's hiss;
And boding screech-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell—

Q. Mar.
Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st thyself;
&mast;And these dread curses—like the sun 'gainst glass,
&mast;Or like an overcharged gun,—recoil,
&mast;And turn the force of them upon thyself.

Suf.
You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave3 note?
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
Well could I curse away a winter's 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.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;O, let me entreat thee, cease! Give me thy hand4 note


,

-- 272 --


&mast;That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
&mast;Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
&mast;To wash away my woeful monuments.
&mlquo;O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand; [Kisses his hand.
&mast;That thou might'st think upon these by the seal,
&mlquo;Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee5 note



!
&mlquo;So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
&mlquo;Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by,
&mast;As one that surfeits thinking on a want.
&mlquo;I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd,
&mlquo;Adventure to be banished myself:
&mast;And banished I am, if but from thee.
&mast;Go, speak not to me; even now be gone.—
&mast;O, go not yet!—Even thus two friends condemn'd
&mast;Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,
&mast;Loather a hundred times to part than die.
&mast;Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!

Suf.
Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished,
Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.

-- 273 --


&mast;'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence;
&mast;A wilderness is populous enough,
&mast;So Suffolk had thy heavenly company:
&mast;For where thou art, there is the world itself6 note






,
&mast;With every several pleasure in the world;
&mast;And where thou art not, desolation.
&mast;I can no more:—Live thou to joy thy life;
&mast;Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st. Enter Vaux.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I pr'ythee?

&mlquo;Vaux.
&mlquo;To signify unto his majesty,
That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death:
&mlquo;For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,
&mlquo;That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air,
&mlquo;Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth.
&mlquo;Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost
&mlquo;Were by his side; sometime, he calls the king,
And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
&mast;The secrets of his overcharged soul7 note


:
&mlquo;And I am sent to tell his majesty,
&mlquo;That even now he cries aloud for him.

-- 274 --

Q. Mar.
Go, tell this heavy message to the king. [Exit Vaux.
&mlquo;Ah me! what is this world? what news are these8 note

?
&mlquo;But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss9 note

,
&mlquo;Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure?
&mlquo;Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
&mlquo;And with the southern clouds contend in tears;
&mlquo;Theirs for the earth's increase1, mine for my sorrows?
&mlquo;Now, get thee hence: The king, thou know'st, is coming?
&mlquo;If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;If I depart from thee, I cannot live:
&mlquo;And in thy sight to die, what were it else,
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
&mlquo;As mild and gentle as the cradle babe,
Dying with mother's dug between its lips:
Where, from thy sight1 note


, I should be raging mad,

-- 275 --


&mlquo;And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
&mlquo;To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;
&mlquo;So should'st thou either turn my flying soul2 note

,
&mlquo;Or I should breathe it so into thy body,
And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium.
To die by thee, were but to die in jest;
From thee to die, were torture more than death:
O, let me stay, befall what may befall.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Away! though parting be a fretful cor'sive3 note





,
&mlquo;It is applied to a deathful wound.
&mlquo;To France, sweet Suffolk: Let me hear from thee;
&mlquo;For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe,
I'll have an Iris4 note



that shall find thee out.

-- 276 --

Suf.
I go.

Q. Mar.
And take my heart with thee6 note



.

Suf.
A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we;
This way fall I to death.

Q. Mar.
This way for me.
[Exeunt, severally. SCENE III. London. Cardinal Beaufort's Bed-chamber. Enter King Henry7 note

, Salisbury, Warwick, and Others. The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with him.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;How fares my lord8 note





















? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.

-- 277 --

&mlquo;Car.
&mlquo;If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure9 note,
&mlquo;Enough to purchase such another island,

-- 278 --


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

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
&mast;When death's approach is seen so terrible!

&mast;War.
&mast;Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.

&mast;Car.
&mast;Bring me unto my trial when you will.
&mlquo;Died he not in his bed? where should he die?
Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no1 note



?—
&mast;O! torture me no more, I will confess.—
&mlquo;Alive again? then show me where he is;
&mlquo;I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.—
&mast;He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them2 note

.—
&mlquo;Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright,
&mlquo;Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul!—
&mlquo;Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary
&mlquo;Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
&mast;Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
&mast;O, beat away the busy meddling fiend,
&mast;That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,
&mast;And from his bosom purge this black despair!

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;See, how the pangs of death do make him grin.

&mast;Sal.
&mast;Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!
&mlquo;Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,

-- 279 --


&mlquo;Hold up thy hand3 note






, make signal of thy hope.—
&mlquo;He dies, and makes no sign; O God, forgive him!

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Forbear to judge4 note

, for we are sinners all.—
&mlquo;Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close;
&mlquo;And let us all to meditation.
[Exeunt.5 note.

-- 280 --

ACT IV. SCENE I. Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover6 note

. Firing heard at Sea7 note. Then enter from a Boat, a Captain, a Master, a Master's-Mate, Walter Whitmore, and Others; with them Suffolk, and other Gentlemen, prisoners.

&mast;Cap.
&mast;The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day8 note














&mast;Is crept into the bosom of the sea;

-- 281 --


&mast;And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
&mast;That drag the tragick melancholy night;
&mast;Who, with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings
&mast;Clip dead men's graves9 note


, and from their misty jaws
&mast;Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
&mast;Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
&mast;For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
&mast;Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,
&mast;Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.—
&mlquo;Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;—
&mlquo;And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;—

-- 282 --


&mlquo;The other, [Pointing to Suffolk,] Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

&mlquo;1 Gent.
&mlquo;What is my ransom, master? let me know.

&mlquo;Mast.
&mlquo;A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.

&mlquo;Mate.
&mlquo;And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.

&mast;Cap.
&mast;What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
&mast;And bear the name and port of gentlemen?—
&mast;Cut both the villains' throats;—for die you shall;
&mast;The lives of those which we have lost in fight,
&mast;Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum1 note









.

-- 283 --

&mast;1 Gent.
&mast;I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.

&mast;2 Gent.
&mast;And so will I, and write home for it straight.

&mlquo;Whit.
&mlquo;I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
&mlquo;And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die; [To Suf.
&mlquo;And so should these, if I might have my will.

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

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Look on my George, I am a gentleman2 note

;
&mlquo;Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.

&mlquo;Whit.
&mlquo;And so am I; my name is—Walter Whitmore.
&mlquo;How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death affright?

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Thy name affrights me3 note, in whose sound is death.
&mlquo;A cunning man did calculate my birth,
&mlquo;And told me—that by Water4 note




I should die:

-- 284 --


&mlquo;Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded;
&mlquo;Thy name is—Gualtier, being rightly sounded.

&mlquo;Whit.
&mlquo;Gualtier, or Walter, which it is, I care not;
&mlquo;Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name5 note







,
&mlquo;But with our sword we wip'd away the blot;
&mlquo;Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
&mlquo;Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd,
&mlquo;And I proclaim'd a coward through the world! [Lays hold on Suffolk.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince,
The duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.

&mlquo;Whit.
&mlquo;The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags!

Suf.
Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke;
Jove sometime went disguis'd, And why not I6 note
?

-- 285 --

Cap.
But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Obscure and lowly swain,7 note


king Henry's blood,
The honourable blood of Lancaster8 note,
&mlquo;Must not be shed by such a jaded groom9 note



.
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup?
&mlquo;Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule,
&mlquo;And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
&mlquo;How often hast thou waited at my cup,
&mlquo;Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board,
&mlquo;When I have feasted with queen Margaret?
&mast;Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n;
&mast;Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride1 note:
&mast;How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood,
&mast;And duly waited for my coming forth?

-- 286 --


&mlquo;This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
&mlquo;And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue1y note


.

&mast;Whit.
&mast;Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?

&mast;Cap.
&mast;First let my words stab him, as he hath me.

&mast;Suf.
&mast;Base slave! thy words are blunt, and so art thou.

&mlquo;Cap.
&mlquo;Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's side
&mlquo;Strike off his head.

Suf.
Thou dar'st not for thy own2 note





.

Cap.
Yes, Poole.

Suf.
Poole?

Cap.
Poole? Sir Poole? lord3 note


?

-- 287 --


&mlquo;Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt
&mlquo;Troubles the silver spring where England drinks.
&mlquo;Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth,
&mlquo;For swallowing4 note the treasure of the realm:
&mlquo;Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground;
&mlquo;And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's death5 note





,
&mlquo;Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain6 note,
&mast;Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again7 note


:
&mast;And wedded be thou to the hags of hell,
&mast;For daring to affy8 note





a mighty lord

-- 288 --


&mast;Unto the daughter of a worthless king,
&mast;Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.
&mast;By devilish policy art thou grown great,
&mast;And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd
&mast;With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.
&mast;By thee, Anjou and Maine were sold to France:
&mast;The false revolting Normans, thorough thee,
&mast;Disdain to call us lord; and Picardy
&mast;Hath slain their governors, surpriz'd our forts,
&mast;And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
&mast;The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,—
&mast;Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,—
&mast;As hating thee, are rising9 note up in arms:
&mast;And now the house of York—thrust from the crown,
&mast;By shameful murder of a guiltless king,
&mast;And lofty proud encroaching tyranny,—
&mast;Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours
&mast;Advance our half-fac'd sun1 note
, striving to shine,
&mast;Under the which is writ—Invitis nubibus.
&mast;The commons here in Kent are up in arms:
&mast;And, to conclude, reproach, and beggary,
&mast;Is crept into the palace of our king,
&mast;And all by thee:—Away! convey him hence.

&mast;Suf.
&mast;O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
&mast;Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!

-- 289 --


&mast;Small things make base men proud: &mlquo;this villain here,
&mlquo;Being captain of a pinnace2 note

, threatens more
&mlquo;Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate3 note



.
&mlquo;Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives.
&mlquo;It is impossible, that I should die
&mlquo;By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
&mlquo;Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me4 note

:

-- 290 --


&mlquo;I go of message from the queen to France;
&mlquo;I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel.

&mlquo;Cap.
&mlquo;Walter,—

&mlquo;Whit.
&mlquo;Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.

&mast;Suf.
&mast;Penè gelidus timor occupat artus5 note






:—'tis thee I fear.

-- 291 --

&mlquo;Whit.
&mlquo;Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave thee.
&mlquo;What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop?

&mlquo;1 Gent.
&mlquo;My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough,
&mlquo;Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour.
&mlquo;Far be it, we should honour such as these
&mlquo;With humble suit: no, rather let my head
&mlquo;Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any,
&mlquo;Save to the God of heaven, and to my king;
&mlquo;And sooner dance upon a bloody pole,
&mlquo;Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom.
&mast;True nobility is exempt from fear:—
&mlquo;More can I bear, than you dare execute6 note







.

&mlquo;Cap.
&mlquo;Hale him away, and let him talk no more.

&mlquo;Suf.
&mlquo;Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can7 note

,

-- 292 --


&mlquo;That this my death may never be forgot!—
&mlquo;Great men oft die by vile bezonians8 note



:
&mlquo;A Roman sworder9 note and banditto slave,
&mlquo;Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand1 note
&mlquo;Stabb'd Julius Cæsar; savage islanders,
&mlquo;Pompey the great2 note





: and Suffolk dies by pirates. [Exit Suf. with Whit. and Others.

Cap.
And as for these whose ransom we have set,

-- 293 --


It is our pleasure one of them depart:
Therefore come you with us, and let him go. [Exeunt all but the first Gentleman. Re-enter Whitmore, with Suffolk's Body.

&mlquo;Whit.
&mlquo;There let his head and lifeless body lie,
&mlquo;Until the queen his mistress bury it3 note




. [Exit.

&mlquo;1 Gent.
&mlquo;O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
&mlquo;His body will I bear unto the king:
&mlquo;If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
&mlquo;So will the queen, that living held him dear.
[Exit, with the Body. SCENE II. Blackheath. Enter George Bevis and John Holland.

&mlquo;Geo.

&mlquo;Come, and get thee a sword4 note

, though made of a lath; they have been up these two days.&mrquo;

&mlquo;John.

&mlquo;They have the more need to sleep now then.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Geo.

&mlquo;I tell thee5 note, Jack Cade the clothier means

-- 294 --

to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.&mrquo;

John.

So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say, it was never merry world in England6 note, since gentlemen came up7 note.

&mast;Geo.

&mast;O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded &mast;in handycrafts-men.

&mlquo;John.

&mlquo;The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.&mrquo;

&mast;Geo.

&mast;Nay more, the king's council are no good &mast;workmen.

&mast;John.

&mast;True; And yet it is said,—Labour in &mast;thy vocation: which is as much to say, as,—let &mast;the magistrates be labouring men; and therefore &mast;should we be magistrates.

&mast;Geo.

&mast;Thou hast hit it: for there's no better &mast;sign of a brave mind, than a hard hand.

&mast;John.

&mast;I see them! I see them! There's Best's &mast;son, the tanner of Wingham;—

&mast;Geo.

&mast;He shall have the skins of our enemies, &mast;to make dog's leather of.

John.

And Dick the butcher8 note

,—

-- 295 --

&mast;Geo.

&mast;Then is sin struck down like an ox, and &mast;iniquity's throat cut like a calf.

&mast;John.

&mast;And Smith the weaver:—

&mast;Geo.

&mast;Argo, their thread of life is spun.

&mast;John.

&mast;Come, come, let's fall in with them.

Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the Butcher, Smith the Weaver, and Others in great number.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;We John Cade, so termed of our supposed father,—&mrquo;

&mlquo;Dick.

&mlquo;Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings9 note

.&mrquo;

[Aside.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;&lblank; for our enemies shall fall before us1 note





,

-- 296 --

inspired with the spirit of putting down kings and princes,—Command silence.&mrquo;

Dick.

Silence!

Cade.

My father was a Mortimer,—

Dick.

He was an honest man, and a good bricklayer.

[Aside.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;My mother a Plantagenet,—&mrquo;

&mlquo;Dick.

&mlquo;I knew her well, she was a midwife.&mrquo;

[Aside.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;My wife descended of the Lacies,—&mrquo;

Dick.

She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold many laces.

[Aside.

&mlquo;Smith.

&mlquo;But, now of late, not able to travel with her furred pack2 note, she washes bucks here at home.&mrquo;

[Aside.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;Therefore am I of an honourable house.&mrquo;

Dick.

Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable3 note; and there was he born, under a hedge; for his father had never a house, but the cage4 note

.

[Aside.

-- 297 --

&mast;Cade.

&mast;Valiant I am.

&mast;Smith.

&mast;'A must needs; for beggary is valiant.

[Aside.

Cade.

I am able to endure much.

Dick.

No question of that; for I have seen him whipped three market days together.

[Aside.

Cade.

I fear neither sword nor fire.

Smith.

He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of proof5 note.

[Aside.

Dick.

But, methinks, he should stand in fear of fire, being burnt i' the hand for stealing of sheep.

[Aside.

Cade.

Be brave then; for your captain is brave, and vows reformation. There shall be, in England, seven half-penny loaves sold for a penny: the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops6 note

; and I will make it felony, to drink small beer: all the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfry

-- 298 --

go to grass. And, when I am king, (as king I will be)—

All.

God save your majesty!

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;I thank you, good people:—there shall be no money7 note; all shall eat and drink on my &mlquo;score; and I will apparel them all in one livery, &mlquo;that they may agree like brothers, and worship me &mlquo;their lord.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Dick.

&mlquo;The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.&mrquo;

Cade.

Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing8 note, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? that parchment, being scribbled o'er, should undo a man? Some say, the bee stings: but I say, 'tis the bee's wax, for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now? who's there?

Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chatham9 note

.

Smith.

The clerk of Chatham: he can write and read, and cast accompt.

Cade.

O monstrous!

-- 299 --

Smith.

We took him setting of boys' copies1 note.

Cade.

Here's a villain!

Smith.

H'as a book in his pocket, with red letters in't.

Cade.

Nay, then he is a conjurer.

Dick.

Nay, he can make obligations2 note, and write court-hand.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;I am sorry for't: the man is a proper man, on mine honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die,—Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee: What is thy name?&mrquo;

Clerk.

Emmanuel.

Dick.

They use to write it on the top of letters3 note





;
—'Twill go hard with you.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;Let me alone:—Dost thou use to write thy name? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest plain-dealing man?&mrquo;

-- 300 --

Clerk.

Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up, that I can write my name.

&mlquo;All.

&mlquo;He hath confessed: away with him, he's a villain, and a traitor.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;Away with him, I say: hang him with his pen and ink-horn about his neck.&mrquo;

[Exeunt some with the Clerk. Enter Michael.

&mlquo;Mich.

&mlquo;Where's our general?&mrquo;

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;Here I am, thou particular fellow.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Mich.

&mlquo;Fly, fly, fly! sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are hard by, with the king's forces.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down: He shall be encountered with a man as good as himself: He is but a knight, is 'a?&mrquo;

&mlquo;Mich.

&mlquo;No.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently; Rise up sir John Mortimer. Now have at him4 note



.&mrquo;

Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford, and William his Brother, with Drum and Forces.

&mast;Staf.
&mast;Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,
&mast;Mark'd for the gallows,—lay your weapons down,
&mast;Home to your cottages, forsake this groom;—
&mast;The king is merciful, if you revolt.

&mast;W. Staf.
&mast;But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood,

-- 301 --


&mast;If you go forward: therefore yield, or die.

Cade.
As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not5 note



;
It is to you, good people, that I speak,
&mast;O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign;
&mast;For I am rightful heir unto the crown.

&mlquo;Staf.
&mlquo;Villain, thy father was a plasterer;
&mlquo;And thou thyself, a shearman, Art thou not?

Cade.
And Adam was a gardener.

&mlquo;W. Staf.
&mlquo;And what of that?

Cade.
Marry, this:—Edmund Mortimer, earl of March,
Married the duke of Clarence' daughter; Did he not?

&mlquo;Staf.
&mlquo;Ay, sir.

Cade.
By her he had two children at one birth.

W. Staf.
That's false.

&mlquo;Cade.
&mlquo;Ay, there's the question; but, I say, 'tis true:
&mlquo;The elder of them, being put to nurse,
&mlquo;Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away;
&mlquo;And, ignorant of his birth and parentage,
&mlquo;Became a bricklayer, when he came to age:
&mlquo;His son am I; deny it, if you can.

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

Smith.

Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it; therefore, deny it not.

&mast;Staf.
&mast;And will you credit this base drudge's words,
&mast;That speaks he knows not what?

&mast;All.
&mast;Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone.

-- 302 --

W. Staf.
Jack Cade, the duke of York hath taught you this.

&mast;Cade.

&mast;He lies, for I invented it myself. [Aside.]—Go to, sirrah, Tell the king from me, that—for his father's sake, Henry the fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns, —I am content he shall reign; but I'll be protector over him.

&mlquo;Dick.
&mlquo;And, furthermore, we'll have the lord
&mlquo;Say's head, for selling the dukedom of Maine.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;And good reason; for thereby is England maimed6 note
, 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 commonwealth7 note


, and made it an eunuch: and more than that, he can speak French, and therefore he is a traitor.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Staf.

&mlquo;O gross and miserable ignorance!&mrquo;

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;Nay, answer, if you can: The Frenchmen are our enemies: go to then, I ask but this;

-- 303 --

Can he, that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a good counsellor, or no?&mrquo;

&mast;All.

&mast;No, no; and therefore we'll have his &mast;head.

&mast;W. Staf.
&mast;Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail,
&mast;Assail them with the army of the king.

&mlquo;Staf.
&mlquo;Herald, away: and, throughout every town,
&mlquo;Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;
&mlquo;That those which fly before the battle ends,
&mlquo;May, even in their wives' and children's sight,
&mlquo;Be hang'd up for example at their doors:—
&mlquo;And you, that be the king's friends, follow me.
[Exeunt the two Staffords, and Forces.

