SCENE I.
THE TEMPLE GARDEN.
Enter, from the Temple Hall, Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, Somerset, Young
Clifford, Vernon, and others.
Plant.
Now valiant gentlemen, what means this silence?
Dare no man answer in a case of truth?
Say—was not wrangling Somerset in the error?
Cliff.
Faith! I have been a truant in the law.
I never yet could frame my will unto 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 highest pitch,—
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth,—
Between two blades, which bears the better temper,—
Between two horses, which doth bear him best,—
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.
Plant.
Tut—tut—here is a mannerly forbearance—
Since ye are tongue-tied, and so loth to speak,
In dumb significance proclaim your thoughts:
Let him that is a true born gentleman,
And stands upon the honour of his birth,
From off this briar pluck a white rose with me.
-- 6 --
Som.
Let him that is no coward and no flatterer,
But dares maintain the party of the truth,
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.
War.
I love no colours; and, without all colour
Of base insinuating flattery,
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.
Cliff.
Prick not your fingers as you pluck it off,
Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red,
As red as this I pluck for Somerset.
Plant.
Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?
Som.
Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?
Plant.
Aye—sharp and piercing to maintain his truth,
While thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.
Som.
Well—I'll find friends to wear my blushing rose,
Where false Plantagenet dares not be seen.
Plant.
Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
I scorn thee and thy faction, peevish boy.
Cliff.
Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.
Plant.
Proud churl, I will.
Som.
Away, away, good Clifford—
We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.
War.
Now, by my faith, thou wrong'st him, Somerset—
His grandsire was great Edward's issue, Clarence.
Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?
Plant.
He bears him on his place's privilege,
Or durst not for his craven heart say thus.
Som.
By him that made me, I'll maintain my words.
Thy father, Cambridge, was he not attainted?
His treason yet lives guilty in thy blood,
And, till thou be restored, thou'rt but a yeoman.
-- 7 --
Plant.
My father was attainted—yet no traitor—
Died, by the headsman's axe,—yet still no traitor—
And that I'll prove on—better men than Somerset.
And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
Will I, for ever, and my faction wear,
Until it wither with me to my grave,
Or flourish to the height of my degree.
Som.
Go forward—and be choak'd with thy ambition—
And so farewell, until I meet thee next.
[Ex. Somerset, Clifford, &c
Plant.
How am I braved!—yet must perforce endure it.
War.
This blot shall be wiped out before the king,
Who, if he bids thee not arise as York,
I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
—Meet me an hour hence, and we'll to the council.
Plant.
First to my uncle's prison, aged March,
There drink fresh spirit from his fast bleeding wrongs.
Thence, in an hour's space, will I call for thee.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.
A PRISON.
Mortimer, (brought on in a chair) Keeper.
Mort.
Kind keeper of my weak declining age,
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself!—
Even like a man new haled from the rack,
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment;
And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
-- 8 --
These eyes, like lamps, whose wasting oil is spent,
These pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine,
That droops his sapless branches to the ground,
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?
Keep.
Aye, my good lord, we sent unto the temple,
And answer was return'd that he would come.
Mort.
Enough—my soul shall then be satisfied.
His wrongs do equal mine—like me obscured,
Deprived of honour and inheritance,
Even by this upstart house of Bolingbroke!
But Death, kind umpire of man's miseries,
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence—
I would his troubles had so fair an ending.
Enter Plantagenet.
Keep.
My Lord, your loving nephew now is come.
Mort.
Richard Plantagenet—friend, is he come?
Plant.
Aye, noble uncle; thus ignobly used,
Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.
Mort.
Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck,
And in his bosom spend my latest gasp.
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,
Why didst thou say thou wert of late despised?
Plant.
First lean thine aged back against mine arm,
And I will tell thee why. It chanced to-day,
Some words did grow 'twixt me and Somerset,
Amongst 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,
Declare the cause for which my father died.
-- 9 --
Mort.
The same, fair nephew, that imprison'd me,
And hath detain'd me, all my flowering youth,
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine.
For when the young king Richard was removed,
To make way for ambitious Bolingbroke,
I was the next of Edward's royal line.
For me thy father died, striving for me
To quell the proud usurper's happier son.
In him died all the hopes of Mortimer.
And now—my fainting words do warrant death—
Thou art mine heir!—the rest I'd have thee gather—
But yet be wary in thy studious care:
Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster,
And like a mountain, not to be removed,
But by long tedious mining under ground.
—And now is Mortimer removing hence,
As princes from their courts, when they are cloy'd
With long continuance in a settled place.
Plant.
Oh uncle! would some part of my young years,
Might but redeem the passage of your age.
Mort.
Then shouldst thou wrong me, as that slaughterer doth,
Which giveth many wounds where one would kill.
