Cade.

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

Ide.
Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court,
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?
This small inheritance, my father left me,
Contenteth me, and's worth a monarchy:
I seek not to wax great by others' waining;
Or gather wealth, I care not with what envy;

Sufficeth, that I have maintains my state,
And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.

Cad.

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

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

Cad.

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

Ide.
Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands,
That Alexander Iden, 'squire of Kent,
Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man.
Oppose thy stedfast-gazing eyes to mine,
See if thou canst out-face me with thy looks.
Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser:
Thy hand is but a finger to my fist;
Thy leg a stick, compared with this truncheon;
My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;
And if mine arm be heaved in the air,
Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth.
As for more words,—let this my sword report,
Whose greatness answers words, what speech forbears.

Cad.

By my valour, the most compleat champion that ever I heard.—Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burly-bon'd clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech Jove on my knees, thou may'st be turn'd to hob-nails. [fight; and Cade falls.] O, I am slain! famine, and no other, hath slain me: let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the ten meals I have lost, and I'd defy them all.— Wither, garden; and be henceforth a burying-place to

all that do dwell in this house, because the unconquer'd soul of Cade is fled&verbar2; ^note.

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

Cade.

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

Ide.
How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my judge.
Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee!
And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,
So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell* ^note.
Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels
Unto a dunghil, which shall be thy grave,
And there cut off thy most ungracious head;
Which I will bear in triumph to the king,
Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. [Exit, dragging out the Body. SCENE II. Fields near Saint Alban's. Two Camps pitch'd, the King's, and the Duke of York's; on either Side, one. Enter York, attended.

Yor.
From Ireland thus comes York, to claim his right,
And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head:
Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright,
To entertain great England's lawful king.
Ah, majesty, who would not buy thee dear!
Let them obey, that know not how to rule;

This hand was made to handle nought but gold:
I cannot give due action to my words
Except a sword, or scepter, balance it.
A scepter shall it have, have I a soul;
On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. Enter Buckingham.
Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?
The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.

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

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

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

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

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

Yor.
Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?

Buc.
Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.

Yor.
Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers:—
Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;

Meet me to-morrow in saint George's field,
You shall have pay, and every thing you wish.—
And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
Command my eldest son,—nay, all my sons,—
As pledges of my fealty and love,
I'll send them all as willing as I live;
Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have
Is to his use, so Somerset may die.

Buc.
York, I commend this kind submission:
We twain will go into his highness' tent. Enter King Henry, attended.

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

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

Kin.
Then what intend these forces thou dost bring?

Yor.
To heave the traitor Somerset from hence;
And fight against that monstrous rebel, Cade,
Whom since I hear to be discomfited. Enter Iden, with Cade's Head.

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

Kin.
The head of Cade?—Great Heav'n, how just art thou!—
O, let me view his visage being dead,
That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.
Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?

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

Kin.
How art thou call'd? and what is thy degree?

Ide.
Alexander Iden, that's my name;
A poor esquire of Kent, that loves the king.

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

Kin.
Iden, kneel down; now rise thou up a knight:
We give thee for reward a thousand marks;
And will, that thou henceforth attend on us.

Ide.
May Iden live to merit such a bounty,
And never live but true unto his liege! Enter the Queen, and Somerset.

Kin.
See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with the queen;
Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.

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

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

Som.
O monstrous traitor!—I arrest thee, York,
Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown:
Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.

Yor.
Would'st have me kneel? first let me ask of these, [pointing to his Troops, and Attendants.
If they can brook I bow a knee to man.—
Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail;— [Exit Att.
I know, ere they will let me go to ward,
They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.

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

Yor.
O blood-bespotted Neapolitan,
Out-cast of Naples, England's bloody scourge!
The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,
Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those
That for my surety will refuse the boys.
See, where they come; I'll warr'nt, they'll make it good.

Que.
And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail. Drums. Enter, from one Side, the Lords Edward and Richard, Sons to York; and, from the other, Old Clifford and his Son; Forces with them both.

O. C.
Health and all happiness to my lord the king! [kneeling to Henry.

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

O. C.
This is my king, York, I do not mistake;
But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do:
To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?

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

O. C.
He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,
And crop away that factious pate of his.

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

Yor.
Will you not, sons?