&mast;Cade.
&mast;And you, that love the commons, follow me.—
&mast;Now show yourselves men, 'tis for liberty.
&mast;We will not leave one lord, one gentleman:
&mast;Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon;
&mast;For they are thrifty honest men, and such
&mast;As would (but that they dare not,) take our parts.

&mast;Dick.
&mast;They are all in order, and march toward us.

&mast;Cade.

&mast;But then are we in order, when we are &mast;most out of order. Come, march forward8 note.

[Exeunt.

-- 304 --

SCENE III. Another Part of Blackheath. Alarums. The two Parties enter, and fight, and both the Staffords are slain.

mlquo;Cade.

Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford?

&mlquo;Dick.

&mlquo;Here, sir.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;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 is9 note; and thou shalt have a license to kill for a hundred lacking one, a week1&mrquo; note.&mrquo;

-- 305 --

&mlquo;Dick.

&mlquo;I desire no more.&mrquo;

&mast;Cade.

&mast;And, to speak truth, thou deservest no &mast;less. This monument of the victory will I bear1 note

; &mast;and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, &mast;till I do come to London, where we will have the &mast;mayor's sword borne before us.

&mast;Dick.

&mast;If we mean to thrive and do good2 note

, &mast;break open the gaols, and let out the prisoners.

&mast;Cade.

&mast;Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, &mast;let's march towards London.

[Exeunt. SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, reading a Supplication; the Duke of Buckingham, and Lord Say with him: at a distance, Queen Margaret, mourning over Suffolk's Head.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Oft have I heard—that grief softens the mind,
&mast;And makes it fearful and degenerate;
&mast;Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep.
&mast;But who can cease to weep, and look on this?
&mast;Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast:

-- 306 --


&mast;But where's the body that I should embrace?

&mlquo;Buck.

&mlquo;What answer makes your grace to the rebels' supplication3 note?&mrquo;

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;I'll send some holy bishop to entreat4 note:
&mlquo;For God forbid, so many simple souls
&mlquo;Should perish by the sword! And I myself,
&mlquo;Rather than bloody war shall cut them short,
&mlquo;Will parley with Jack Cade their general,—
&mlquo;But stay, I'll read it over once again.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely face
&mast;Rul'd, like a wandering planet5 note

, over me;
&mast;And could it not enforce them to relent,
&mast;That were unworthy to behold the same?

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head.

-- 307 --

&mlquo;Say.
&mlquo;Ay, but I hope, your highness shall have his.

K. Hen.
How, now, madam? Still
Lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's death?
I fear, my love6 note, if that I had been dead,
Thou wouldest not have mourn'd so much for me.

Q. Mar.
No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee.
Enter a Messenger.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;How now! what news? why com'st thou in such haste?

&mlquo;Mess.
&mlquo;The rebels are in Southwark; Fly, my lord!
&mlquo;Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer,
&mlquo;Descended from the duke of Clarence' house;
&mlquo;And calls your grace usurper, openly,
&mlquo;And vows to crown himself in Westminster.
&mlquo;His army is a ragged multitude
&mlquo;Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless:
&mlquo;Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death
&mlquo;Hath given them heart and courage to proceed:
&mlquo;All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,
&mlquo;They call—false caterpillars, and intend their death.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;O graceless men! they know not what they do7 note

.

Mlquo;Buck.
My gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth8 note

,

-- 308 --


&mlquo;Until a power be rais'd to put them down.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Ah! were the duke of Suffolk now alive,
&mast;These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Lord Say, the traitors hate thee,
&mlquo;Therefore away with us to Kenelworth.

&mlquo;Say.
&mlquo;So might your grace's person be in danger;
&mlquo;The sight of me is odious in their eyes:
&mlquo;And therefore in this city will I stay,
&mlquo;And live alone as secret as I may.
Enter another Messenger.

&mast;2 Mess.
&mast;Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge; the citizens
&mast;Fly and forsake their houses:
&mast;The rascal people, thirsting after prey,
&mast;Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear,
&mast;To spoil the city, and your royal court.

&mast;Buck.
&mast;Then linger not, my lord; away, take horse.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will succour us.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Farewell, my lord; [To Lord Say.] trust not the Kentish rebels.

&mast;Buck.
&mast;Trust no body, for fear you be betray'd9 note.

&mlquo;Say.
&mlquo;The trust I have is in mine innocence,
&mlquo;And therefore am I bold and resolute.
[Exeunt.

-- 309 --

SCENE V. The Same. The Tower. Enter Lord Scales, and Others, on the Walls. Then enter certain Citizens, below.

Scales.

How now? is Jack Cade slain?

1 Cit.

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

Scales.
Such aid as I can spare, you shall command;
But I am troubled here with them myself,
The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower.
But get you to Smithfield, and gather head,
And thither I will send you Matthew Gough:
Fight for your king, your country, and your lives;
And so farewell, for I must hence again.
[Exeunt. SCENE VI. The Same. Cannon Street. Enter Jack Cade, and his Followers. He strikes his Staff on London-stone.

Cade.

Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and command, that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but claret1 note

wine this first year of our

-- 310 --

reign. And now, henceforward, it shall be treason for any that calls me other than—lord Mortimer.

Enter a Soldier, running.

Sold.

Jack Cade! Jack Cade!

Cade.

Knock him down there2 note.

[They kill him.

&mast;Smith.

&mast;If this fellow be wise, he'll never call &mast;you Jack Cade more; I think, he hath a very &mast;fair warning.

Dick.

My lord, there's an army gathered together in Smithfield.

Cade.

Come then, let's go fight with them: But, first, go and set London-bridge on fire3 note; and, if

-- 311 --

you can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let's away.

[Exeunt. SCENE VII. The Same. Smithfield. Alarum. Enter, on one side, Cade and his Company; on the other, Citizens, and the King's Forces, headed by Matthew Gough. They fight; the Citizens are routed, and Matthew Gough4 note


is slain.

Cade.

So, sirs:—Now go some and pull down the Savoy5 note; others to the inns of court; down with them all.

Dick.

I have a suit unto your lordship.

Cade.

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

&mast;Dick.

&mast;Only, that the laws of England may &mast;come out of your mouth6 note.

-- 312 --

&mast;John.

&mast;Mass, 'twill be sore law then7 note

; for he
&mast;was thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not &mast;whole yet.

[Aside.

&mast;Smith.

&mast;Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for &mast;his breath stinks with eating toasted cheese.

[Aside.

&mast;Cade.

&mast;I have thought upon it, it shall be so. &mast;Away, burn all the records of the realm8 note; my &mast;mouth shall be the parliament of England.

&mast;John.

&mast;Then we are like to have biting statutes, &mast;unless his teeth be pulled out.

[Aside.

&mast;Cade.

&mast;And henceforward all things shall be in &mast;common.

Enter a Messenger.

&mlquo;mlquo;Mess.

&mlquo;My lord, a prize, a prize! here's the lord Say, which sold the towns in France; he that made us pay one and twenty fifteens9 note, and one shilling to the pound, the last subsidy.&mrquo;

-- 313 --

Enter George Bevis, with the Lord Say.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times.—Ah, thou say, thou serge1 note





, 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 monsieur Basimecu2 note, 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 fore-fathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou

-- 314 --

hast caused printing to be used3 note









; and, contrary
to the king, his crown, and dignity4 note, 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 answer5 note. Moreover, thou hast put them

-- 315 --

in prison; and because they could not read, thou hast hanged them6 note; when, indeed, only for that cause they have been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride on a foot-cloth7 note

, dost thou not?&mrquo;

Say.

What of that?

Cade.

Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse wear a cloak8 note, when honester men than thou go in their hose and doublets.

&mast;Dick.

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

Say.

You men of Kent,—

Dick.

What say you of Kent?

&mlquo;Say.

&mlquo;Nothing but this: 'Tis bona terra, mala gens9 note





.&mrquo;

-- 316 --

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;Away with him, away with him! he speaks Latin.&mrquo;

&mast;Say.
&mast;Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will.
&mlquo;Kent, in the commentaries Cæsar writ,
&mlquo;Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle1 note

:
&mlquo;Sweet is the country, because full of riches;
&mlquo;The people, liberal, valiant, active, wealthy;
&mlquo;Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.
&mlquo;I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy;
&mast;Yet, to recover them2, would lose my life.
&mast;Justice with favour have I always done;
&mast;Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never.
&mast;When have I aught exacted at your hands,
&mast;Kent to maintain, the king, the realm, and you?
&mast;Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks,
&mast;Because my book preferr'd me to the king2 note







:

-- 317 --


&mast;And—seeing ignorance is the curse of God,
&mast;Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,—
&mast;Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits,
&mast;You cannot but forbear to murder me.
&mast;This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings
&mast;For your behoof,—

&mast;Cade.

&mast;Tut! when struck'st thou one blow in &mast;the field?

&mast;Say.
&mast;Great men have reaching hands: oft have I struck
&mast;Those that I never saw, and struck them dead.

&mast;Geo.
&mast;O monstrous coward! what, to come behind folks?

&mast;Say.
&mast;These cheeks are pale for watching3 note


for your good.

-- 318 --

&mast;Cade.

&mast;Give him a box o' the ear, and that will &mast;make 'em red again.

&mast;Say.
&mast;Long sitting to determine poor men's causes
Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.

&mast;Cade.

&mast;Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, &mast;and the help of a hatchet5 note

.

&mlquo;Dick.

&mlquo;Why dost thou quiver, man6 note




?&mrquo;

&mlquo;Say.

&mlquo;The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Cade.

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

&mast;Say.
&mast;Tell me, wherein I have offended most?

-- 319 --


&mast;Have I affected wealth, or honour; speak?
&mast;Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold?
&mast;Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?
&mast;Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death?
&mast;These hands are free from guiltless blood-sheddding7 note



,
&mast;This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts.
&mast;O, let me live!

&mast;Cade.

&mast;I feel remorse in myself with his words: &mast;but I'll bridle it; he shall die, an it be but for &mast;pleading so well for his life8 note. Away with him! &mast;he has a familiar under his tongue9 note
; he speaks
&mast;not o' God's name. &mlquo;Go, take him away, I say, and strike off his head presently; and then break into his son-in-law's house, sir James Cromer1 note,

-- 320 --

and strike off his head, and bring them both upon two poles hither.&mrquo;

&mlquo;All.

&mlquo;It shall be done.&mrquo;

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

&mast;Cade.

&mast;Away with him, and do as I command ye. [Exeunt some, with Lord Say. &mlquo;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 maidenhead2 note

ere they have it: Men shall hold of me in capite3 note; and we charge and command, that their wives be as free as heart can wish, or tongue can tell4 note

.&mrquo;

-- 321 --

&mlquo;Dick.

&mlquo;My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, and take up commodities upon our bills5 note

?&mrquo;

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;Marry, presently.&mrquo;

&mlquo;All.

&mlquo;O brave!&mrquo;

Re-enter Rebels, with the Heads of Lord Say and his Son-in-law.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;But is not this braver?—Let them kiss

-- 322 --

one another6 note




, for they loved well7 note

, 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!

[Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Southwark. Alarum. Enter Cade, and all his Rabblement.

&mast;Cade.

&mast;Up Fish-street! down Saint Magnus' &mast;corner! kill and knock down! throw them into &mast;Thames!—[A Parley sounded, then a Retreat.] &mast;What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold &mast;to sound retreat or parley, when I command them &mast;kill?

Enter Buckingham, and Old Clifford, with Forces.

&mlquo;Buck.
&mlquo;Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee;

-- 323 --


&mlquo;Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king
&mlquo;Unto the commons whom thou hast misled;
&mlquo;And here pronounce free pardon to them all,
&mlquo;That will forsake thee, and go home in peace.

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;What say ye, countrymen8 note













? will ye relent,
&mlquo;And yield to mercy, whilst 'tis offer'd you;
&mlquo;Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths?
&mlquo;Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon,
&mlquo;Fling up his cap, and say—God save his majesty!
&mlquo;Who hateth him, and honours not his father,
&mlquo;Henry the fifth, that made all France to quake,
&mlquo;Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by.

&mlquo;All.

&mlquo;God save the king! God save the king!&mrquo;

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;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

-- 324 --

slavery to the nobility. Let them break your backs with burdens, take your houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daughters before your faces: For me,—I will make shift for one; and so—God's curse 'light upon you all!&mrquo;

&mlquo;All.

&mlquo;We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;Is Cade the son of Henry the fifth,
&mlquo;That thus you do exclaim—you'll go with him?
&mlquo;Will he conduct you through the heart of France,
&mlquo;And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?
&mlquo;Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;
&mlquo;Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil,
&mlquo;Unless by robbing of your friends, and us.
&mlquo;Wer't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar,
&mlquo;The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,
&mlquo;Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you?
&mlquo;Methinks, already, in this civil broil,
&mlquo;I see them lording it in London streets,
&mlquo;Crying—Villageois9 note! unto all they meet.
&mlquo;Better, ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry,
&mlquo;Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy.
&mlquo;To France, to France, and get what you have lost;
&mlquo;Spare England, for it is your native coast:
&mlquo;Henry hath money1 note, you are strong and manly;
&mlquo;God on our side, doubt not of victory.

&mlquo;All.

&mlquo;A Clifford! a Clifford! we'll follow the king, and Clifford.&mrquo;

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;Was ever feather so lightly blown to and

-- 325 --

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 surprize me: my sword make way for me2 note, for here is no staying.—In despight of the devils and hell, have through the very midst 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.&mrquo;

[Exit.

&mlquo;Buck.
&mlquo;What, is he fled? go some, and follow him;
&mlquo;And he, that brings his head unto the king,
&mlquo;Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.— [Exeunt some of them.
&mlquo;Follow me, soldiers; we'll devise a mean
&mlquo;To reconcile you all unto the king.
[Exeunt. SCENE IX. Kenelworth Castle. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and Somerset, on the Terrace of the Castle.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne,
&mast;And could command no more content than I?
&mast;No sooner was I crept out of my cradle,
&mast;But I was made a king, at nine months old3 note


:

-- 326 --


&mast;Was never subject long'd to be a king,
&mast;As I do long and wish to be a subject4 note







. Enter Buckingham and Clifford.

&mast;Buck.
&mast;Health, and glad tidings, to your majesty!

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Why, Buckingham, is the traitor, Cade, surpriz'd?
&mast;Or is he but retir'd to make him strong?
Enter, below, a great number of Cade's Followers, with Halters about their Necks.

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;He's fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield:
&mlquo;And humbly thus, with halters on their necks,
&mlquo;Expect your highness' doom, of life, or death.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Then, heaven5 note





, set ope thy everlasting gates,

-- 327 --


&mlquo;To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!—
&mlquo;Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives,
&mlquo;And show'd how well you love your prince and country:
&mlquo;Continue still in this so good a mind,
&mlquo;And Henry, though he be infortunate,
&mlquo;Assure yourselves, will never be unkind:
&mlquo;And so, with thanks, and pardon to you all,
&mlquo;I do dismiss you to your several countries.

All.
God save the king! God save the king!
Enter a Messenger.

&mast;Mess.
&mast;Please it your grace to be advértised,
&mast;The duke of York is newly come from Ireland:
&mast;And with a puissant and a mighty power,
&mast;Of Gallowglasses, and stout Kernes6 note

,
&mast;Is marching hitherward in proud array;
&mast;And still proclaimeth, as he comes along,
&mast;His arms are only to remove from thee
&mlquo;The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York distress'd;
&mast;Like to a ship, that, having scap'd a tempest,
&mast;Is straightway calm, and boarded with a pirate7 note




:

-- 328 --


&mast;But now8 note



is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd;
&mast;And now is York in arms to second him.—
&mast;I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet him;
&mast;And ask him, what's the reason of these arms.
&mast;Tell him, I'll send duke Edmund to the Tower;—

-- 329 --


&mast;And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither,
&mast;Until his army be dismiss'd from him.

&mast;Som.
&mast;My lord,
&mast;I'll yield myself to prison willingly,
&mast;Or unto death, to do my country good.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;In any case, be not too rough in terms;
&mast;For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard language.

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

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Come, wife, let's in9 note



, and learn to govern better;
&mast;For yet may England curse my wretched reign.
[Exeunt. SCENE X. Kent. Iden's Garden1 note

. Enter Cade.

&mast;Cade.

&mast;Fye on ambition! fye on myself; that &mast;have a sword, and yet am ready to famish! These

-- 330 --

&mast;five days have I hid me in these woods; and durst &mast;not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; &mast;but now am I so hungry, that if I might have a &mast;lease of my life for a thousand years, I could stay &mast;no longer. Wherefore, on a brick-wall have I &mast;climbed into this garden; to see if I can eat &mast;grass, or pick a sallet another while, which is not &mast;amiss to cool a man's stomach this hot weather. &mast;And, I think, this word sallet was born to do me &mast;good: for, many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan2 note







&mast;had been cleft with a brown bill; and, many

-- 331 --

&mast;a time, when I have been dry, and bravely marching, &mast;it hath served me instead of a quart-pot to &mast;drink in; and now the word sallet must serve me &mast;to feed on.

Enter Iden, with Servants.

&mlquo;Iden.
&mlquo;Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court,
&mlquo;And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?
&mlquo;This small inheritance, my father left me,
&mlquo;Contenteth me, and is worth a monarchy.
&mlquo;I seek not to wax great by others' waning3 note;
&mlquo;Or gather wealth, I care not with what envy4 note






;
&mlquo;Sufficeth that I have maintains my state,
&mlquo;And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the king for carrying my head to him; but I'll make thee eat iron like an

-- 332 --

ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.&mrquo;

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

Cade.

Brave thee? ay, by the best blood that ever was broached, and beard thee too5 note. 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 door nail6 note, I pray God I may never eat grass more.

&mlquo;Iden.
&mlquo;Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands,
That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,
Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man.
&mlquo;Oppose thy stedfast-gazing eyes to mine7 note



,
&mlquo;See if thou canst outface me with thy looks.
&mlquo;Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;
&mlquo;Thy hand is but a finger to my fist;
&mlquo;Thy leg a stick, compared with this truncheon;
&mlquo;My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;
&mlquo;And if mine arm be heaved in the air,
&mlquo;Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth.
&mlquo;As for words, whose greatness answers words,

-- 333 --


&mlquo;Let this my sword report what speech forbears8 note




.

&mast;Cade.

&mast;By my valour, the most complete champion &mast;that ever I heard.—&mlquo; 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 God9 note on my knees, thou mayest be turned

-- 334 --

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

&mlquo;Iden.
&mlquo;Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?
&mlquo;Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed,
&mlquo;And hang thee o'er my tomb, when I am dead1 note







:
&mast;Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point;
&mast;But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat,
&mast;To emblaze the honour that thy master got.

&mlquo;Cade.

&mlquo;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

-- 335 --

I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour.&mrquo;

[Dies.

&mast;Iden.
&mast;How much thou wrong'st me2 note

, heaven be my judge.
&mast;Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee!
&mast;And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,
&mast;So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell3 note





.
&mlquo;Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels
&mlquo;Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave,

-- 336 --


&mlquo;And there cut off thy most ungracious head;
&mlquo;Which I will bear in triumph to the king,
&mlquo;Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. [Exit dragging out the Body. ACT V. SCENE I. The Same. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath. The King's Camp on one side. On the other, enter York attended, with Drum and Colours: his Forces at some distance.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;From Ireland thus comes York, to claim his right,
&mlquo;And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head:
&mlquo;Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright,
&mlquo;To entertain great England's lawful king,
Ah, sancta majestas4 note! who would not buy thee dear?
&mlquo;Let them obey, that know not how to rule;
&mlquo;This hand was made to handle nought but gold:
&mlquo;I cannot give due action to my words,
&mlquo;Except a sword, or scepter, balance it5 note.
&mlquo;A scepter shall it have, have I a soul6 note




;

-- 337 --


&mlquo;On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. Enter Buckingham.
&mlquo;Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?
&mlquo;The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.