Mourn not—except thou sorrow for my good:
And so farewell! and fair befall thy hopes;
And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!
[Mortimer is borne off by attendants.
Plant.
And peace—no war—befall thy parting soul!
In prison hast thou spent thy pilgrimage,
And like a hermit, overpast thy days!
Here lies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Choak'd with th' ambition of a meaner race.
-- 10 --
Fortune, not reason, rules the state of things;
Reward goes backward, Honour on his head—
As cedars beaten with continual storms,
So great men flourish.—
Man is a torch borne in the wind—a dream
But of a shadow, summ'd with all his substance:
And as great seamen using all their wealth
And skill in Neptune's deep invisible paths,
In tall ships richly built and ribb'd with brass,
To put a girdle round about the world;
When they have done it, (coming near their haven)
Are fain to give a warning piece, and call
A poor stay'd fisherman, that never past
His country's sight, to waft and guide them in;
So, when we wander furthest through the waves
Of glassy glory, and the gulphs of state,
Topp'd with all titles, spreading all our reaches,
As if each private arm would sphere the earth,
We must to Virtue for her guide resort,
Or we shall shipwreck in our safest port.* note
[Exit.
SCENE III.
THE PARLIAMENT.
King Henry, Duke of Gloucester, Cardinal Beaufort, Somerset, Salisbury, and others.
King.
Uncles of Glo'ster and of Winchester,
The special watchmen of our English weal,
I would prevail, if prayers might aught prevail,
To join your hearts in love and amity.
-- 11 --
Oh, 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 thou art not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace,
If holy churchmen take delight in broils?”
“Sal.
My lord Protector, yield! yield, Winchester!”
“Glouc.
Compassion on the King commands me stoop.”
“Salis.
Behold, my lord of Winchester—the duke
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury.
Why look you still so stern and opposite?”
“Glouc.
Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.”
“King.
Fie, uncle Beaufort, I have heard you preach
That malice was a great and grievous sin:
And will you not maintain the thing you teach?”
“Sal.
For shame, my lord of Winchester—relent.”
“Beauf.
Well, duke of Glocester, I will yield to thee:
Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give.”
“Glouc. (aside)
Aye—but I fear me with a hollow heart.”
“Beauf. (aside.)
So help me heaven, as I intend it not.”
“King.
Oh loving uncle! gentle duke of Glo'ster,
How happy hath this gracious union made me* note!”
Enter Warwick and Plantagenet.
War. (Delivering a scroll of parchment.)
Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,
Which, in right of a true Plantagenet,
I do exhihit to your majesty.
-- 12 --
Glouc.
Well urged, my lord of Warwick—and, sweet prince,
You have great reason to do Richard right.
King.
So peace rest with us, as I think to do it.
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is
That Richard be restored to his blood;
[Plantagenet kneels.
And, if he will be true, not that alone,
But all the whole inheritance I give
That did belong unto the house of York.
Plant.
Thy humble servant vows obedience,
And faithful service to the point of death.
King.
Stoop then, and set thy knee against my foot;
And in reguerdon of that duty done,
I gird thee with thy valiant grandsire's sword,
[Girds the sword.
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
And stand created princely Duke of York.
Plant.
E'en 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, brave prince, puissant Duke o York!
Som. (aside)
Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York!
“Enter Vernon and Young Clifford.
“Vern.
Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign!
“Cliff.
And me, my lord, grant me the combat too!
“King.
Say, gentlemen, what makes you both exclaim?
And wherefore crave you combat? And with whom?
-- 13 --
“Vern.
With him, my lord, for he hath done me wrong.”
“Cliff.
And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.
“King.
What is the wrong of which you both complain?”
“Cliff.
This caitiff here, with sharp and 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 truth
About a certain question in the law
Betwixt my lord Plantagenet and him;
With other vile and ignominious terms,
For which I crave the benefit of arms.”
“Vern.
Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him.
'Twas he first took exceptions at this badge,
Asserting that the paleness of this flower
Betray'd the faintness of my master's heart.”
“Plant.
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.”
“King.
Kind heaven! what madness rules in brainsick men!
Good cousins, both of York and Somerset,
Quiet yourselves, and be again at peace.”
“Plant.
Let this dissention first be tried by fight,
And then your highness shall command a peace.”
“Som.
The quarrel touches none but us alone.
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.”
“Plant.
Here is my pledge—Accept it, Somerset.”
“Vern.
Nay, let it rest where it began at first.”
“Cliff.
Confirm it so, mine honourable lord!”
-- 14 --
“Glouc.
Confirm it so?—confounded be your strife
And perish ye with your audacious prate.
Presumptuous vassals! are ye not asham'd,
With these immodest clamorous outrages
To trouble and disturb the king and us?