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

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

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

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

Drums. Enter Salisbury, and Warwick, with Forces.

O. C.
Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death,
And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,
If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place.

Ric.
Oft have I seen a hot o'er-weening cur
Run back and bite, because he was with-held;
Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw,
Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd:
And such a piece of service will you do,
If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick.

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

Yor.
Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.

O. C.
Take heed, let by your heat you burn yourselves.

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

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

Kin.
Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?

Sal.
I have.

Kin.
Canst thou dispense with heaven for such a vow?

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

Que.
A subtle traitor needs no sophister.

Kin.
Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.

Yor.
Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,
I am resolv'd for death, or dignity.

O. C.
The first, I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.

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

O. C.
I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm,
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;
And that I'll write upon thy burgonet,
Might I but know thee by thy house's badge.

War.
Now by my father's age, 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 spight of any storm)
Even to affright thee with the view thereof.

O. C.
And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear,
And tread it under foot with all contempt,
Despight the bear-ward that protects the bear.

Y. C.
And so to arms, victorious noble father,
To quell these traitors, and their complices.

Ric.
Fie! charity, for shame! speak not in spight,
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.

Y. C.
Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou canst tell.

Ric.
If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell. [Exeunt‡ ^note.

SCENE III. Saint Alban's. Alarums, as of a Battle joined. Excursions. Enter Warwick.

* ^noteWar.
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,—
Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me!
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. Enter York.
How now, my noble lord? what, all a-foot?

Yor.
The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed:
But match to match I have encounter'd him,
And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. Enter Clifford.

War.
Of one or both of us the time is come. [to Cli.

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

War.
Then, nobly, York; tis for a crown thou fight'st:—
As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. [Exit.

O. C.
What see'st thou in me, York? why dost thou pause?

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

O. C.
Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,
But that 'tis shewn ignobly, and in treason.

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

O. C.
My soul and body on the action both!

Yor.
A dreadful lay!—address thee instantly. [fight; and Clifford falls.

O. C.
La fin couronne les oeuvres* ^note. [Dies.

Yor.
Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.
Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will. [Exit. Alarums. Enter young Clifford.

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

In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house; [taking up the Body.
As did Æneas old Anchises bear,
So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders:
But then Æneas bare a living load,
Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine* ^note. [Exit. Alarums. Enter Richard, and Somerset, fighting; and Somerset falls.

Ric.
So, lie thou there;—
For, underneath an ale-house paltry sign,
‡ ^note
The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset
Hath made the wizard famous in his death.—
Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:
Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit. Alarums again. Excursions. Enter King Henry, and Queen, with others, flying.

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

Kin.
Can we out-run the heavens? good Margaret, stay.

Que.
What are you made of? you'll not fight, nor fly:
Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,
To give the enemy way; and to secure us
By what we can, which can no more but fly.
If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape,
(As well we may, if not through your neglect)
We shall to London get; where you are lov'd;
And where this breach, now in our fortunes made,
May readily be stopt.

Other Alarums. Enter young Clifford.

Y. C.
But that my heart's on future mischief set,
I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly;
But fly you must; uncureable discomfit
Reigns in the hearts of all our present party.
Away, for your relief! and we will live
To see their day, and them our fortune give:
Away, my lord, away! [Exeunt SCENE IV. Fields without the Town. Retreat heard. Flourish; and Enter, with Drum and Colours, triumphantly, York, Richard, Warwick, and Soldiers.

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

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

Sal.
Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day; [to York.
By th' mass, so did we all.—I thank you, Richard;
Heav'n knows, how long it is I have to live;
And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day
You have defended me from imminent death.—
Well, lords, we have not got that which we have;
'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
Being opposites of such repairing nature.

Yor.
I know, our safety is to follow them;
For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
To call a present court of parliament.
Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth:—
What says lord Warwick, shall we after them?

War.
After them! nay, before them, if we can;
Now, by my hand, lords, 'twas a glorious day:
Saint Alban's battle, won by famous York,
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come.—
Sound, drums and trumpets;—and to London all:
And more such days as this to us befal! [Flourish. Exeunt‡ ^note. The End of the Second Part of King Henry VI.

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