&mlquo;Buck.
&mlquo;York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting.
&mlquo;Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?

&mlquo;Buck.
&mlquo;A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,
&mlquo;To know, the reason of these arms in peace;
&mlquo;Or why, thou—being a subject as I am7 note


,—
&mlquo;Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,
&mlquo;Should'st raise so great a power without his leave,

-- 338 --


&mlquo;Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Scarce can I speak8 note




, my choler is so great.
&mlquo;O, I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint,
&mlquo;I am so angry at these abject terms;
&mlquo;And now, like Ajax Telamonius,
&mlquo;On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury!
&mlquo;I am far better born than is the king;
&mlquo;More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts:
&mlquo;But I must make fair weather yet a while,
&mlquo;Till Henry be more weak, and I more strong.— [Aside.
&mlquo;O Buckingham9 note, I pr'ythee, pardon me,
&mlquo;That I have given no answer all this while;
&mlquo;My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.
&mlquo;The cause why I have brought this army hither,
&mlquo;Is—to remove proud Somerset from the king,
&mlquo;Seditious to his grace, and to the state.

&mlquo;Buck.
&mlquo;That is too much presumption on thy part:
&mlquo;But if thy arms be to no other end,
&mlquo;The king hath yielded unto thy demand;
&mlquo;The duke of Somerset is in the Tower.

York.
Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?

Buck.
Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers.—
&mlquo;Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;

-- 339 --


&mlquo;Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field,
&mlquo;You shall have pay, and every thing you wish.
&mast;And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
&mast;Command my eldest son,—nay, all my sons,
&mast;As pledges of my fealty and love,
&mast;I'll send them all as willing as I live;
&mast;Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have
&mast;Is his to use, so Somerset may die.

&mlquo;Buck.
&mlquo;York, I commend this kind submission:
&mlquo;We twain will go into his highness' tent1 note

.
Enter King Henry, attended.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us,
&mlquo;That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?

&mast;York.
&mast;In all submission and humility,
&mast;York doth present himself unto your highness.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Then what intend these forces thou dost bring?

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;To heave the traitor Somerset from hence2 note;
&mlquo;And fight against that monstrous rebel, Cade,
&mlquo;Who since I heard to be discomfited.
Enter Iden, with Cade's Head.

&mlquo;Iden.
&mlquo;If one so rude, and of so mean condition,

-- 340 --


&mlquo;May pass into the presence of a king,
&mlquo;Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head,
&mlquo;The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;The head of Cade3 note









?—Great God, how just art thou!—
&mlquo;O, let me view his visage being dead,
&mlquo;That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.
&mlquo;Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?

&mlquo;Iden.
&mlquo;I was, an't like your majesty.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;How art thou call'd? and what is thy degree?

&mlquo;Iden.
&mlquo;Alexander Iden, that's my name;
&mlquo;A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.

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

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

&mlquo;Iden.
&mlquo;May Iden live to merit such a bounty,
&mlquo;And never live but true unto his liege4 note



!

-- 341 --

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with the queen;
&mlquo;Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.
Enter Queen Margaret and Somerset.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head,
&mlquo;But boldly stand, and front him to his face.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;How now5 note









! Is Somerset at liberty?
&mlquo;Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts,
&mlquo;And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.
&mlquo;Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?—
&mlquo;False king! why hast thou broken faith with me,
&mlquo;Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?
&mlquo;King did I call thee? no, thou art not king;
&mlquo;Not fit to govern and rule multitudes,
&mlquo;Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.
&mlquo;That hand of thine doth not become a crown;
&mlquo;Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff,
&mlquo;And not to grace an awful princely scepter.
&mlquo;That gold must round engirt these brows of mine:
&mlquo;Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear,

-- 342 --


&mlquo;Is able with the change to kill and cure6 note





.
&mlquo;Here is a hand to hold a scepter up,
&mlquo;And with the same to act controlling laws.
&mlquo;Give place; by heaven, thou shalt rule no more
&mlquo;O'er him, whom heaven created for thy ruler.

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;O monstrous traitor7 note



!—I arrest thee, York,
&mlquo;Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown:
&mast;Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.

&mast;York.
&mast;Would'st have me kneel? first let me ask of these,
&mast;If they can brook I bow a knee to man.—
&mast;Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail8 note

; [Exit an Attendant.

-- 343 --


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

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain,
&mast;To say, if that the bastard boys of York
&mast;Shall be the surety for their traitor father.

&mast;York.
&mast;O blood-bespotted Neapolitan,
&mast;Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge!
&mlquo;The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,
&mlquo;Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those9 note


&mlquo;That for my surety will refuse the boys. Enter Edward and Richard Plantagenet, with Forces, at one side; at the other, with Forces also, old Clifford and his Son.
&mast;See where they come; I'll warrant they'll make it good.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail.

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;Health and all happiness to my lord the king!
[Kneels.

-- 344 --

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

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;This is my king, York, I do not mistake;
&mlquo;But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do:—
&mlquo;To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour9 note


&mlquo;Makes him oppose himself against his king.

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

Q. Mar.
He is arrested, but will not obey;
&mlquo;His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Will you not, sons?

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

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;And if words will not, then our weapons shall.

&mast;Clif.
&mast;Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!

&mast;York.
&mast;Look in a glass, and call thy image so;
&mast;I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.—

-- 345 --


&mlquo;Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,
&mast;That, with the very shaking of their chains,
&mast;They may astonish these fell lurking curs1 note;
&mast;Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come2 note
to me3 note




. Drums. Enter Warwick and Salisbury, with Forces.

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death,
&mlquo;And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,
&mlquo;If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place.

&mast;Rich.
&mast;Oft have I seen4 note

a hot o'erweening cur
&mast;Run back and bite, because he was withheld;
&mast;Who, being suffer'd5 note with the bear's fell paw,
&mast;Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd:
&mast;And such a piece of service will you do,

-- 346 --


&mast;If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick.

&mast;Clif.
&mast;Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump,
&mast;As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!

&mast;York.
&mast;Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.

&mast;Clif.
&mast;Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves6 note

.

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

&mast;Sal.
&mast;My lord, I have consider'd with myself
&mast;The title of this most renowned duke;
&mast;And in my conscience do repute his grace
&mast;The rightful heir to England's royal seat.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?

&mast;Sal.
&mast;I have.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?

&mast;Sal.
&mast;It is great sin, to swear unto a sin7 note





;

-- 347 --


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

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;A subtle traitor needs no sophister.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,
&mlquo;I am resolv'd for death, or dignity8 note.

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;You were best to go to bed, and dream again,
To keep thee from the tempest of the field.

Clif.
I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm,
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;
And that I'll write upon thy burgonet9 note



,
Might I but know thee by thy household badge1 note.

-- 348 --

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

Clif.
And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear,
And tread it under foot with all contempt,
&mlquo;Despight the bear-ward that protects the bear.

&mlquo;Y. Clif.
&mlquo;And so to arms, victorious father,
&mlquo;To quell the rebels, and their 'complices.

Rich.
Fye! charity, for shame! speak not in spite,
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.

&mlquo;Y. Clif.
&mlquo;Foul stigmatick2 note

, that's more than thou canst tell.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.
[Exeunt severally. SCENE II. Saint Albans. Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick.

War.
Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls!
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,
Now,—when the angry trumpet sounds alarm,
And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,—

-- 349 --


Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me!
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms3 note. Enter York.
&mlquo;How now, my noble lord? what, all a-foot?

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed;
&mlquo;But match to match I have encounter'd him,
&mlquo;And made a prey for carrion kites and crows4 note


&mlquo;Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well5 note
.
Enter Clifford.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Of one or both of us the time is come.

York.
Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chace,
For I myself6 note must hunt this deer to death.

War.
Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st.—
&mlquo;As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. [Exit Warwick.

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;What seest thou in me, York7 note










? why dost thou pause?

-- 350 --

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;With thy brave bearing should I be in love,
&mlquo;But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,
&mlquo;But that 'tis shown ignobly, and in treason.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;So let it help me now against thy sword,
&mlquo;As I in justice and true right express it!

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;My soul and body on the action both!—

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;A dreadful lay8 note!—address thee instantly.
[They fight, and Clifford falls.

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;La fin couronne les oeuvres9 note


. [Dies1 note




.

-- 351 --

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.
&mlquo;Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!
[Exit. Enter young Clifford.

&mast;Y. Clif.
&mast;Shame and confusion! all is on the rout2 note














;
&mast;Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
&mast;Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
&mast;Whom angry heavens do make their minister,
&mast;Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
&mast;Hot coals of vengeance3 note!—Let no soldier fly:
&mast;He that is truly dedicate to war,
&mast;Hath no self-love; nor he, that loves himself,
&mast;Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
&mast;The name of valour.—O, let the vile world end! [Seeing his dead Father.

-- 352 --


&mast;And the premised flames4 note of the last day
&mast;Knit earth and heaven together!
&mast;Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
&mast;Particularities and petty sounds
&mast;To cease5 note

!—Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,
&mast;To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve6 note
&mast;The silver livery of advised age7 note


;
&mast;And, in thy reverence8 note, and thy chair-days, thus
&mast;To die in ruffian battle?—Even at this sight,
&mast;My heart is turn'd to stone9 note: and, while 'tis mine,
&mast;It shall be stony1 note


. York not our old men spares;
&mast;No more will I their babes: tears virginal
&mast;Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;
&mast;And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
&mast;Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax2 note

.
&mast;Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity:

-- 353 --


&mast;Meet I an infant of the house of York,
&mast;Into as many gobbets will I cut it,
&mast;As wild Medea young Absyrtus did3 note



:
&mast;In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
&mlquo;Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house; [Taking up the Body.
&mlquo;As did Æneas old Anchises bear,
&mlquo;So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders4 note







;
&mast;But then Æneas bare a living load,
&mast;Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Exit. Enter Richard Plantagenet and Somerset, fighting, and Somerset is killed.

Rich.
So, lie thou there;—
&mlquo;For, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign,
The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset

-- 354 --


Hath made the wizard famous in his death5 note

















.—
&mast;Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:
&mast;Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit. Alarums: Excursions. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and others, retreating.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Away, my lord6 note







! you are slow; for shame, away!

-- 355 --

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Can we outrun the heavens? good Margaret, stay.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;What are you made of? you'll not fight, nor fly:
&mast;Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence7 note,
&mast;To give the enemy way; and to secure us
&mast;By what we can, which can no more but fly. [Alarum afar off.
&mast;If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
&mast;Of all our fortunes8 note







: but if we haply scape,
&mast;(As well we may, if not through your neglect,)
&mast;We shall to London get: where you are lov'd;
&mast;And where this breach, now in our fortunes made,
&mast;May readily be stopp'd.

-- 356 --

Enter young Clifford.

&mast;Y. Clif.
&mast;But that my heart's on future mischief set,
&mast;I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly;
&mast;But fly you must; uncurable discomfit
&mast;Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts9 note






.
&mast;Away, for your relief! and we will live
&mast;To see their day, and them our fortune give:
&mast;Away, my lord, away! [Exeunt.

-- 357 --

SCENE III. Fields near Saint Albans. Alarum: Retreat. Flourish; then enter York, Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Soldiers, with Drum and Colours.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Of Salisbury1 note













, who can report of him;
&mast;That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets
&mast;Aged contusions and all brush of time2 note


;
&mast;And, like a gallant in the brow of youth3 note



,

-- 358 --


&mast;Repairs him with occasion? this happy day
&mast;Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
&mast;If Salisbury be lost.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;My noble father,
&mlquo;Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,
&mlquo;Three times bestrid him4 note

, thrice I led him off,
&mlquo;Persuaded him from any further act:
&mlquo;But still, where danger was, still there I met him;
&mast;And like rich hangings in a homely house,
&mast;So was his will in his old feeble body.
&mast;But, noble as he is, look where he comes. Enter Salisbury.

&mlquo;Sal.
&mlquo;Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day5 note




;
&mlquo;By the mass, so did we all.—I thank you, Richard:
&mlquo;God knows, how long it is I have to live;
&mlquo;And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day
&mlquo;You have defended me from imminent death.—
&mast;Well, lords, we have not got that which we have6 note
:

-- 359 --


&mast;'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
&mast;Being opposites of such repairing nature7 note





.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;I know, our safety is to follow them;
&mlquo;For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
&mlquo;To call a present court of parliament8 note.
&mlquo;Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth:—
&mlquo;What says lord Warwick? shall we after them?

War.
After them! nay, before them, if we can.
Now by my faith9 note, lords, 'twas a glorious day:
Saint Albans' battle, won by famous York,
Shall be etérniz'd in all age to come.—
Sound, drums and trumpets;—and to London all:
And more such days as these to us befall!
[Exeunt.

-- 361 --

Volume 18: The Third Part of King Henry the Sixth

-- 363 --

Introductory matter

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

The action of this play (which was at first printed under this title, The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York, and the good King Henry the Sixth; or, The Second Part of the Contention of York and Lancaster,) opens just after the first battle at St. Albans, [May 23, 1455,] wherein the York faction carried the day; and closes with the murder of King Henry VI. and the birth of Prince Edward, afterwards King Edward V. [November 4, 1471.] So that this history takes in the space of full sixteen years. Theobald.

I have never seen the quarto copy of the Second Part of The Whole Contention, &c. printed by Valentine Simmes for Thomas Millington, 1600; but the copy printed by W. W. for Thomas Millington, 1600, is now before me; and it is not precisely the same with that described by Mr. Pope and Mr. Theobald, nor does the undated edition (printed in fact, in 1619,) correspond with their description. The title of the piece printed in 1600, by W. W. is as follows: “The True Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, and the Death of good King Henrie the Sixt: With the whole Contention between the Two Houses Lancaster and Yorke: as it was sundry Times acted by the Right Honourable the Earle of Pembrooke his Servants. Printed at London by W. W. for Thomas Millington, and are to be sold at his Shoppe under St. Peter's Church in Cornewall, 1600.” There was, however, an earlier edition in 1595. See it more particularly described in the list of quartos, vol. ii. On this piece Shakspeare, as I conceive, in 1591 formed the drama before us. See p. 3 of this volume, and the Essay at the end of this play. Malone.

The present historical drama was altered by Crowne, and brought on the stage in the year 1680, under the title of The Miseries of Civil War. Surely the works of Shakspeare could have been little read at that period; for Crowne, in his Prologue, declares the play to be entirely his own composition:


“For by his feeble skill 'tis built alone,
“The divine Shakspeare did not lay one stone.”

whereas the very first scene is that of Jack Cade copied almost verbatim from The Second Part of King Henry VI. and several others from this third Part, with as little variation. Steevens.

-- 364 --

PERSONS REPRESENTED. King Henry the Sixth: Edward, Prince of Wales [Prince], his Son. Lewis XI. King of France. Duke of Somerset. Lord on K. Henry's side. Duke of Exeter. Lord on K. Henry's side. Earl of Oxford. Lord on K. Henry's side. Earl of Northumberland. Lord on K. Henry's side. Earl of Westmoreland. Lord on K. Henry's side. Lord Clifford. Lord on K. Henry's side. Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York [Plantagenet]: Edward, Earl of March, afterwards King Edward IV. his Son. Edmund, Earl of Rutland [Rutland], his Son. George, afterwards Duke of Clarence, his Son. Richard, afterwards Duke of Glocester, his Son. Duke of Norfolk, of the Duke of York's party. Marquis of Montague, of the Duke of York's party. Earl of Warwick, of the Duke of York's party. Earl of Pembroke, of the Duke of York's party. Lord Hastings, of the Duke of York's party. Lord Stafford, of the Duke of York's party. Sir John Mortimer, Uncle to the Duke of York. Sir Hugh Mortimer, Uncle to the Duke of York. Henry, Earl of Richmond, a Youth. Lord Rivers, Brother to Lady Grey. Sir William Stanley. Sir John Montgomery. Sir John Somerville. Tutor to Rutland. Mayor of York. Lieutenant of the Tower. A Nobleman. Two Keepers [Keeper 1], [Keeper 2]. A Huntsman. A Son that has killed his Father [Son]. A Father that has killed his Son [Father]. Queen Margaret. Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward IV. Bona, Sister to the French Queen. Soldiers, and other Attendants on King Henry and King Edward, Messengers, Watchmen, &c. [Messenger], [Messenger1], [Messenger2], [Watch 1], [Watch 2], [Watch 3] SCENE, during part of the third Act, in France; during all the rest of the Play, in England.

-- 365 --

1 note.

THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI ACT I. SCENE I. London. The Parliament-House. Drums. Some Soldiers of York's party break in. Then, Enter the Duke of York, Edward, Richard, Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, and Others, with white Roses in their Hats.

War.
I wonder how the king escap'd our hands.

York.
While we pursued the horsemen of the north,
He slily stole away, and left his men:
Whereat the great lord of Northumberland,
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
&mlquo;Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself,
&mlquo;Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all a-breast,
&mlquo;Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in,
&mlquo;Were by the swords of common soldiers slain2 note

.

-- 366 --

Edw.
Lord Stafford's father, duke of Buckingham,
&mlquo;Is either slain, or wounded dangerous:
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow;
&mlquo;That this is true, father, behold his blood.
[Showing his bloody Sword.

Mont.
And, brother, here's the earl of Wiltshire's blood, [To York, showing his.
Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd.

Rich.
Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did3 note

. [Throwing down the Duke of Somerset's Head.

&mast;York.
&mast;Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons.—
What, is your grace4 note


dead, my lord of Somerset?

-- 367 --

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

Rich.
Thus do I hope to shake king Henry's head.

War.
And so do I.—Victorious prince of York,
Before I see thee seated in that throne
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps
I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close:
This is the palace of the fearful king,
&mlquo;And this the regal seat: possess it, York:
For this is thine, and not king Henry's heirs'.

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

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

York.
Thanks, gentle Norfolk,—Stay by me, my lords;—
&mlquo;And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;And, when the king comes, offer him no violence,
&mlquo;Unless he seek to thrust you out by force.
[They retire.

&mast;York.
&mast;The queen, this day, here holds her parliament,
&mast;But little thinks we shall be of her council:
&mast;By words or blows here let us win our right.

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

War.
The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,
Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king;
And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice

-- 368 --


Hath made us by-words to our enemies.

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

War.
Neither the king, nor he that loves him best,
&mlquo;The proudest he† note that holds up Lancaster,
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells5 note.
&mlquo;I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares:—
Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.
[Warwick leads York to the Throne, who seats himself. Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, Northumberland, Westmoreland, Exeter, and Others, with red Roses in their Hats.

K. Hen.
My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,
Even in the chair of state! belike, he means,
(Back'd 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 vow'd revenge
On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends.

&mlquo;North.
&mlquo;If I be not, heavens, be reveng'd on me!

Clif.
The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.

West.
What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down:
&mlquo;My heart for anger burns‡ note, I cannot brook it.

K. Hen.
Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland.

-- 369 --

Clif.
Patience is for póltroons, such as he6 note;
He durst not sit there had your father liv'd.
My gracious lord, here in the parliament
Let us assail the family of York.

North.
Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so.

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

Exe.
But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly7 note.

K. Hen.
Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart,
To make a shambles of the parliament-house!
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats,
Shall be the war that Henry means to use. [They advance to the Duke.
Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne,
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;
I am thy sovereign.

York.
Thou art deceiv'd8 note, I am thine.

Exe.
For shame, come down; he made thee duke of York.

York.
'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was9 note

.

-- 370 --

Exe.
Thy father was a traitor to the crown.

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

Clif.
Whom should he follow, but his natural king?

War.
True, Clifford; and that's Richard1 note, duke of York.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne?

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;It must and shall be so. Content thyself.

War.
Be duke of Lancaster, let him be king.

West.
He is both king and duke of Lancaster;
And that the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.

War.
And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget,
That we are those, which chas'd you from the field,
And slew your fathers, and with colours spread
March'd through the city to the palace gates.

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

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

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

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats!

-- 371 --

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

K. Hen.
What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?
Thy father was, as thou art, duke of York2 note;
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March:
I am the son of Henry the fifth3 note,
Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop,
And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces.

War.
Talk not of France, sith4 note
thou hast lost it all.

K. Hen.
The lord protector lost it, and not I;
When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old.

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

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

Mont.
Good brother, [To York.] as thou lov'st and honour'st arms,
Let's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus.

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

York.
Sons, peace!

K. Hen.
Peace thou! and give king Henry leave to speak.

-- 372 --

War.
Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords;
And be you silent and attentive too,
For he, that interrupts him, shall not live.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Think'st thou, that I will leave my kingly throne5 note




,
Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat?
No: first shall war unpeople this my realm;
&mlquo;Ay, and their colours—often borne in France;
And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow,—
Shall be my winding sheet6 note

.—Why faint you, lords?
&mlquo;My title's good, and better far than his.

War.
Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king7 note

.

K. Hen.
Henry the fourth by conquest got the crown.

York.
'Twas by rebellion against his king.

K. Hen.
I know not what to say; my title's weak.
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?

-- 373 --

York.
What then?

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;An if he may, then am I lawful king:
&mlquo;For Richard, in the view of many lords,
Resign'd the crown to Henry the fourth:
Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

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

War.
Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
Think you, 'twere prejudicial to his crown8 note

?

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

K. Hen.
Art thou against us, duke of Exeter?

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

&mast;York.
&mast;Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?

Exe.
My conscience tells me he is lawful king.

K. Hen.
All will revolt from me, and turn to him.

North.
Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st,
Think not, that Henry shall be so depos'd.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all.

North.
Thou art deceiv'd: 'tis not thy southern power,
&mlquo;Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,—
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,—
Can set the duke up, in despite of me.

-- 374 --

Clif.
King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:
May that ground gape, and swallow me alive9 note
,
&mlquo;Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!

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

War.
Do right unto this princely duke of York;
Or I will fill the house with armed men,
And, o'er the chair of state, where now he sits,
Write up his title with usurping blood.
[He stamps, and the Soldiers show themselves.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;My lord of Warwick, hear but one word1 note

.—
&mlquo;Let me, for this my life-time, reign as king.

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

K. Hen.
I am content: Richard Plantagenet,
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease2 note

.

Clif.
What wrong is this unto the prince your son?

-- 375 --

War.
What good is this to England, and himself?

West.
Base, fearful, and despairing Henry!

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;How hast thou injur'd both thyself and us?

West.
I cannot stay to hear these articles.

North.
Nor I.

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

&mast;West.
&mast;Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king,
&mast;In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.

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

Clif.
In dreadful war may'st thou be overcome!
Or live in peace, abandon'd, and despis'd!
[Exeunt Northumberland, Clifford, and Westmoreland.

&mast;War.
&mast;Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.

Exe.
They seek revenge3 note, and therefore will not yield.

K. Hen.
Ah, Exeter!

War.
Why should you sigh, my lord?

K. Hen.
Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my son,
Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.
But, be it as it may:—I here entail
&mlquo;The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever;
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath
To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,
To honour me as thy king and sovereign;
&mast;And neither4 note


by treason, nor hostility,

-- 376 --


&mast;To seek to put me down, and reign thyself.

York.
This oath I willingly take, and will perform.
[Coming from the Throne.

War.
Long live king Henry!—Plantagenet, embrace him.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;And long live thou, and these thy forward sons!

York.
Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd.

Exe.
Accurs'd be he, that seeks to make them foes!
[Senet. The Lords come forward.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle5 note.

War.
And I'll keep London, with my soldiers.

Norf.
And I to Norfolk, with my followers.

Mont.
And I unto the sea, from whence I came.
[Exeunt York, and his Sons, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague, Soldiers, and Attendants.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court.
Enter Queen Margaret and the Prince of Wales.

Exe.
Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray6 note



her anger:
I'll steal away.

-- 377 --

K. Hen.
Exeter, so will I.
[Going.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee.

K. Hen.
Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Who can be patient in such extremes?
&mast;Ah, wretched man! 'would I had died a maid,
&mast;And never seen thee, never borne thee son,
&mast;Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father!
&mast;Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus?
&mast;Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I;
&mast;Or felt that pain which I did for him once;
&mast;Or nourish'd him, as I did with my blood;
&mast;Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there,
&mast;Rather than have made7 note

that savage duke thine heir,
&mast;And disinherited thine only son.

&mast;Prince.
&mast;Father, you cannot disinherit me:
&mast;If you be king, why should not I succeed?

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Pardon me, Margaret;—pardon me, sweet son;—
&mast;The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd me.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be forc'd?
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me;
&mlquo;And given unto the house of York such head,
&mast;As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.
&mast;To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,

-- 378 --


&mast;What is it, but to make thy sepulchre8 note,
&mast;And creep into it far before thy time?
&mast;Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais;
Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas9 note


;
The duke is made protector of the realm;
&mlquo;And yet shalt thou be safe?&mast;such safety finds
&mast;The trembling lamb, environed with wolves.
&mlquo;Had I been there, which am a silly woman,
&mlquo;The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes,
&mlquo;Before I would have granted to that act.
&mast;But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour:
&mlquo;And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself,

-- 379 --


&mlquo;Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
&mlquo;Until that act of parliament be repeal'd,
&mlquo;Whereby my son is disinherited1 note
.
The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours,
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread:
&mlquo;And spread they shall be; to thy foul disgrace,
&mlquo;And utter ruin of the house of York.
&mlquo;Thus do I leave thee:—Come, son, let's away;
&mlquo;Our army's ready; come, we'll after them.

K. Hen.
Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

Q. Mar.
Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee gone.

K. Hen.
Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

Q. Mar.
Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.

Prince.
When I return with victory from the field2 note,
I'll see your grace: till then, I'll follow her.

Q. Mar.
Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.
[Exeunt Queen Margaret, and the Prince.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Poor queen! how love to me, and to her son,
&mlquo;Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
&mlquo;Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke;
&mast;Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
&mast;Will cost my crown, and, like an empty eagle3 note













,

-- 380 --


&mast;Tire on the flesh of me4 note



, and of my son!
&mast;The loss of those three lords5 note torments my heart:

-- 381 --


&mast;I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair;—
&mast;Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger6 note


.

&mast;Exe.
&mast;And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.
[Exeunt. SCENE II. A Room in Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire. Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.

Edw.
No, I can better play the orator.

Mont.
But I have reasons strong and forcible.
Enter York.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Why, how now, sons and brother7 note

, at a strife?

-- 382 --


&mlquo;What is your quarrel? how began it first?

&mlquo;Edw.
&mlquo;No quarrel, but a slight contention8 note

.

York.
About what?

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;About that which concerns your grace, and us;
&mlquo;The crown of England, father, which is yours.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Mine, boy? not till king Henry be dead.

&mast;Rich.
&mast;Your right depends not on his life, or death.

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

-- 383 --

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;I took an oath, that he should quietly reign.

&mlquo;Edw.
&mlquo;But, for a kingdom, any oath may be broken:
&mlquo;I'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;No; God forbid, your grace should be forsworn9 note



.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;I shall be, if I claim by open war.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;An oath is of no moment1 note







, being not took
&mlquo;Before a true and lawful magistrate,
&mlquo;That hath authority over him that swears:
&mlquo;Henry had none, but did usurp the place;
&mlquo;Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
&mlquo;Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
&mlquo;Therefore, to arms &mast; And, father, do but think,
&mast;How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;

-- 384 --


&mast;Within whose circuit is Elysium,
&mast;And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
&mast;Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest,
&mast;Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed
&mast;Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.—
&mlquo;Brother, thou shalt to London presently2 note










,
&mlquo;And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.—
&mlquo;Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk,
&mlquo;And tell him privily of our intent.—
&mlquo;You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise:
&mlquo;In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
&mlquo;Witty and courteous, liberal, full of spirit3 note






.—

-- 385 --


&mlquo;While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more,
&mlquo;But that I seek occasion how to rise;
&mlquo;And yet the king not privy to my drift,
&mlquo;Nor any of the house of Lancaster? Enter a Messenger4 note

.
&mlquo;But, stay; What news? Why com'st thou in such post?

&mlquo;Mess.
&mlquo;The queen, with all the northern earls and lords5 note

,

-- 386 --


&mlquo;Intend here to besiege you in your castle:
&mlquo;She is hard by with twenty thousand men6 note





;
&mlquo;And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.

&mast;York.
&mast;Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou, that we fear them!—
&mlquo;Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;—
&mlquo;My brother Montague shall post to London:
&mast;Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
&mast;Whom we have left protectors of the king,
&mast;With powerful policy strengthen themselves,

-- 387 --


&mast;And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths.

&mast;Mont.
&mast;Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not:
&mast;And thus most humbly I do take my leave.
[Exit. Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer.

York.
Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles!
&mlquo;You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
The army of the queen mean to besiege us.

Sir John.
She shall not need, we'll meet her in the field.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;What, with five thousand men?

Rich.
Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.
A woman's general; What should we fear?
[A March afar off.

&mlquo;Edw.
&mlquo;I hear their drums; let's set our men in order;
&mlquo;And issue forth, and bid them battle straight.

&mlquo;York.
&mlquo;Five men to twenty7 note





!—though the odds be great,
&mlquo;I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
&mlquo;Many a battle have I won in France,
&mlquo;When as the enemy hath been ten to one;
&mlquo;Why should I not now have the like success?
[Alarum. Exeunt.

-- 388 --

SCENE III. Plains near Sandal Castle. Alarums: Excursions. Enter Rutland, and his Tutor8 note.

&mlquo;Rut.
&mlquo;Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands9 note

!
Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes!
Enter Clifford, and Soldiers.

Clif.
Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.
As for the brat of this accursed duke,
Whose father1 note slew my father,—he shall die.

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

Clif.
Soldiers, away with him.

&mlquo;Tut.
&mlquo;Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent child,
&mlquo;Lest thou be hated both of God and man.
[Exit, forced off by Soldiers.

Clif.
How now! is he dead already? Or, is it fear,
That makes him close his eyes2 note
?—I'll open them.

-- 389 --

&mlquo;Rut.
&mlquo;So looks the pent-up lion3 note o'er the wretch† note
&mast;That trembles under his devouring paws4 note:
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey;
&mlquo;And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.—
&mlquo;Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
And not with such a cruel threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die;—
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath,
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.

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

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

Clif.
Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine,
Were not revenge sufficient for me;
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York

-- 390 --


Is as a fury to torment my soul5 note
;
&mlquo;And till I root out their accursed line,
&mlquo;And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore— [Lifting his Hand.

Rut.
O, let me pray before I take my death:—
To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me!

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

&mlquo;Rut.
&mlquo;I never did thee harm; Why wilt thou slay me?

Clif.
Thy father hath.

Rut.
But 'twas ere I was born6 note

.
Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest, in revenge thereof,—sith7 note
God is just,—
He be as miserably slain as I,
Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence,
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.

Clif.
No cause?
Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
[Clifford stabs him.

Rut.
Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ8 note!
[Dies.

-- 391 --

Clif.
Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade,
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.
[Exit. SCENE IV. The Same. Alarum. Enter York.

&mast;York.
&mast;The army of the queen hath got the field:
&mast;My uncles both are slain in rescuing me9 note;
&mast;And all my followers to the eager foe
&mast;Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind,
&mast;Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
&mast;My sons—God knows, what hath bechanced them:
But this I know,—they have demean'd themselves
Like men born to renown, by life, or death.
&mlquo;Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
And thrice cried,—Courage, father! fight it out!
&mlquo;And full as oft came Edward to my side,
With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt
&mlquo;In blood of those1 note

that had encounter'd him:
&mlquo;And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
&mlquo;Richard cried,—Charge! and give no foot of ground!

-- 392 --


&mlquo;And cried,—A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
&mlquo;A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!
With this, we charg'd again: but, out, alas!
&mlquo;We bodg'd again2 note



; as I have seen a swan
&mlquo;With bootless labour swim against the tide,
&mlquo;And spend her strength with over-matching waves. [A short Alarum within.
&mlquo;Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;
&mlquo;And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury:
&mlquo;And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury:
&mlquo;The sands are number'd, that make up my life;
&mlquo;Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, and Soldiers.
&mlquo;Come, bloody Clifford,—rough Northumberland,—
&mlquo;I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
&mlquo;I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

North.
Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

Clif.
Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm,
With downright payment, show'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noontide prick3 note

.

-- 393 --

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

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

York.
O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
&mlquo;And in thy thought o'er-run my former time:
&mast;And, if thou can'st for blushing, view this face;
And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice,
&mlquo;Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.

Clif.
I will not bandy with thee word for word;
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.
[Draws.

Q. Mar.
Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes,
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life:—
Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.

North.
Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so much
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
What valour were it when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away?
It is war's prize4 note


to take all vantages;

-- 394 --


&mlquo;And ten to one is no impeach of valour. [They lay hands on York, who struggles.

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

North.
So doth the coney struggle in the net.
[York is taken prisoner.

York.
So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;
So true men yield5 note, with robbers so o'er-match'd.

North.
What would your grace have done unto him now?

Q. Mar.
Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
Come make him stand upon this molehill here;
&mlquo;That raught6 note
at mountains with outstretched arms,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.—
&mast;What! was it you, that would be England's king?
Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high descent?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
&mlquo;And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice,
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
Look, York; I stain'd this napkin7 note

with the blood

-- 395 --


That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made issue from the bosom of the boy:
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
&mlquo;Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York;
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance8 note.
What, hath thy firy heart so parch'd thine entrails,
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
&mast;Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad;
&mast;And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport;
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.—
A crown for York;—and, lords, bow low to him.—
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.— [Putting a paper Crown on his Head9 note

.

-- 396 --


Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir.—
But how is it that great Plantagenet
Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
As I bethink me, you should not be king,
Till our king Henry had shook hands with death1 note.
And will you pale2 note


your head in Henry's glory,

-- 397 --


And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
O, tis a fault too too unpardonable!—
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head;
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead3 note

.

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

Q. Mar.
Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes.

York.
She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,
&mlquo;Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,
To triumph like an Amazonian trull,
&mlquo;Upon their woes4 note, whom fortune captivates?
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush:
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd,
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.
Thy father bears the type5 note
of king of Naples,
Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem;
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;
Unless the adage must be verified,—
That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death.
'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud;
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:

-- 398 --


'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
'Tis government, that makes them seem divine6 note


;
The want thereof makes thee abominable:
Thou art as opposite to every good,
As the Antipodes are unto us,
Or as the south to the septentrion7 note
.
O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide8 note


!
How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
&mlquo;Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
&mlquo;Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish9 note:
&mlquo;Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will:
&mlquo;For raging wind blows up incessant showers1 note
,
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins2 note









.

-- 399 --


These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;
&mlquo;And every drop cries vengeance for his death3 note

,—
&mlquo;'Gainst thee, fell Clifford,—and thee, false Frenchwoman.

North.
Beshrew me, but his passions move me so,
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears,

York.
That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood4 note







:

-- 400 --


But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,—
O, ten times more,—than tigers of Hyrcania5 note.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: [He gives back the Handkerchief.
And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears6 note


;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And say,—Alas, it was a piteous deed!—
There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse7 note

;
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!—
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

North.
Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
&mlquo;I should not for my life but weep with him,

-- 401 --


To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul8 note


.

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

Clif.
Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.
[Stabbing him.

Q. Mar.
And here's to right our gentle-hearted king9 note


. [Stabbing him.

York.
Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.
[Dies.

Q. Mar.
Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
So York may overlook the town of York1 note

. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. Drums. Enter Edward, and Richard, with their Forces, marching.

&mast;Edw.
&mast;I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd,
&mast;Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no,

-- 402 --


&mast;From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit;
&mast;Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
&mast;Or, had he scap'd, methinks, we should have heard
&mast;The happy tidings of his good escape.—
&mlquo;How fares my brother2 note




? why is he so sad?

Rich.
I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become.
&mlquo;I saw him in the battle range about;
&mlquo;And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.

-- 403 --


&mlquo;Methought, he bore him3 note
in the thickest troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of neat:
&mast;Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs;
&mast;Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
&mast;The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
&mast;So far'd our father with his enemies;
&mlquo;So fled his enemies my warlike father;
&mlquo;Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son4 note


.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun5 note!
&mast;How well resembles it the prime of youth,
&mast;Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love!

Edw.
Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns6 note?

Rich.
Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
Not separated with the racking clouds7 note






,

-- 404 --


But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vow'd some league inviolable:
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
In this the heaven figures some event.

&mast;Edw.
&mast;'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
&mlquo;Each one already blazing by our meeds8 note





,
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
&mlquo;And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
&mlquo;Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair shining suns.

&mast;Rich.
&mast;Nay, bear three daughters;—by your leave I speak it,
&mast;You love the breeder better than the male. Enter a Messenger.
&mlquo;But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel,
&mlquo;Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

Mess.
Ah, one that was a woful looker on,

-- 405 --


When as the noble duke of York was slain,
&mast;Your princely father, and my loving lord.

&mlquo;Edw.
&mlquo;O, speak no more9 note! for I have heard too much1 note

.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Say, how he died, for I will hear it all.

&mlquo;Mess.
&mlquo;Environed he was with many foes2 note

















;
&mlquo;And stood against them as the hope of Troy3 note
&mlquo;Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy.
&mlquo;But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
&mlquo;And many strokes, though with a little axe,
&mlquo;Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
&mlquo;By many hands your father was subdu'd;
&mlquo;But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
&mlquo;Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:

-- 406 --


&mlquo;Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite;
&mlquo;Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept,
&mlquo;The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks,
&mlquo;A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
&mlquo;Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain:
&mlquo;And, after many scorns, many foul taunts,
&mlquo;They took his head, and on the gates of York
&mlquo;They set the same; and there it doth remain,
&mlquo;The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

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

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
&mast;Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden;
&mast;For self-same wind, that I should speak withal,
&mast;Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,
&mast;And burn me up with flames4 note
, that tears would quench.
&mast;To weep, is to make less the depth of grief5 note

:

-- 407 --


&mast;Tears, then, for babes; blows, and revenge, for me!—
&mlquo;Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death,
&mlquo;Or die renowned by attempting it.

Edw.
His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;
&mlquo;His dukedom and his chair with me is left6 note
.

Rich.
Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun7 note









:
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say;
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with Forces8 note.

War.
How now, fair lords? What fare? what news abroad?

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount
Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance,
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,

-- 408 --


The words would add more anguish than the wounds.
O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.

Edw.
O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet,
Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption,
Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death9 note





.

War.
Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears:
And now, to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things since then befall'n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
Were brought me of your loss, and his depart.
I then in London, keeper of the king,
Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
And very well appointed, as I thought1 note,
March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the queen,
Bearing the king in my behalf along:
For by my scouts I was advértised,
That she was coming with a full intent
To dash our late decree in parliament,
&mlquo;Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession.
Short tale to make,—we at Saint Alban's met,

-- 409 --


Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought:
But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen;
Or whether 'twas report of her success;
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
&mlquo;Who thunders to his captives2 note—blood and death,
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
Our soldiers'—like the night-owl's lazy flight3 note

,
&mlquo;Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail4 note,—
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay, and great rewards:
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
So that we fled; the king, unto the queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you;
For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
Making another head to fight again.

&mlquo;Edw.5 note


&mlquo;Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?

-- 410 --


And when came George from Burgundy to England?

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers:
And for your brother,—he was lately sent
From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,
&mlquo;With aid of soldiers to this needful war6 note


.

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

War.
Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear:
For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful scepter from his fist;

-- 411 --


Were he as famous and as bold in war,
As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.

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

War.
Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out;
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland7 note




,
And of their feather, many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax8 note
.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament;
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.

-- 412 --


&mlquo;Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong9 note


:
Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself,
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
&mlquo;Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, Via! to London will we march amain;
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
&mlquo;And once again cry—Charge upon our foes!
But never once again turn back, and fly.

Rich.
Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick speak:
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,
&mlquo;That cries—Retire, if Warwick bid him stay.

Edw.
Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;
&mlquo;And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the hour!)
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend!

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

&mast;Rich.
&mast;Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,
&mast;(As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,)
&mast;I come to pierce it,—or to give thee mine.

&mast;Edw.
&mast;Then strike up, drums;—God, and Saint George, for us!

-- 413 --

Enter a Messenger.

War.
How now? what news?

Mess.
The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,
The queen is coming with a puissant host;
And craves your company for speedy counsel.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Why then it sorts1 note

, brave warriors: Let's away. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Before York. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince of Wales, Clifford, and Northumberland, with Forces.

Q. Mar.
Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,
That sought to be encompass'd with your crown:
&mlquo;Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck;—
To see this sight, it irks my very soul.—
Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,
Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow.

Clif.
My gracious liege, this too much lenity
And harmful pity, must be laid aside.
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.

-- 414 --


Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?
Not his, that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?
Not he, that sets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on;
&mlquo;And doves will peck, in safeguard2 note of their brood.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown,
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows:
He, but a duke, would have his son a king,
And raise his issue, like a loving sire;
Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
&mlquo;Which argued thee a most unloving father3 note.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young:
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings
&mlquo;Which sometime they have us'd with fearful flight,)
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence?
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault;
And long hereafter say unto his child,—
What my great-grandfather and grandsire got,
My careless father fondly4 note

gave away?

Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.

K. Hen.
Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,

-- 415 --


Inferring arguments of mighty force.
&mlquo;But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,—
That things ill got had ever bad success5 note

?
And happy always was it for that son,
Whose father6 note
for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would, my father had left me no more!
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
&mlquo;As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
&mlquo;Than in possession any jot of pleasure7 note
.
Ah, cousin York! 'would thy best friends did know,
&mlquo;How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh,
&mlquo;And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
&mlquo;You promis'd knighthood to our forward son;
&mlquo;Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.—
Edward, kneel down.

K. Hen.
Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
And learn this lesson,—Draw thy sword in right.

Prince.
My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,

-- 416 --


And in that quarrel use it to the death.

Clif.
Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.
Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
Royal commanders, be in readiness:
&mlquo;For, with a band of thirty thousand8 note men,
Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York;
And, in the towns as they do march along,
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him:
&mlquo;Darraign9 note


your battle, for they are at hand.

Clif.
I would, your highness would depart the field;
The queen1 note









hath best success when you are absent.

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

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

-- 417 --

North.
Be it with resolution then to fight.

Prince.
My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
And hearten those that fight in your defence:
Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint George!
March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers.

&mlquo;Edw.
&mlquo;Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace,
&mlquo;And set thy diadem upon my head;
&mlquo;Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

Q. Mar.
Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!
&mlquo;Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
&mlquo;Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king?

Edw.
I am his king, and he should bow his knee;
I was adopted heir by his consent:
Since when, his oath is broke2 note


; for, as I hear,

-- 418 --


You—that are king, though he do wear the crown,—
Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament,
&mlquo;To blot out me, and put his own son in.

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;And reason too;
Who should succeed the father, but the son?

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Are you there, butcher?—O, I cannot speak!

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

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

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

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

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

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick? dare you speak?
When you and I met at Saint Alban's last,
Your legs did better service than your hands3 note.

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

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

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

&mlquo;North.
&mlquo;No, nor your manhood, that durst make you stay.

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

Clif.
I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child?

-- 419 --

Rich.
Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward,
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;
But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed.

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

Q. Mar.
Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.

K. Hen.
I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue;
I am a king, and privileg'd to speak.

Clif.
My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here,
Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.

Rich.
Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword:
By him that made us all, I am resolv'd4 note,
&mlquo;That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.

&mlquo;Edw.
&mlquo;Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day,
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown.

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

&mlquo;Prince.
&mlquo;If that be right, which Warwick says is right,
There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

Rich.
Whoever got thee5 note, there thy mother stands;
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

Q. Mar.
But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam;
But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatick6 note



,

-- 420 --


Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings7 note




.

Rich.
Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt8 note


,
Whose father bears the title of a king,
(As if a channel should be call'd the sea9 note





,)

-- 421 --


&mlquo;Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,
&mlquo;To let thy tongue detect1 note


thy base-born heart?

Edw.
A wisp of straw2 note













were worth a thousand crowns,

-- 422 --


To make this shameless callet know herself3 note










.—
&mast;Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
&mast;Although thy husband may be Menelaus4 note;
&mast;And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
&mast;By that false woman, as this king by thee.
&mlquo;His father revell'd in the heart of France,
And tam'd the king, and made the Dauphin stoop;
And, had he match'd according to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day:
But, when he took a beggar to his bed,
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day;
&mlquo;Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him,
&mlquo;That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,

-- 423 --


And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
&mlquo;For what hath broach'd this tumult5 note, but thy pride?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
And we, in pity of the gentle king,
Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

&mlquo;Geo.
&mlquo;But, when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,
&mlquo;And that thy summer bred us no increase6 note



,
We set the axe to thy usurping root:
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
&mlquo;Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,
&mlquo;We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down,
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.

Edw.
And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.—
Sound trumpets!—let our bloody colours wave!—
And either victory, or else a grave.

Q. Mar.
Stay, Edward.

Edw.
No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay:
These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day.
[Exeunt.

-- 424 --

SCENE III. A Field of Battle7 note

between Towton and Saxton in Yorkshire. Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Forspent with toil8 note, as runners with a race,

-- 425 --


I lay me down a little while to breathe:
For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid,
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
&mlquo;And, spite of spite9 note
, needs must I rest awhile. Enter Edward, running.

Edw.
Smile, gentle heaven1 note



! or strike, ungentle death!
&mlquo;For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.

War.
How now, my lord? what hap? what hope of good?
Enter George.

&mast;Geo.
&mast;Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair2 note








;
&mlquo;Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us:
&mlquo;What counsel give you, whither shall we fly?

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

-- 426 --

Enter Richard.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
&mlquo;Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk3 note











,

-- 427 --


&mlquo;Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance:
&mlquo;And, in the very pangs of death, he cried,—
&mlquo;Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,—
&mlquo;Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!
&mlquo;So underneath the belly of their steeds,
&mlquo;That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
&mlquo;The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly4 note



.
&mast;Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
&mast;Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
&mast;And look upon5 note

, as if the tragedy
&mast;Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?

-- 428 --


&mlquo;Here on my knee I vow to God above,
&mlquo;I'll never pause again, never stand still,
&mlquo;Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
&mlquo;Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

Edw.
O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;
&mlquo;And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine6 note
.—
&mast;And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
&mast;I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings!
&mlquo;Beseeching thee7 note






,—if with thy will it stands,
&mlquo;That to my foes this body must be prey,—
&mlquo;Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
&mlquo;And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!—
&mlquo;Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where-e'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Brother, give me thy hand;—and, gentle Warwick,

-- 429 --


&mlquo;Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:—
&mlquo;I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
&mlquo;That winter should cut off our spring-time so.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.

&mlquo;Geo.
&mlquo;Yet let us all together to our troops,
&mlquo;And give them leave to fly that will not stay;
And call them pillars, that will stand to us;
&mlquo;And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
&mlquo;As victors wear at the Olympian games:
&mast;This may plant courage in their quailing8 note

breasts;
&mast;For yet is hope of life, and victory.—
&mast;Fore-slow no longer9 note




, make we hence amain1 note












. [Exeunt.

-- 430 --

SCENE IV. The Same. Another Part of the Field. Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone2 note



:
&mlquo;Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York,
&mlquo;And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
&mlquo;Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall3 note

.

Clif.
Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:
This is the hand, that stabb'd thy father York;
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;
And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death,
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother,
To execute the like upon thyself;
And so, have at thee.
[They fight. Warwick enters, Clifford flies.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Nay, Warwick4 note



, single out some other chase;
&mlquo;For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt.

-- 431 --

SCENE V. Another Part of the Field. Alarum. Enter King Henry.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;This battle fares like to the morning's war5 note




















,
&mast;When dying clouds contend with growing light;
&mast;What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails6 note

,

-- 432 --


&mast;Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
&mlquo;Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
&mlquo;Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind:
&mlquo;Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
&mlquo;Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind:
&mlquo;Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind;
&mlquo;Now, one the better, then, another best;
&mlquo;Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast7 note
,
&mlquo;Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered:
&mlquo;So is the equal poise of this fell war.
&mast;Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
&mast;To whom God will, there be the victory!
&mlquo;For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
&mlquo;Have chid me from the battle; swearing both,
&mlquo;They prosper best of all when I am thence.
&mlquo;'Would I were dead! if God's good will were so:
&mlquo;For what is in this world, but grief and woe?
&mast;O God! methinks, it were a happy life8 note

,
&mast;To be no better than a homely swain:
&mast;To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
&mast;To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
&mast;Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
&mast;How many make the hour full complete9 note

,
&mast;How many hours bring about the day,
&mast;How many days will finish up the year,

-- 433 --


&mast;How many years a mortal man may live.
&mast;When this is known, then to divide the times:
&mast;So many hours must I tend my flock;
&mast;So many hours must I take my rest;
&mast;So many hours must I cóntemplate;
&mast;So many hours must I sport myself;
&mast;So many days my ewes have been with young;
&mast;So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean1 note


;
&mast;So many years ere I shall sheer the fleece2 note:
&mast;So minutes, hours, days, weeks3 note, months and years,
&mast;Pass'd over to the end they were created,
&mast;Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
&mast;Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
&mast;Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
&mast;To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
&mast;Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
&mast;To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
&mast;O, yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth.
&mast;And to conclude,—the shepherd's homely curds,
&mast;His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
&mast;His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
&mast;All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
&mast;Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
&mast;His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
&mast;His body couched in a curious bed,

-- 434 --


&mast;When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father4 note

, dragging in the dead Body.

Son.
Ill blows the wind, that profits no body.—
&mlquo;This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
&mlquo;May be possessed with some store of crowns:
&mast;And I, that haply take them from him now,
&mast;May yet ere night yield both my life and them
&mast;To some man else, as this dead man doth me.—
&mlquo;Who's this?—O God! it is my father's face,
&mlquo;Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd.
&mlquo;O heavy times, begetting such events!
&mlquo;From London by the king was I press'd forth;
&mlquo;My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
&mlquo;Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
&mlquo;And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,
&mlquo;Have by my hands of life bereaved him.—
&mlquo;Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!—
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!—
&mast;My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
&mast;And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;O piteous spectacle5 note






! O bloody times!

-- 435 --


Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,
&mlquo;Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity,—
&mast;Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear;
&mast;And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war,
&mast;Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief6 note
. Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with the Body in his arms.

&mlquo;Fath.
&mlquo;Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
&mlquo;Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;
&mlquo;For I have bought it with an hundred blows.—
&mlquo;But let me see:—is this our foeman's face?
&mlquo;Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!—
&mast;Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
&mast;Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise,
&mast;Blown with the windy tempest of my heart7 note

,
&mast;Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!—
&mlquo;O, pity, God, this miserable age!—
&mlquo;What stratagems8 note















, how fell, how butcherly,

-- 436 --


&mlquo;Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
&mlquo;This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!—
&mlquo;O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon8 note,
&mlquo;And hath bereft thee of thy life too late9 note









!

-- 437 --

K. Hen.
Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
&mlquo;O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!—
&mast;O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!—
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:
&mast;The one, his purple blood right well resembles;
&mast;The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth;
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
&mlquo;If you contend, a thousand lives must wither1 note


.

-- 438 --

Son.
How will my mother, for a father's death,
Take on with me2 note

, and ne'er be satisfied?

Fath.
How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,
&mlquo;Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied?

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;How will the country3 note





, for these woful chances,
&mlquo;Misthink the king, and not be satisfied?

&mlquo;Son.
&mlquo;Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death?

&mlquo;Fath.
&mlquo;Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son4 note


?

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects' woe?
&mlquo;Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much.

&mlquo;Son.
&mlquo;I'll bear thee hence5 note

, where I may weep my fill.
[Exit with the Body.

-- 439 --

&mast;Fath.
&mast;These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet:
&mast;My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre;
&mast;For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
&mast;My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
&mast;And so obsequious will thy father be6 note


,
&mast;Sad for the loss of thee7 note

, having no more,
&mast;As Priam was for all8 note his valiant sons,
I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
For I have murder'd where I should not kill. [Exit, with the Body.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
&mlquo;Here sits a king more woful than you are.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince of Wales, and Exeter.

&mlquo;Prince.
&mlquo;Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,
&mlquo;And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
&mlquo;Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain:
&mlquo;Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds,
&mlquo;Having the fearful, flying hare in sight,
&mlquo;With firy eyes, sparkling for very wrath,

-- 440 --


&mlquo;And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,
&mlquo;Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.

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

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter;
&mlquo;Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
&mlquo;Whither the queen intends. Forward; away!
[Exeunt. SCENE VI. The Same. A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded9 note.

&mlquo;Clif.
&mlquo;Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies1 note
,
Which, while it lasted, gave King Henry light,
O, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow,
More than my body's parting with my soul.
My love, and fear, glued many friends to thee!
&mlquo;And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt2 note

.

-- 441 --


Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies3 note:
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun4 note


?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
O Phœbus! hadst thou never given consent5 note
That Phaeton should check thy firy steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth:
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father, and his father, did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
&mast;They never then had sprung like summer flies;
&mlquo;I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death,
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
&mlquo;And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
&mlquo;No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight6 note


:

-- 442 --


The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
For, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity.
&mlquo;The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint;—
Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest;
&mlquo;I stabb'd your father's bosoms, split my breast7 note
. [He faints. Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers.

&mlquo;Edw.
&mlquo;Now breathe we, lords8 note






; good fortune bids us pause,
&mlquo;And smooth the frowns of war9 note
with peaceful looks.—
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen;—
&mlquo;That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
&mlquo;As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,

-- 443 --


&mlquo;Command an argosy to stem the waves.
&mlquo;But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?

War.
No, 'tis impossible he should escape:
For, though before his face I speak the words,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave1 note




:
&mlquo;And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. [Clifford groans and dies.

Edw.
Whose soul2 note

is that which takes her heavy leave?

Rich.
A deadly groan, like life and death's departing3 note

.

Edw.
See who it is: and, now the battle's ended,
If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
&mlquo;Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch
&mlquo;In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth4 note


,

-- 444 --


&mlquo;But set his murdering knife unto the root
&mlquo;From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
&mlquo;I mean, our princely father, duke of York.

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

Edw.
Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
&mlquo;That nothing sung but death to us and ours5 note

:
&mlquo;Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
&mlquo;And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
[Attendants bring the Body forward.

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

Rich.
O, 'would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth;
&mlquo;'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,

-- 445 --


&mlquo;Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
&mlquo;Which in the time of death he gave our father.

Geo.
If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words6 note


.

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

Edw.
Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

War.
Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.

Geo.
While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.

&mlquo;Rich.
&mlquo;Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.

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

Geo.
Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now?

War.
They mock thee, Clifford! swear as thou wast wont.

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

War.
Ay, but he's dead: Off with the traitor's head,
And rear it in the place your father's stands.—
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal king.
&mlquo;From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
And ask the lady Bona for thy queen:

-- 446 --


So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
&mlquo;And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.
First, will I see the coronation;
&mlquo;And then to Britanny I'll cross the sea7 note
,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.

Edw.
Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be:
&mast;For on thy shoulder do I build my seat;
&mast;And never will I undertake the thing,
&mast;Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.—
&mlquo;Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster;—
&mlquo;And George, of Clarence;—Warwick, as ourself,
&mlquo;Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best.

Rich.
Let me be duke of Clarence; George of Gloster;
For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous8 note

.

-- 447 --

War.
Tut, that's a foolish observation;
Richard, be duke of Gloster: Now to London,
To see these honours in possession.
[Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. A Chace in the North of England. Enter Two Keepers9 note


, with Cross-bows in their Hands.

&mlquo;1 Keep.
&mlquo;Under this thick-grown brake1 note we'll shroud ourselves;

-- 448 --


&mlquo;For through this laund2 note



anon the deer will come;
&mlquo;And in this covert will we make our stand,
&mlquo;Culling the principal of all the deer.

&mast;2 Keep.
&mast;I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.

&mast;1 Keep.
&mast;That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow3 note



&mast;Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
&mast;Here stand we both, and aim we at the best:
&mast;And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
&mast;I'll tell thee what befell me on a day,
&mast;In this self-place where now we mean to stand.

&mlquo;2 Keep.
&mlquo;Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past4 note
.

-- 449 --

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

K. Hen.
From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,
&mlquo;To greet mine own land with my wishful sight5 note
.
&mlquo;No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
&mast;Thy place is fill'd, thy scepter wrung from thee,
&mast;Thy balm wash'd off6 note




, wherewith thou wast anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now,
&mlquo;No humble suitors press to speak for right,
&mast;No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
For how can I help them, and not myself?

&mlquo;1 Keep.
&mlquo;Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee:
&mlquo;This is the quondam king7 note






; let's seize upon him.

-- 450 --

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Let me embrace these sour adversities8 note

;
&mast;For wise men say, it is the wisest course.

&mast;2 Keep.
&mast;Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

&mast;1 Keep.
&mast;Forbear a while; we'll hear a little more.

K. Hen.
My queen, and son, are gone to France for aid;
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
&mlquo;Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister
&mlquo;To wife for Edward: If this news be true,
&mlquo;Poor queen, and son, your labour is but lost;
&mlquo;For Warwick is a subtle orator,
&mlquo;And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.
&mlquo;By this account, then, Margaret may win him;
&mlquo;For she's a woman to be pitied much:
&mast;Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;
&mast;Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
&mast;The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn9 note
;
&mast;And Nero will1 note be tainted with remorse,
&mast;To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears.

-- 451 --


&mast;Ay, but she's come to beg; Warwick, to give:
She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry;
He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says—her Henry is depos'd;
He smiles, and says—his Edward is install'd;
&mast;That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more:
&mast;Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
&mast;Inferreth arguments of mighty strength2 note


;
&mast;And, in conclusion, wins the king from her,
&mast;With promise of his sister, and what else,
&mast;To strengthen and support king Edward's place.
&mast;O Margaret3 note, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,
&mast;Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn.

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

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;More than I seem, and less than I was born to4 note
:
&mlquo;A man at least, for less I should not be5 note
;
And men may talk of kings, and why not I?

&mlquo;2 Keep.
&mlquo;Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

-- 452 --

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Why, so I am, in mind6 note


; and that's enough7 note
.

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

K. Hen.
My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
&mast;Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones,
&mast;Nor to be seen: &mlquo;my crown is call'd, content;
&mlquo;A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy.

&mlquo;2 Keep.
&mlquo;Well, if you be a king crown'd with content,
Your crown content, and you, must be contented
&mlquo;To go along with us; for, as we think,
&mlquo;You are the king, king Edward hath depos'd;
&mlquo;And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance8 note

,
&mlquo;Will apprehend you as his enemy.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;But did you never swear, and break an oath?

&mast;2 Keep.
&mast;No, never such an oath, nor will not now.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Where did you dwell, when I was king of England?

&mast;2 Keep.
&mast;Here in this country, where we now remain.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;I was anointed king at nine months old;
&mast;My father and my grandfather, were kings;

-- 453 --


&mast;And you were sworn true subjects unto me:
&mast;And, tell me then, have you not broke your oaths?

&mast;1 Keep.
&mast;No;
For we were subjects, but while you were king.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man?
&mast;Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear.
&mast;Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
&mast;And as the air blows it to me again9 note

,
&mast;Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
&mast;And yielding to another when it blows,
&mast;Commanded always by the greater gust;
&mast;Such is the lightness of you common men.
&mast;But do not break your oaths; for, of that sin
&mast;My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
&mast;Go where you will, the king shall be commanded;
&mast;And be you kings; command, and I'll obey.

&mast;1 Keep.
&mast;We are true subjects to the king, king Edward.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;So would you be again to Henry,
&mast;If he were seated as king Edward is.

1 Keep.
We charge you, in God's name, and in the king's1 note,
To go with us unto the officers.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;In God's name, lead2 note

; your king's name be obey'd:

-- 454 --


&mast;And what God will, then let your king perform;
&mast;And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt. SCENE II. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Edward, Gloster, Clarence, and Lady Grey.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans' field
&mlquo;This lady's husband, sir John Grey3 note, was slain,
His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror:
Her suit is now, to repossess those lands;
&mlquo;Which we in justice cannot well deny,
Because in quarrel of the house of York
&mlquo;The worthy gentleman did lose his life4 note







.

-- 455 --

Glo.
Your highness shall do well, to grant her suit;
&mast;It were dishonour, to deny it her.

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

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Yea! is it so5 note

?
I see, the lady hath a thing to grant,
Before the king will grant her humble suit.

Clar.
He knows the game: How true he keeps the wind?
[Aside.

Glo.
Silence!
[Aside.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Widow, we will consider6 note of your suit;
&mlquo;And come some other time, to know our mind.

&mlquo;L. Grey.
&mlquo;Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay:
&mlquo;May it please your highness to resolve me now;
&mlquo;And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.

&mlquo;Glo. [Aside.]
&mlquo;Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you all your lands,
&mlquo;An if what pleases him, shall pleasure you.
&mlquo;Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow.

&mast;Clar.
&mast;I fear her not, unless she chance to fall.
[Aside.

-- 456 --

&mast;Glo.
&mast;God forbid that! for he'll take vantages.
[Aside.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.

Clar.
I think, he means to beg a child of her.
[Aside.

Glo.
Nay, whip me then; he'll rather give her two.
[Aside.

L. Grey.
Three, my most gracious lord.

Glo.
You shall have four, if you'll be rul'd by him.
[Aside.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;'Twere pity, they should lose their father's land.

L. Grey.
Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.

K. Edw.
Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit.

Glo.
Ay, good leave have you7 note


; for you will have leave,
&mlquo;Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. [Gloster and Clarence retire to the other side.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?

&mast;L. Grey.
&mast;Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;And would you not do much, to do them good?

&mast;L. Grey.
&mast;To do them good, I would sustain some harm.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.

&mast;L. Grey.
&mast;Therefore I came unto your majesty.

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

&mast;L. Grey.
&mast;So shall you bind me to your highness' service.

-- 457 --

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;What service wilt thou do me, if I give them?

&mast;L. Grey.
&mast;What you command, that rests in me to do.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;But you will take exceptions to my boon.

&mast;L. Grey.
&mast;No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.

&mast;L. Grey.
&mast;Why, then I will do what your grace commands.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble8 note


. [Aside.

&mast;Clar.
&mast;As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt.
[Aside.

L. Grey.
Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my task?

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

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

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

L. Grey.
I take my leave with many thousand thanks.

Glo.
The match is made; she seals it with a curt'sy.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean.

&mast;L. Grey.
&mast;The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.
What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get?

-- 458 --

&mlquo;L. Grey.
&mlquo;My love till death9 note

, my humble thanks, my prayers;
&mlquo;That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants.

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

&mast;L. Grey.
&mast;Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;But now you partly may perceive my mind.

&mast;L. Grey.
&mast;My mind will never grant what I perceive
&mast;Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.

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

&mast;L. Grey.
&mast;To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.

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

L. Grey.
Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;
For by that loss I will not purchase them.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.

L. Grey.
Herein your highness wrongs both them and me.
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
&mlquo;Accords not with the sadness1 note
of my suit;
Please you dismiss me, either with ay, or no.

K. Edw.
Ay; if thou wilt say ay, to my request:
No; if thou dost say no, to my demand.

-- 459 --

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

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;The widow likes him not, she knits her brows.
[Aside.

Clar.
He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.
[Aside.

&mlquo;K. Edw. [Aside.]
&mlquo;Her looks do argue her replete with modesty2 note
;
&mast;Her words do show her wit incomparable;
&mast;All her perfections challenge sovereignty:
One way, or other, she is for a king;
And she shall be my love, or else my queen.—
Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen?

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

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

L. Grey.
And that is more than I will yield unto:
&mlquo;I know, I am too mean to be your queen;
And yet too good to be your concubine3 note



.

-- 460 --

K. Edw.
You cavil, widow; I did mean, my queen.

L. Grey.
'Twill grieve your grace, my sons should call you—father.

K. Edw.
No more, than when thy daughters call thee mother.
Thou art a widow4 note

, and thou hast some children;
And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor,
Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing
To be the father unto many sons.
&mlquo;Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.

Glo.
The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.
[Aside.

Clar.
When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift.
[Aside.

K. Edw.
Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad5 note.

K. Edw.
You'd think it strange if I should marry her.

Clar.
To whom, my lord?

K. Edw.
Why, Clarence, to myself.

Glo.
That would be ten days' wonder, at the least.

Clar.
That's a day longer than a wonder lasts6 note.

-- 461 --

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;By so much is the wonder in extremes.

K. Edw.
Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both,
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.
Enter a Nobleman.

Nob.
My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,
&mlquo;And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.

K. Edw.
See, that he be convey'd unto the Tower:—
&mlquo;And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
&mlquo;To question of his apprehension.—
&mlquo;Widow, go you along;—Lords, use her honourable.
[Exeunt King Edward, Lady Grey, Clarence, and Lord.

Glo.
Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all,
&mlquo;That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
&mlquo;To cross me from the golden time I look for!
&mlquo;And yet, between my soul's desire, and me,
&mast;(The lustful Edward's title buried,)
&mlquo;Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
&mlquo;And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies,
&mlquo;To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:
A cold premeditation for my purpose!
&mast;Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty;
&mast;Like one that stands upon a promontory,
&mast;And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
&mast;Wishing his foot were equal with his eye;
&mast;And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,
&mast;Saying—he'll lade it dry to have his way:
&mast;So do I wish the crown, being so far off;
&mast;And so I chide the means that keep me from it;

-- 462 --


&mast;And so I say—I'll cut the causes off,
&mast;Flattering me with impossibilities.—
&mast;My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,
&mast;Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
&mast;Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard:
&mast;What other pleasure can the world afford?
&mlquo;I'll make my heaven7 note

in a lady's lap,
&mlquo;And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
&mlquo;O miserable thought! and more unlikely,
&mlquo;That to accomplish twenty golden crowns!
Why, love foreswore me in my mother's womb8 note:
&mlquo;And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
&mlquo;She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe
&mlquo;To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub9 note;
&mlquo;To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where sits deformity to mock my body;
&mlquo;To shape my legs of an unequal size;
&mast;To disproportion me in every part,
&mast;Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp1 note,
&mast;That carries no impression like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd?
&mlquo;O, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
&mast;Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,

-- 463 --


&mast;But to command, to check, to o'erbear such
&mast;As are of better person than myself2 note
,
&mast;I'll make my heaven—to dream upon the crown;
&mast;And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell,
&mast;Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head,
&mast;Be round impaled with a glorious crown3 note



.
&mast;And yet I know not how to get the crown,
&mast;For many lives stand between me and home:
&mast;And I,—like one lost in a thorny word,
&mast;That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns;
&mast;Seeking a way, and straying from the way;
&mast;Not knowing how to find the open air,
&mast;But toiling desperately to find it out,—
&mast;Torment myself to catch the English crown:
&mast;And from that torment I will free myself,
&mast;Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.
Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile;

-- 464 --


&mlquo;And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart;
&mast;And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
&mast;And frame my face to all occasions.
&mast;I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;
&mast;I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;
&mast;I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,
&mast;Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,
&mast;And, like a Sinon, take another Troy:
I can add colours to the cameleon;
&mlquo;Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages,
&mlquo;And set the murd'rous Machiavel to school4 note






.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
&mlquo;Tut! were it further off, I'll pluck it down. [Exit.

-- 465 --

SCENE III. France. A Room in the Palace. Flourish. Enter Lewis the French King, and Lady Bona, attended; the King takes his State. Then enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward her Son, and the Earl of Oxford.

&mlquo;K. Lew.
&mlquo;Fair queen of England5 note





, worthy Margaret, [Rising.
&mlquo;Sit down with us; it ill befits thy state,
&mlquo;And birth, that thou should'st stand, while Lewis doth sit.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;No, mighty king of France6 note


; now Margaret
&mast;Must strike her sail, and learn a while to serve,
&mast;Where kings command. I was, I must confess,
&mast;Great Albion's queen in former golden days:
&mast;But now mischance hath trod my title down,
&mast;And with dishonour laid me on the ground;
&mast;Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,
&mast;And to my humble seat conform myself.

-- 466 --

&mast;K. Lew.
&mast;Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair?

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears,
&mast;And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.

&mast;K. Lew.
&mast;Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,
&mast;And sit thee by our side: yield not thy neck [Seats her by him.
&mast;To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind
&mast;Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
&mast;Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
&mast;It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.

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

&mast;K. Lew.
&mast;Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm,
&mast;While we bethink a means to break it off.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.

-- 467 --

&mast;K. Lew.
&mast;The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow:
&mast;And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow.
Enter Warwick7 note

, attended.

&mlquo;K. Lew.
&mlquo;What's he, approacheth boldly to our presence?

-- 468 --

Q. Mar.
Our earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.

K. Lew.
Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France?
[Descending from his state. Queen Margaret rises.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;
&mast;For this is he that moves both wind and tide.

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

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;If that go forward, Henry's hope is done8 note

.

War.
And, gracious madam, [To Bona.] in our king's behalf,
&mlquo;I am commanded, with your leave and favour,
Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue
To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart;
Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears,
Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue9 note
.

-- 469 --

Q. Mar.
King Lewis,—and lady Bona,—hear me speak,
&mlquo;Before you answer Warwick. His demand1 note



&mast;Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,
&mast;But from deceit, bred by necessity;
&mast;For how can tyrants safely govern home,
&mast;Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?
&mast;To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice,—
&mast;That Henry liveth still: but were he dead,
&mast;Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry's son.
&mast;Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage
&mast;Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour:
&mast;For though usurpers sway the rule a while,
&mast;Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.

War.
Injurious Margaret!

Prince.
And why not queen?

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

Oxf.
Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt,
Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain;
And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the fourth,
&mlquo;Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest2 note;
And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth,
Who by his prowess conquered all France:
From these our Henry lineally descends.

War.
Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse,
You told not, how Henry the sixth hath lost

-- 470 --


All that which Henry the fifth had gotten?
Methinks, these peers of France should smile at that.
But for the rest,—You tell a pedigree
Of threescore and two years; a silly time
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth.

&mlquo;Oxf.
&mlquo;Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege,
&mlquo;Whom thou obeyedst thirty and six years3 note

,
&mlquo;And not bewray thy treason with a blush?

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

&mlquo;Oxf.
&mlquo;Call him my king, by whose injurious doom
&mlquo;My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere,
Was done to death? and more than so, my father,
Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years,
&mlquo;When nature brought him to the door of death4 note



?
No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm,
This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.

War.
And I the house of York.

K. Lew.
Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and Oxford,
&mlquo;Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside,
&mlquo;While I use further conference with Warwick.

-- 471 --

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Heaven grant, that Warwick's words bewitch him not!
[Retiring with the Prince and Oxford

&mlquo;K. Lew.
&mlquo;Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience,
&mlquo;Is Edward your true king? for I were loath,
&mlquo;To link with him that were not lawful chosen5 note


.

War.
Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.

K. Lew.
But is he gracious in the people's eye?

War.
The more, that Henry was unfortunate6 note.

K. Lew.
Then further,—all dissembling set aside,
&mlquo;Tell me for truth the measure of his love
&mlquo;Unto our sister Bona.

War.
Such it seems,
As may beseem a monarch like himself.
Myself have often heard him say, and swear,—

-- 472 --


That this his love was an eternal plant7 note

;
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground,
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun;
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain8 note

,
Unless the lady Bona quit his pain.

K. Lew.
Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.

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

&mast;K. Lew.
&mast;Then, Warwick, thus,—Our sister shall be Edward's;
&mast;And now forthwith shall articles be drawn
&mast;Touching the jointure that your king must make,
&mast;Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd:—
Draw near, queen Margaret; and be a witness,

-- 473 --


That Bona shall be wife to the English king.

Prince.
To Edward, but not to the English king.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device
&mast;By this alliance to make void my suit;
&mast;Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend.

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

War.
Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease;
Where having nothing, nothing he can lose.
And as for you yourself, our quondam queen,—
You have a father able9 note to maintain you;
And better 'twere you troubled him than France.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, peace1 note;
&mast;Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings2 note

;
&mast;I will not hence, till with my talk and tears,
&mast;Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold
&mast;Thy sly conveyance3 note



, and thy lord's false love;

-- 474 --


&mast;For both of you are birds of self-same feather. [A horn sounded within.

K. Lew.
Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee.
Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
My lord ambassador, these letters are for you;
Sent from your brother, marquis Montague.
These from our king unto your majesty.—
And, madam, these for you; from whom I know not.
[To Margaret. They all read their letters.

Oxf.
I like it well, that our fair queen and mistress
Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.

Prince.
Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were nettled:
&mast;I hope all's for the best.

K. Lew.
Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, fair queen?

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Mine, such as fill my heart with unhop'd joys.

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

K. Lew.
What! has your king married the lady Grey?
&mlquo;And now, to sooth your forgery and his4 note,
&mlquo;Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?
&mlquo;Is this the alliance that he seeks with France?
&mlquo;Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;I told your majesty as much before:
This proveth Edward's love, and Warwick's honesty.

-- 475 --

War.
King Lewis, I here protest,—in sight of heaven,
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss,—
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's;
No more my king, for he dishonours me;
But most himself, if he could see his shame.—
Did I forget, that by the house of York
My father came untimely to his death5 note
?
Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece6 note?
Did I impale him with the regal crown?
Did I put Henry from his native right7 note

;
&mlquo;And am I guerdon'd8 note
at the last with shame?
&mast;Shame on himself! for my desert is honour.
&mast;And, to repair my honour lost for him,
&mast;I here renounce him, and return to Henry:

-- 476 --


&mlquo;My noble queen, let former grudges pass,
And henceforth I am thy true servitor;
I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona,
And replant Henry in his former state.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love;
&mlquo;And I forgive and quite forget old faults,
&mlquo;And joy that thou becom'st king Henry's friend.

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

&mast;Bona.
&mast;Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd,
&mast;But by thy help to this distressed queen?

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live,
&mast;Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?

&mast;Bona.
&mast;My quarrel, and this English's queen's, are one.

&mast;War.
&mast;And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours.

&mast;K. Lew.
&mast;And mine, with hers, and thine, and Margaret's.
Therefore, at last I firmly am resolv'd,
You shall have aid.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Let me give humble thanks for all at once.

K. Lew.
Then England's messenger, return in post;
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,—

-- 477 --


That Lewis of France is sending over maskers,
To revel it with him and his new bride:
&mast;Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king9 note


withal.

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

Q. Mar.
Tell him, My mourning weeds are laid aside,
And I am ready to put armour on1 note.

War.
Tell him from me, That he hath done me wrong;
And therefore I'll uncrown him, ere't be long.
There's thy reward2 note; be gone.
[Exit Mess.

K. Lew.
But, Warwick, thou,
And Oxford, with five thousand men,
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle3 note

:
&mast;And, as occasion serves, this noble queen
&mast;And prince shall follow with a fresh supply.
&mlquo;Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt;—
&mlquo;What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?

War.
This shall assure my constant loyalty:—
That if our queen and this young prince agree,
I'll join mine eldest daughter, and my joy,

-- 478 --


To him forthwith4 note



in holy wedlock bands.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;Yes, I agree5 note


, and thank you for your motion:—

-- 479 --


&mlquo;Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous,
&mlquo;Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick;
&mlquo;And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable,
&mlquo;That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.

&mast;Prince.
&mast;Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it;
&mast;And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand.
[He gives his hand to Warwick.

&mlquo;K. Lew.
&mlquo;Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied,
&mlquo;And thou, lord Bourbon6 note



, our high admiral,
&mlquo;Shall waft them over with our royal fleet.—
&mlquo;I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance,
&mlquo;For mocking marriage with a dame of France.
[Exeunt all but Warwick.

War.
I came from Edward as embassador,
But I return his sworn and mortal foe:
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,
But dreadful war shall answer his demand.
Had he none else to make a stale7 note


, but me?
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.
I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown,
And I'll be chief to bring him down again:
Not that I pity Henry's misery,
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit.

-- 480 --

ACT IV. SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter Gloster, Clarence, Somerset, Montague, and Others.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Now tell me, brother Clarence8 note










, what think you
&mlquo;Of this new marriage with the lady Grey?
&mast;Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?

&mast;Clar.
&mast;Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France;
&mast;How could he stay till Warwick made return?

&mast;Som.
&mast;My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the king.
Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended; Lady Grey, as Queen; Pembroke, Stafford, Hastings, and Others9 note.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;And his well-chosen bride.

-- 481 --

&mlquo;Clar.
&mlquo;I mind to tell him plainly what I think.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice,
&mlquo;That you stand pensive, as half malcontent?

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

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Suppose, they take offence without a cause,
&mlquo;They are but Lewis and Warwick; I am Edward,
&mlquo;Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;And you shall have your will, because our king:
&mlquo;Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

K. Edw.
Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too1 note
?

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Not I:
&mlquo;No; God forbid, that I should wish them sever'd
&mlquo;Whom God hath join'd together: ay, and 'twere pity,
To sunder them that yoke so well together.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Setting your scorns, and your mislike, aside,
&mlquo;Tell me some reason, why the lady Grey
&mlquo;Should not become my wife, and England's queen:—
&mlquo;And you too, Somerset2 note, and Montague,
&mlquo;Speak freely what you think.

&mlquo;Clar.
&mlquo;Then this is my opinion3 note




—that king Lewis

-- 482 --


&mlquo;Becomes your enemy, for mocking him
&mlquo;About the marriage of the lady Bona.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,
&mlquo;Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;What, if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd,
&mlquo;By such invention as I can devise?

Mont.
Yet to have join'd with France in such alliance,
Would more have strengthen'd this our commonwealth
&mlquo;'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred marriage.

&mlquo;Hast.
&mlquo;Why, knows not Montague, that of itself
England is safe, if true within itself4 note



?

&mast;Mont.
&mast;Yes; but the safer, when 'tis back'd with France5 note.

-- 483 --

&mlquo;Hast.
&mlquo;'Tis better using France, than trusting France:
&mast;Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas6 note,
&mast;Which he hath given for fence impregnable,
&mast;And with their helps only defend ourselves;
&mast;In them and in ourselves, our safety lies.

Clar.
For this one speech, lord Hastings well deserves
&mlquo;To have the heir of the lord Hungerford.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Ay, what of that? it was my will, and grant;
&mast;And, for this once, my will shall stand for law.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;And yet, methinks7 note




, your grace hath not done well,
&mlquo;To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales
&mlquo;Unto the brother of your loving bride;
&mlquo;She better would have fitted me, or Clarence:
&mlquo;But in your bride you bury brotherhood.

&mlquo;Clar.
&mlquo;Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir8 note
&mlquo;Of the lord Bonville on your new wife's son,
&mlquo;And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.

K. Edw.
Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife,
&mlquo;That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.

-- 484 --

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

K. Edw.
Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king,
&mlquo;And not be tied unto his brother's will.

&mlquo;Q. Eliz.
&mlquo;My lords, before it pleas'd his majesty
&mlquo;To raise my state to title of a queen,
&mlquo;Do me but right, and you must all confess
&mlquo;That I was not ignoble of descent9 note,
&mast;And meaner than myself have had like fortune.
&mast;But as this title honours me and mine,
&mast;So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing,
&mast;Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns1 note



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

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;I hear, yet say not much, but think the more.
[Aside.

-- 485 --

Enter a Messenger.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Now, messenger, what letters, or what news,
From France?

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

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Go to, we pardon thee: therefore, in brief,
&mlquo;Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them.
&mlquo;What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters?

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

K. Edw.
Is Lewis so brave? belike, he thinks me Henry.
&mlquo;But what said lady Bona to my marriage2 note
?

Mess.
These were her words, utter'd with mild disdain;
Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.

K. Edw.
I blame not her, she could say little less;
&mlquo;She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen?
&mlquo;For I have heard, that she was there in place3 note

.

Mess.
Tell him, quoth she, my mourning weeds are done4 note

,
And I am ready to put armour on.

-- 486 --

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Belike, she minds to play the Amazon.
But what said Warwick to these injuries?

&mlquo;Mess.
&mlquo;He, more incens'd against your majesty
&mlquo;Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words;
Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong,
And therefore I'll uncrown him, ere't be long.

K. Edw.
Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?
&mlquo;Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd:
&mlquo;They shall have wars, and pay for their presumption.
&mlquo;But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?

Mess.
Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in friendship,
&mlquo;That young prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter.

Clar.
Belike, the elder; Clarence will have the younger5 note

,
&mast;Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast,
&mast;For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter;
&mast;That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage
&mast;I may not prove inferior to yourself.—
You, that love me and Warwick, follow me6 note






. [Exit Clarence, and Somerset follows.

-- 487 --

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Not I7 note



:
&mast;My thoughts aim at a further matter; I
&mast;Stay not for love of Edward, but the crown. [Aside.

K. Edw.
Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!
&mast;Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen;
&mast;And haste is needful in this desperate case.—
&mlquo;Pembroke, and Stafford8 note










, you in our behalf

-- 488 --


&mlquo;Go levy men, and make prepare for war;
&mlquo;They are already, or quickly will be landed:
&mlquo;Myself in person will straight follow you. [Exeunt Pembroke and Stafford.
&mlquo;But, ere I go, Hastings,—and Montague,—
&mlquo;Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest,
&mlquo;Are near to Warwick, by blood, and by alliance:
&mlquo;Tell me if you love Warwick more than me?
&mlquo;If it be so, then both depart to him;
&mlquo;I rather wish you foes, than hollow friends;
&mlquo;But, if you mind to hold your true obedience,
&mlquo;Give me assurance with some friendly vow,
&mlquo;That I may never have you in suspect.

Mont.
So God help Montague, as he proves true!

Hast.
And Hastings, as he favours Edward's cause!

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?

Glo.
Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you9 note



.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Why so; then am I sure of victory.
&mlquo;Now therefore let us hence; and lose no hour,
&mlquo;Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power.
[Exeunt.

-- 489 --

SCENE II. A Plain in Warwickshire. Enter Warwick and Oxford with French and other Forces.

War.
Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;
The common people by numbers swarm to us. Enter Clarence and Somerset.
But, see, where Somerset and Clarence come;—
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?

Clar.
Fear not that, my lord.

War.
Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;
And welcome, Somerset:—I hold it cowardice,
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love;
Else might I think, that Clarence, Edward's brother,
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings:
But welcome, sweet Clarence1 note; my daughter shall be thine.
And now what rests, but, in night's coverture,
Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd,
His soldiers lurking in the towns about2 note



,
And but attended by a simple guard,
We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?

-- 490 --


Our scouts have found the adventure very easy3 note

:
&mast;That as Ulysses4 note, and stout Diomede,
&mast;With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents,
&mast;And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds5 note;
&mast;So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,
&mast;At unawares may beat down Edward's guard,
&mast;And seize himself; I say not—slaughter him,
&mast;For I intend but only to surprise him.—
&mlquo;You, that will follow me to this attempt,
&mlquo;Applaud the name of Henry, with your leader. [They all cry, Henry!
Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort:
For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George6 note



! [Exeunt.

-- 491 --

SCENE III. Edward's Camp, near Warwick. Enter certain Watchmen, to guard the King's Tent.

&mast;1 Watch.
&mast;Come on, my masters, each man take his stand;
&mast;The king, by this, is set him down to sleep.

&mast;2 Watch.
&mast;What, will he not to bed?

&mast;1 Watch.
&mast;Why, no: for he hath made a solemn vow
&mast;Never to lie and take his natural rest,
&mast;Till Warwick, or himself, be quite suppress'd.

&mast;2 Watch.
&mast;To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day,
&mast;If Warwick be so near as men report.

&mast;3 Watch.
&mast;But say, I pray, what nobleman is that,
&mast;That with the king here resteth in his tent?

&mast;1 Watch.
&mast;'Tis the lord Hastings, the king's chiefest friend.

&mast;3 Watch.
&mast;O, is it so? But why commands the king,
&mast;That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,
&mast;While he himself keepeth in the cold field?

&mast;2 Watch.
&mast;'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous.

&mast;3 Watch.
&mast;Ay; but give me worship and quietness,
&mast;I like it better than a dangerous honour7 note.
&mast;If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,
&mast;'Tis to be doubted, he would waken him.

-- 492 --

&mast;1 Watch.
&mast;Unless our halberds did shut up his passage.

&mast;2 Watch.
&mast;Ay; wherefore else guard we his royal tent,
&mast;But to defend his person from night-foes?
Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, and Forces.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;This is his tent; and see, where stand his guard.
&mlquo;Courage, my masters: honour now, or never!
&mlquo;But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.

1 Watch.
Who goes there?

&mast;2 Watch.
&mast;Stay, or thou diest.
[Warwick, and the rest, cry all—Warwick! Warwick! and set upon the Guard; who fly, crying—Arm! Arm! Warwick, and the rest, following them. The Drum beating, and Trumpets sounding, Re-enter Warwick, and the rest, bringing the King out in a Gown, sitting in a Chair: Gloster and Hastings fly.

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;What are they that fly there?

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Richard, and Hastings: let them go, here's the duke.

K. Edw.
The duke! why, Warwick, when we parted last8 note,
Thou call'dst me king!

War.
Ay, but the case is alter'd:
&mlquo;When you disgrac'd me in my embassade* note,
&mlquo;Then I degraded you from being king,
And come now to create you duke of York9 note
.

-- 493 --


Alas! how should you govern any kingdom,
That know not how to use ambassadors;
Nor how to be contented with one wife;
Nor how to use your brothers brotherly;
&mast;Nor how to study for the people's welfare;
Nor how to shrowd yourself from enemies?

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;Yea, brother1 note



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

War.
Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king2 note: [Takes off his Crown.
But Henry now shall wear the English crown,
&mast;And be true king indeed; thou but the shadow.—
&mlquo;My lord of Somerset, at my request,
&mlquo;See that forthwith duke Edward be convey'd
&mlquo;Unto my brother, archbishop of York.
&mlquo;When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows,
&mlquo;I'll follow you, and tell what answer
&mlquo;Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him:—
Now, for a while, farewell, good duke of York.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;What fates impose, that men must needs abide;
&mast;It boots not to resist both wind and tide.
[Exit King Edward, led out; Somerset with him.

-- 494 --

&mast;Oxf.
&mast;What now remains3 note








, my lords, for us to do,
&mast;But march to London with our soldiers?

War.
Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do;
&mlquo;To free king Henry from imprisonment,
And see him seated in the regal throne.
[Exeunt. SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers4 note





.

&mlquo;Riv.
&mlquo;Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?

-- 495 --

&mlquo;Q. Eliz.
&mlquo;Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn,
&mlquo;What late misfortune is befall'n king Edward?

Riv.
What, loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick?

&mlquo;Q. Eliz.
&mlquo;No, but the loss of his own royal person.

&mlquo;Riv.
&mlquo;Then is my sovereign slain?

&mlquo;Q. Eliz.
&mlquo;Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner?
&mlquo;Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard,
&mlquo;Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares:
&mlquo;And, as I further have to understand,
&mlquo;Is new committed to the bishop of York,
&mlquo;Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe.

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

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

&mast;Riv.
&mast;But, madam, where is Warwick then become?

&mlquo;Q. Eliz.
&mlquo;I am informed, that he comes towards London,

-- 496 --


&mast;To set the crown once more on Henry's head:
&mast;Guess thou the rest; king Edward's friends must down.
&mlquo;But to prevent the tyrant's violence,
&mlquo;(For trust not him that hath once broken faith,)
&mlquo;I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary,
&mlquo;To save at least the heir of Edward's right;
&mlquo;There shall I rest secure from force, and fraud.
&mlquo;Come therefore, let us fly, while we may fly;
&mlquo;If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. [Exeunt. 5 note. SCENE V A Park near Middleham6 note Castle in Yorkshire. Enter Gloster, Hastings, Sir William Stanley, and Others.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Now, my lord Hastings7 note








, and sir William Stanley,

-- 497 --


&mlquo;Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither,
&mlquo;Into this chiefest thicket of the park.
&mlquo;Thus stands the case: You know, our king, my brother,
&mlquo;Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands
&mlquo;He hath good usage and great liberty;
&mlquo;And often, but attended with weak guard,
&mlquo;Comes hunting this way to disport himself.
&mlquo;I have advértis'd him by secret means,
&mlquo;That if about this hour, he make his way,
&mlquo;Under the colour of his usual game,
&mlquo;He shall here find his friends, with horse and men,
&mlquo;To set him free from his captivity. Enter King Edward, and a Huntsman.

&mlquo;Hunt.
&mlquo;This way, my lord: for this way lies the game.

K. Edw.
Nay, this way, man; see, where the huntsmen stand.—
&mlquo;Now, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, and the rest,
&mlquo;Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer?

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Brother, the time and case requireth haste?
&mlquo;Your horse stands ready at the park corner.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;But whither shall we then?

&mlquo;Hast.
&mlquo;To Lynn, my lord; and ship8 note from thence to Flanders.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to talk.

-- 498 --

K. Edw.
Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou go along?

&mlquo;Hunt.
&mlquo;Better do so than tarry and be hang'd.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Come then, away; let's have no more ado.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Bishop, farewell: shield thee from Warwick's frown;
And pray that I may repossess the crown.
[Exeunt. SCENE VI. A Room in the Tower. Enter King Henry, Clarence, Warwick, Somerset, young Richmond, Oxford, Montague, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Attendants.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Master lieutenant, now that God and friends
&mast;Have shaken Edward from the regal seat;
&mast;And turn'd my captive state to liberty,
&mast;My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys;
&mast;At our enlargement what are thy due fees?

&mast;Lieu.
&mast;Subjects may challenge nothing of their sovereigns;
&mast;But, if an humble prayer may prevail,
&mast;I then crave pardon of your majesty.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;For what, lieutenant? for well using me?
&mast;Nay, be thou sure, I'll well requite thy kindness,
&mast;For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure:
&mast;Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds
&mast;Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts,
&mast;At last, by notes of household harmony,
&mast;They quite forget their loss of liberty.—
&mast;But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free,
&mast;And chiefly therefore I thank God, and thee;

-- 499 --


&mast;He was the author, thou the instrument.
&mast;Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite,
&mast;By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me;
&mast;And that the people of this blessed land
&mast;May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars;
&mlquo;Warwick, although my head still wear the crown,
&mlquo;I here resign my government to thee,
&mlquo;For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.

&mast;War.
&mast;Your grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous;
&mast;And now may seem as wise as virtuous,
&mast;By spying, and avoiding, fortune's malice,
&mast;For few men rightly temper with the stars9 note:
&mast;Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace,
&mast;For choosing me when Clarence is in place1 note.

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

&mast;War.
&mast;And I choose Clarence only for protector.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Warwick, and Clarence, give me both your hands;
&mast;Now join your hands, and, with your hands, your hearts,
&mast;That no dissention hinder government:
&mlquo;I make you both protectors of this land;
&mlquo;While I myself will lead a private life,
&mlquo;And in devotion spend my latter days,
To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise.

-- 500 --

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

&mast;Clar.
&mast;That he consents, if Warwick yield consent;
&mast;For on thy fortune I repose myself.

&mast;War.
&mast;Why then, though loath, yet must I be content:
&mast;We'll yoke together, like a double shadow
&mast;To Henry's body, and supply his place;
&mast;I mean, in bearing weight of government,
&mast;While he enjoys the honour, and his ease.
&mast;And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful,
&mast;Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor,
&mast;And all his lands and goods be confiscate2 note


.

Clar.
What else? and that succession be determin'd.

&mast;War.
&mast;Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;But, with the first of all your chief affairs,
&mast;Let me entreat, (for I command no more,)
&mast;That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward,
&mast;Be sent for, to return from France with speed:
&mast;For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear
&mast;My joy of liberty is half eclips'd.

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

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;My lord of Somerset, what youth is that,

-- 501 --


&mlquo;Of whom you seem to have so tender care?

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Richmond.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;Come hither, England's hope: If secret powers [Lays his Hand on his Head.
&mlquo;Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,
&mlquo;This pretty lad3 note








will prove our country's bliss.

-- 502 --


&mlquo;His looks are full of peaceful majesty;
&mlquo;His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown,
&mlquo;His hand to wield a scepter; and himself
&mlquo;Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne.
Make much of him, my lords; for this is he,
&mlquo;Must help you more than you are hurt by me. Enter a Messenger.
&mast;What news, my friend?

&mast;Mess.
&mast;That Edward is escaped from your brother,
&mast;And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.

&mast;War.
&mast;Unsavoury news: But how made he escape?

&mast;Mess.
&mast;He was convey'd by Richard duke of Gloster,
&mast;And the lord Hastings, who attended him4 note

&mast;In secret ambush on the forest side,
&mast;And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him;
&mast;For hunting was his daily exercise.

&mast;War.
&mast;My brother was too careless of his charge.—
&mast;But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide
&mast;A salve for any sore that may betide.
[Exeunt King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, Lieutenant, and Attendants.

&mast;Som.
&mast;My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's:
&mast;For, doubtless, Burgundy will yield him help;
&mast;And we shall have more wars, before't be long.
&mast;As Henry's late presaging prophecy
&mast;Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Richmond;
&mast;So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts
&mast;What may befall him, to his harm, and ours:

-- 503 --


&mast;Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst,
&mast;Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany,
&mast;Till storms be past of civil enmity.

&mast;Oxf.
&mast;Ay; for, if Edward repossess the crown,
&mast;'Tis like, that Richmond with the rest shall down.

&mast;Som.
&mast;It shall be so; he shall to Brittany.
&mast;Come therefore, let's about it speedily.
[Exeunt. 5 note. SCENE VII Before York. Enter King Edward, Gloster, Hastings, and Forces.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Now, brother Richard6 note



, lord7 note




Hastings, and the rest;

-- 504 --


&mlquo;Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,
&mlquo;And says—that once more I shall interchange
&mlquo;My waned state for Henry's regal crown.
&mlquo;Well have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas,
&mlquo;And brought desired help from Burgundy:
&mlquo;What then remains, we being thus arriv'd
&mlquo;From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York8 note


,
&mlquo;But that we enter, as into our dukedom?

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

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;Tush, man! abodements must not now affright us:
&mast;By fair or foul means we must enter in,
&mast;For hither will our friends repair to us.

-- 505 --

&mast;Hast.
&mast;My liege, I'll knock once more, to summon them.
Enter, on the Walls, the Mayor of York, and his Brethren.

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

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;But, master mayor, if Henry be your king,
&mlquo;Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York.

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

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom;
&mast;As being well content with that alone.

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

&mlquo;Hast.
&mlquo;Why, master mayor, why stand you in a doubt?
Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends.

&mlquo;May.
&mlquo;Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be open'd.
[Exeunt from above.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;A wise stout captain, and persuaded soon9 note!

&mast;Hast.
&mast;The good old man would fain that all were well1 note,
&mast;So 'twere not 'long of him: but, being enter'd,
&mast;I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade

-- 506 --


&mast;Both him, and all his brothers, unto reason. Re-enter the Mayor, and Two Aldermen, below.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;So, master mayor: these gates must not be shut,
&mlquo;But in the night, or in the time of war.
&mlquo;What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys; [Takes his Keys.
&mlquo;For Edward will defend the town, and thee,
&mlquo;And all those friends that deign to follow me.
Drum. Enter Montgomery, and Forces, marching.

Glo.
Brother, this is sir John Montgomery,
Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Welcome, sir John! But why come you in arms?

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

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Thanks, good Montgomery: But we now forget
&mlquo;Our title to the crown; and only claim
&mlquo;Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest.

&mlquo;Mont.
&mlquo;Then fare you well, for I will hence again;
I came to serve a king, and not a duke,—
&mlquo;Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.
[A March begun.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Nay, stay, sir John, a while; and we'll debate,
&mlquo;By what safe means the crown may be recover'd.

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

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?

-- 507 --

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim:
&mast;Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.

&mast;Hast.
&mast;Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
&mast;Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand;
&mast;The bruit2 note



thereof will bring you many friends.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right,
&mast;And Henry but usurps the diadem.

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

Hast.
Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd:—
&mast;Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation.
[Gives him a Paper. Flourish. Sold. [Reads.]

Edward the fourth, by the grace of God, king of England and France, and lord of Ireland, &c.

Mont.
And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's right,
By this I challenge him to single fight.
[Throws down his Gauntlet.

All.
Long live Edward the fourth!

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Thanks, brave Montgomery;—and thanks unto you all3 note








.

-- 508 --


&mlquo;If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness.
&mlquo;Now, for this night, let's harbour here in York:
&mlquo;And, when the morning sun shall raise his car
&mlquo;Above the border of this horizon,
&mlquo;We'll forward towards Warwick, and his mates:
&mlquo;For, well I wot, that Henry is no soldier.—
&mast;Ah, froward Clarence!—how evil it beseems thee,
&mast;To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother!
&mast;Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick.—
&mast;Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day;
&mast;And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. [Exeunt. 4 note



. SCENE VIII London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, Montague, Exeter, and Oxford.

War.
What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia,
With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders,
Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas,

-- 509 --


And with his troops doth march amain to London;
&mlquo;And many giddy people flock to him.

&mast;Oxf.
&mast;Let's levy men, and beat him back again5 note




.

&mlquo;Clar.
&mlquo;A little fire is quickly trodden out;
&mlquo;Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.

War.
In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends,
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war;
Those will I muster up:—and thou, son Clarence,
&mlquo;Shalt stir up in Suffolk6 note





, Norfolk, and in Kent,
&mlquo;The knights and gentlemen to come with thee:—

-- 510 --


&mlquo;Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,
&mlquo;Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find
&mlquo;Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command'st:—
And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd,
In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends.—
My sovereign, with the loving citizens,—
&mast;Like to his island, girt in with the ocean,
&mast;Or modest Dian, circled with her nymphs,—
Shall rest in London, till we come to him.—
Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply.—
Farewell, my sovereign.

K. Hen.
Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope7 note




.

&mast;Clar.
&mast;In sign of truth, I kiss your Highness' hand.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!

&mast;Mont.
&mast;Comfort, my lord;—and so I take my leave.

&mast;Oxf.
&mast;And thus [Kissing Henry's hand.] I seal my truth, and bid adieu.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,
&mast;And all at once, once more a happy farewell.

War.
Farewell, sweet lords; let's meet at Coventry.
[Exeunt War. Clar. Oxf. and Mont.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;Here at the palace will I rest a while.

-- 511 --


&mast;Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship?
&mast;Methinks, the power, that Edward hath in field,
&mast;Should not be able to encounter mine.

&mast;Exe.
&mast;The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;That's not my fear, my meed hath got me fame8 note




.
&mast;I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,
&mast;Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;
&mast;My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
&mast;My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,
&mast;My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears:
&mast;I have not been desirous of their wealth,
&mast;Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies,
&mast;Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd;
&mast;Then why should they love Edward more than me?
&mast;No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace:
&mast;And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb,
&mast;The lamb will never cease to follow him. [Shout within. A Lancaster9 note

! A Lancaster!

&mast;Exe.
&mast;Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these?

-- 512 --

Enter King Edward, Gloster, and Soldiers.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him hence,
&mlquo;And once again proclaim us king of England.—
&mast;You are the fount, that makes small brooks to flow;
&mast;Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry,
&mast;And swell so much the higher by their ebb.—
&mlquo;Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak. [Exeunt some with King Henry.
&mlquo;And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course,
&mlquo;Where peremptory Warwick now remains1 note



:
&mlquo;The sun shines hot2 note


, and, if we use delay,
&mlquo;Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Away betimes, before his forces join,
&mast;And take the great-grown traitor unawares:
&mast;Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.
[Exeunt.

-- 513 --

ACT V. SCENE I. Coventry. Enter upon the Walls, Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, Two Messengers, and Others.

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

&mlquo;1 Mess.
&mlquo;By this at Dunsmore3 note, marching hitherward.

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

&mlquo;2 Mess.
&mlquo;By this at Daintry4 note, with a puissant troop.
Enter Sir John Somerville.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?
&mlquo;And, by the guess, how nigh is Clarence now?

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
&mlquo;And do expect him here some two hours hence.
[Drum heard.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.

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

&mast;War.
&mast;Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends.

&mast;Som.
&mast;They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.
Drums. Enter King Edward, Gloster, and Forces, marching.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle.

-- 514 --

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall.

War.
O, unbid spite! is sportful Edward come?
Where slept our scouts5 note

, or how are they seduc'd,
That we could hear no news of his repair?

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates,
&mlquo;Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee?—
&mlquo;Call Edward—king, and at his hands beg mercy,
&mlquo;And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down?
Call Warwick—patron, and be penitent,
And thou shalt still remain the duke of York.

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

&mast;War.
&mast;Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give;
&mast;I'll do thee service6 note for so good a gift.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;'Twas I, that gave the kingdom to thy brother.

K. Edw.
Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight:
And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner:
&mlquo;And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this,—

-- 515 --


What is the body, when the head is off?

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,
&mlquo;The king was slily finger'd from the deck7 note




!
You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace8 note,
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.

K. Edw.
'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still9 note.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Come, Warwick, take the time1 note


, kneel down, kneel down:
&mast;Nay, when2 note? strike now, or else the iron cools.

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

-- 516 --

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend;
&mast;This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair,
&mast;Shall, whiles the head is warm, and new cut off,
&mast;Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,—
&mlquo;Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.
Enter Oxford, with Drum and Colours.

&mast;War.
&mast;O cheerful colours! see, where Oxford comes!

Oxf.
Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!
[Oxford and his Forces enter the City.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;The gates are open, let us enter too3 note



.

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

War.
O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.
Enter Montague, with Drum and Colours.

Mont.
Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!
[He and his Forces enter the City.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason
&mlquo;Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;The harder match'd, the greater victory;
&mast;My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest.

-- 517 --

Enter Somerset, with Drum and Colours.

Som.
Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!
[He and his Forces enter the City.

Glo.
Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset,
Have sold their lives unto the house of York4 note
;
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.
Enter Clarence, with Drum and Colours.

War.
And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along,
Of force enough to bid his brother battle5 note






;
&mast;With whom an upright zeal to right prevails,
&mast;More than the nature of a brother's love:—
&mast;Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick calls.

Clar.
Father of Warwick, know you what this means? [Taking the red Rose out of his Cap6 note
.

-- 518 --


&mlquo;Look here, I throw my infamy at thee:
I will not ruinate my father's house,
Who gave his blood to lime the stones7 note together,
&mlquo;And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou Warwick,
&mlquo;That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural8 note

,
&mlquo;To bend the fatal instruments of war
&mlquo;Against his brother, and his lawful king9 note

?
&mast;Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath:
&mast;To keep that oath, were more impiety
&mast;Than Jephtha's1 note, when he sacrific'd his daughter.
&mast;I am so sorry for my trespass made,
&mast;That to deserve well at my brother's hands,
&mast;I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe;
&mast;With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee,
&mast;(As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,)
&mast;To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.—
&mlquo;Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;

-- 519 --


&mlquo;And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
&mlquo;For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd,
Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like.

War.
O passing traitor2 note


, perjur'd, and unjust!

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

&mlquo;War.
&mlquo;Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence:
I will away towards Barnet presently,
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st.

K. Edw.
Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way:—
Lords, to the field; Saint George, and victory.
[March. Exeunt. SCENE II. A Field of Battle near Barnet. Alarums, and Excursions. Enter King Edward, bringing in Warwick wounded.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear;
&mast;For Warwick was a bug, that fear'd us all3 note





.—

-- 520 --


&mast;Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,
&mast;That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. [Exit.

War.
Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe,
And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick?
Why ask I that? my mangled body shows,
&mast;My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows,
That I must yield my body to the earth,
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
Whose arms4 note



gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept5 note

;
Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree,
&mast;And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind.
&mast;These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,
&mast;Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun,
&mast;To search the secret treasons of the world:
The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood,

-- 521 --


Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres;
For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave?
And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood!
My parks6 note

, my walks, my manors that I had,
Even now forsake me; and, of all my lands,
Is nothing left me, but my body's length7 note


!
Why, what is pomp8 note, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And, live we how we can, yet die we must. Enter Oxford and Somerset.

&mast;Som.
&mast;Ah, Warwick, Warwick9 note











! wert thou as we are,

-- 522 --


&mast;We might recover all our loss again!
&mlquo;The queen from France hath brought a puissant power;
&mlquo;Even now we heard the news: Ah, could'st thou fly!

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

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his last;
&mlquo;And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick,
&mlquo;And said—Commend me to my valiant brother.
&mlquo;And more he would have said; and more he spoke,
&mlquo;Which sounded like a cannon in a vault1 note









,

-- 523 --


&mlquo;That might not be distinguish'd: but, at last,
&mlquo;I well might hear deliver'd with a groan,—
&mlquo;O, farewell Warwick!

War.
Sweet rest to his soul!—
Fly, lords, and save yourselves: for Warwick bids
You all farewell, to meet again in heaven2 note
.
[Dies.

Oxf.
Away, away3 note







, to meet the queen's great power! [Exeunt, bearing off Warwick's Body.

-- 524 --

SCENE III. Another Part of the Field. Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph; with Clarence, Gloster, and the rest.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course,
&mlquo;And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory4 note




.
&mlquo;But, in the midst of this bright-shining day,
&mlquo;I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud,
&mlquo;That will encounter with our glorious sun,
&mlquo;Ere he attain his easeful western bed:
&mlquo;I mean, my lords,—those powers5 note

, that the queen
&mlquo;Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast6 note






,
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.

&mast;Clar.
&mast;A little gale will soon disperse that cloud,
&mast;And blow it to the source from whence it came:
&mast;Thy very beams will dry those vapours up;

-- 525 --


&mast;For every cloud engenders not a storm.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong,
&mlquo;And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her;
&mlquo;If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd,
Her faction will be full as strong as ours.

K. Edw.
We are advértis'd by our loving friends,
That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury;
&mlquo;We having now the best at Barnet field,
&mlquo;Will thither straight, For willingness rids way;
&mlquo;And, as we march, our strength will be augmented
In every county as we go along.—
Strike up the drum; cry—Courage! and away7 note




. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Plains near Tewksbury. March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Great lords8 note












, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,

-- 526 --


&mast;But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
&mlquo;What though the mast be now blown over-board,
&mlquo;The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,
&mlquo;And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood?
&mlquo;Yet lives our pilot still: Is't meet, that he
&mlquo;Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
&mast;With tearful eyes add water to the sea,
&mast;And give more strength to that which hath too much9 note









;
&mast;Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
&mast;Which industry and courage might have sav'd?
&mast;Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!
&mlquo;Say, Warwick was our anchor; What of that?
&mlquo;And Montague our top-mast; What of him?
&mlquo;Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; What of these?

-- 527 --


&mlquo;Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?
&mlquo;And Somerset another goodly mast?
&mlquo;The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?
&mlquo;And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
&mlquo;For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?
&mlquo;We will not from the helm, to sit and weep;
&mast;But keep our course, though the rough wind say—no,
&mast;From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck.
&mast;As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair.
&mast;And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea?
&mast;What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit?
&mast;And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock?
&mast;All these the enemies to our poor bark.
&mast;Say, you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while:
&mast;Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink:
&mast;Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,
&mast;Or else you famish, that's a threefold death.
&mast;This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
&mast;In case some one of you would fly from us,
&mast;That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers,
&mast;More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks.
&mast;Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided,
&mast;'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear.

&mast;Prince.
&mast;Methinks, a woman1 note











of this valiant spirit

-- 528 --


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

&mlquo;Oxf.
&mlquo;Women and children of so high a courage!
And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame.—
&mlquo;O, brave young prince! thy famous grandfather
Doth live again in thee; Long may'st thou live,
To bear his image, and renew his glories!

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;And he, that will not fight for such a hope,
&mlquo;Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day,
&mlquo;If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at2 note
.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;Thanks, gentle Somerset;—sweet Oxford, thanks.

&mast;Prince.
&mast;And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing else.
Enter a Messenger.

&mlquo;Mess.
&mlquo;Prepare you, lords3 note



, for Edward is at hand,

-- 529 --


&mlquo;Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.

&mlquo;Oxf.
&mlquo;I thought no less: it is his policy,
&mlquo;To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.

Som.
But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness.

Q. Mar.
This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.

Oxf.
Here pitch our battle, hence we will not budge.
March. Enter, at a distance, King Edward, Clarence, Gloster, and Forces.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Brave followers4 note, yonder stands the thorny wood,
&mlquo;Which, by the heavens' assistance, and your strength,
&mlquo;Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
&mast;I need not add more fuel to your fire,
&mast;For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out:
&mast;Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords.

Q. Mar.
Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say,
&mlquo;My tears gainsay5 note

; for every word I speak,
&mlquo;Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes6 note




.

-- 530 --


&mlquo;Therefore, no more but this:—Henry, your sovereign7 note



,
&mlquo;Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,
&mlquo;His realm a slaughterhouse, his subjects slain,
&mlquo;His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent;
&mlquo;And yonder is the wolf, that makes this spoil.
&mlquo;You fight in justice: then, in God's name, lords,
&mlquo;Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. [Exeunt both Armies. SCENE V. Another Part of the Same. Alarums: Excursions: and afterwards a Retreat. Then Enter King Edward, Clarence, Gloster, and Forces; with Queen Margaret, Oxford, and Somerset, Prisoners.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Now, here a period of tumultuous broils.
Away with Oxford to Hammes' castle8 note straight:

-- 531 --


For Somerset9 note, off with his guilty head.
&mlquo;Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.

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

&mlquo;Som.
&mlquo;Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.
[Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded.

&mast;Q. Mar.
&mast;So part we sadly in this troublous world,
&mast;To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;Is proclamation made,—that, who finds Edward,
&mast;Shall have a high reward, and he his life?

&mast;Glo.
&mast;It is: and, lo, where youthful Edward comes.
Enter Soldiers, with Prince Edward.

&mast;K. Edw.
&mast;ring forth the gallant, let us hear him speak:
&mast;What! can so young a thorn begin to prick1 note

?
&mlquo;Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make,
&mlquo;For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,
&mast;And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to2 note





?

-- 532 --

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

Q. Mar.
Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd!

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;That you might still have worn the petticoat,
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.

Prince.
Let Æsop3 note fable in a winter's night;
His currish riddles sort not with this place.

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

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

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

Prince.
Nay, take away this scolding crook-back rather.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue4 note





.

-- 533 --

Clar.
Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.

Prince.
I know my duty, you are all undutiful:
Lascivious Edward,—and thou perjur'd George,—
And thou misshapen Dick,—I tell ye all,
I am your better, traitors as ye are;—
&mast;And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.

K. Edw.
Take that, the likeness of this railer here5 note


. [Stabs him.

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony.
[Glo. stabs him.

&mast;Clar.
&mast;And there's for twitting me with perjury.
[Clar. stabs him.

Q. Mar.
O, kill me too!

Glo.
Marry, and shall.
[Offers to kill her.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Hold, Richard, hold, for we have done too much.

Glo.
Why should she live, to fill the world with words6 note
?

-- 534 --

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;What! doth she swoon? use means for her recovery.

Glo.
Clarence, excuse me to the king, my brother;
&mlquo;I'll hence to London on a serious matter:
&mlquo;Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.

Clar.
What? what?

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;The Tower, the Tower7 note!
[Exit.

&mlquo;Q. Mar.
&mlquo;O, Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy!
&mlquo;Canst thou not speak!—O traitors! murderers!—
They, that stabb'd Cæsar, shed no blood at all,
Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,
&mast;If this foul deed were by, to equal it:
&mlquo;He was a man; this, in respect, a child;
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
&mlquo;What's worse than murderer, that I may name it?
&mast;No, no; my heart will burst, an if I speak:—
&mast;And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.—
&mast;Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals!
&mast;How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!
&mlquo;You have no children, butchers8 note



! if you had,

-- 535 --


&mlquo;The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse:
&mlquo;But, if you ever chance to have a child,
Look in his youth to have him so cut off,
&mlquo;As, deathsmen! you have rid this sweet young prince9 note

!

K. Edw.
Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce,

Q. Mar.
Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me here;
Here sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death:
What! wilt thou not?—then, Clarence, do it thou.

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

Q. Mar.
Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it1 note.

Clar.
Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not do it.

Q. Mar.
Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself;
'Twas sin before2 note, but now 'tis charity.
&mlquo;What! wilt thou not? where is that devil's butcher,
Hard-favour'd Richard3 note

? Richard, where art thou?

-- 536 --


Thou art not here: Murder is thy alms-deed;
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.

&mlquo;K. Edw.
&mlquo;Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence.

Q. Mar.
So come to you, and yours, as to this prince!
[Exit, led out forcibly.

K. Edw.
Where's Richard gone?

&mlquo;Clar.
&mlquo;To London, all in post; and, as I guess,
To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

K. Edw.
He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.
&mlquo;Now march we hence: discharge the common sort
&mlquo;With pay and thanks, and let's away to London,
&mlquo;And see our gentle queen how well she fares;
&mlquo;By this, I hope, she hath a son for me.
[Exeunt. SCENE VI. London. A Room in the Tower. King Henry is discovered sitting with a Book in his Hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter Gloster.

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

K. Hen.
Ay, my good lord: My lord, I should say rather;
'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better:
Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike,
&mast;And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord.

-- 537 --

&mast;Glo.
&mast;Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer.
[Exit Lieutenant.

&mast;K. Hen.
&mast;So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf:
&mast;So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,
&mast;And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.—
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act4 note





?

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

-- 538 --

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;The bird, that hath been limed in a bush,
&mlquo;With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush5 note

:
And I, the hapless male6 note to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye,
Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Why, what a peevish fool7 note

was that of Crete,
&mlquo;That taught his son the office of a fowl?
&mlquo;And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd8 note


.

&mlquo;K. Hen.
&mlquo;I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
&mlquo;The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,
&mlquo;Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea,

-- 539 --


&mlquo;Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
&mast;Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
&mlquo;My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,
Than can my ears that tragick history.—
&mast;But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life?

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Think'st thou, I am an executioner?

K. Hen.
A persecutor, I am sure, thou art;
&mlquo;If murdering innocents be executing,
&mlquo;Why, then thou art an executioner.

Glo.
Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.

K. Hen.
Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou didst presume,
Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.
&mlquo;And thus I prophecy,—that many a thousand,
&mlquo;Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear9 note;
&mlquo;And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
&mlquo;And many an orphan's water-standing eye,—
&mlquo;Men for their sons, wives for their husbands' fate1 note,
&mlquo;And orphans for their parents' timeless death2 note,—
&mlquo;Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign;
&mlquo;The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down trees;
The raven rook'd her3 note










on the chimney's top,

-- 540 --


And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope;
&mlquo;To wit,—an indigest4 note
deformed lump,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou wast born,
To signify,—thou cam'st to bite the world:
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
&mlquo;Thou cam'st5 note







-- 541 --

Glo.
I'll hear no more;—Die, prophet, in thy speech; [Stabs him.
For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.

K. Hen.
Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
O God! forgive my sins, and pardon thee!
[Dies.

Glo.
What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
&mlquo;Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death!
&mlquo;O, may such purple tears be always shed
&mlquo;From those that wish the downfal of our house!—
&mlquo;If any spark of life be yet remaining6 note
,
Down, down to hell; and say—I sent thee thither, [Stabs him again.
I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.—
Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of7 note


;

-- 542 --


For I have often heard my mother say,
I came into the world with my legs forward:
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
&mlquo;And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried,
O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!
&mlquo;And so I was; which plainly signified—
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
&mlquo;Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so,
Let hell8 note




make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brother, I am like no brother:
&mlquo;And this word—love, which greybeards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me; I am myself alone.—
Clarence, beware: thou keep'st me from the light;
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee9 note



:
For I will buz abroad such prophecies,
&mlquo;That Edward shall be fearful of his life1 note




;

-- 543 --


And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
&mlquo;King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone:
&mlquo;Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest;
Counting myself but bad, till I be best.—
&mlquo;I'll throw thy body in another room,
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [Exit. SCENE VII. The Same. A Room in the Palace. King Edward is discovered sitting on his Throne; Queen Elizabeth with the infant Prince, Clarence, Gloster, Hastings, and Others, near him.

K. Edw.
Once more we sit in England's royal throne,
Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies.
What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn,
Have we mow'd down2 note


, in tops of all their pride?
Three dukes of Somerset? threefold renown'd
For hardy and undoubted champions:
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
And two Northumberlands; two braver men
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound:

-- 544 --


&mlquo;With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion,
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat,
And made our footstool of security.—
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy:—
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself,
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night;
&mlquo;Went all a foot in summer's scalding heat,
That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace;
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

Glo.
I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid;
For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:—
Work thou the way,—and thou shalt execute3 note





. [Aside.

K. Edw.
Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely queen;
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.

Clar.
The duty, that I owe unto your majesty,

-- 545 --


I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

K. Edw.
Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks4 note

.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,
&mlquo;Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit:—
To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master;
&mlquo;And cried—all hail! when as he meant—all harm.
[Aside.

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

Clar.
What will your grace have done with Margaret?
Reignier, her father, to the king of France
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have they sent it for her ransom.

K. Edw.
Away with her, and waft her hence to France.
And now what rests, but that we spend the time
With stately triumphs5 note, mirthful comick shows,
Such as befit the pleasures of the court?
Sound, drums and trumpets!—farewell, sour annoy!
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.
[Exeunt.

-- 546 --

note

-- 547 --

-- 548 --

-- 549 --

-- 550 --











-- 551 --



-- 552 --


-- 553 --

-- 555 --

CONTENTS.

THE subject stated. The inferior parts in these three plays being of a different complexion from the inferior parts of Shakspeare's undoubted performances, a proof that they were not written originally and entirely by him.—Mr. Malone's hypothesis. The First Part of K. Henry VI. not written by him, p. 557. The Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. formed by Shakspeare on two elder plays, the one entitled the First Part of the Contention of the Two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, with the Death of the good Duke Humphrey, &c. the other, The true Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, and the Death of good King Henry the Sixt. p. 558.

The First Part of King Henry VI. The Second and Third Part of King Henry VI. King Henry VI. Part III. Act IV. Scene IV. King Henry VI. Part III. Act V. Scene IV.
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James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
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