And you, my lords, methinks ye do not well—
Let me persuade you, take a better course.”
“King.
Come hither, you that would be combatants.
Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour,
Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.”
And think not, York, because I wear this rose,
I more incline to Somerset than thee.
Both are my kinsmen, and I love you both.
But now to wrangle! Now to be at strife!
Dash not your sovereign's cup with poison, lords.
E'en at the moment when it foams with joy.
I go to meet the peerless Margaret.
Say, would ye have me thus salute my bride,
With mailed war, instead of nuptial pomp?
Oh think, at least what infamy would spring,
If for a toy, a thing of no regard,
We lost ourselves, and lost the realm of France!
[Exeunt King and others.
Manent York (Plantagenet) and Warwick.
War.
My lord of York, I promise you, the king
Most 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 be sworn, sweet prince, he thought no harm.
York.
An' if I wis, he did—but let that rest.
Men must have these lures when they hawk for princes.
-- 15 --
And wind about them like a subtle river,
That, seeming only to run on his course,
Doth search yet as he runs, and still finds out
The easier parts of entry on the shore,
Gliding so slily by, as scarce it touch'd,
Yet still eats something in it.—
Give me a spirit that on life's rough sea
Loves to have his sails fill'd with a lusty wind,
Even till his sail yards tremble, the masts crack,
And his rapt ship run on her side so low
That she drinks water, and her keel ploughs air.
There is no danger to a man that knows
What life and death is: there's not any law
Exceeds his knowledge; neither is it lawful
That he should stoop to any other law.
He goes before them and commands them all,
That to himself is a law rational.* note
—Hark! heard you not that shout? It doth proclaim
The coming of that peerless bride of Anjou.
Come, Warwick, to the bridal—haste we to greet
Our most victorious Lord Ambassador,
Who brings this princely treasure home with him.
True, our most pious king was first betroth'd
Unto another—old Armagnac's daughter,
Our chiefest hope in France—But what of that?
The best earl's daughter is unequal odds,
Matched with the heiress of a throneless king.
And, for a dower, let's not disgrace our prince
To think that he should be so base and poor,
As chuse for wealth and not for perfect love.
Not whom we will—but whom his grace affects
Must be companion of his nuptial bed.
—But come, my lord, we're too long out of th' sun.
[Exeunt.
-- 16 --
SCENE IV.
THE PALACE.
Nuptial Procession.
Enter on the one side, King, Gloucester, Beaufort, Somerset.
On the other, York, Salisbury, Warwick, and others.
To them, after a pause, enter Suffolk, and Queen Margaret.
Suff. (kneeling)
As by your grace I had in special charge,
I have perform'd: and now on bended knee,
In sight of England and her lordly peers,
Deliver up my trust in England's queen—
The happiest gift that ever noble gave,
The richest treasure ever king received.
King.
Suffolk, arise! Welcome, Queen Margaret!
I can express no kinder sign of love
Than this sweet kiss—Oh heaven, that lends't me life,
Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face,
A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
Queen.
My ever gracious lord!
The conference that my mind hath had with thee,
By day, by night,—waking, and in my dreams,—
In courtly company, or at my beads;
Makes me the bolder to salute my king,
With ruder terms, such as my wit affords,
And over joy of heart doth minister.
-- 17 --
King.
Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech,
Her words endow'd with wisdom's majesty,
Make me from wond'ring fall to weeping joys,
Such is the fulness of my heart's content.—
Lords! with one cheerful voice welcome my love.
Beau. (kneeling)
Long live Queen Margaret, England's happiness!
Suff. (aside)
Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd, and thus returns,
As did the youthful Paris back from Greece;
With hope to find the same success 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.
King.
Ye please us well—Lord Marquis, kneel you down.
We here create thee the first Duke of Suffolk.
Thanks unto all!
Come, let us in, and with all speed provide
To see the coronation of our queen.
[Exeunt King, Queen, Suffolk, and attendants.
Manet Gloucester, Beaufort, York, Somerset, Warwick, and others.
Glouc.
Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,
To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
What? Did my brother Henry spend his youth,
His valour, coin and people in the wars—
Did he so often lodge in open field,
-- 18 --
In winter's cold, in summer's scorching heat,
To conquer France, his true inheritance?—
And did my brother Bedford toil his wits
To keep by wisdom what he won by arms?—
Have you yourselves, York, Warwick, Somerset,
Received deep scars in France and Normandy?—
Or have mine uncle Beaufort and myself,
With all the learned council of the realm,
Studied so long, debating to and fro
How France and Frenchmen may be kept in awe?—
And shall these labours and these honours die?
Shall Henry's conquests, Bedford's vigilance,
Your deeds of war, and all our counsel die?
—O peers of England! shameful is this league,
Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,
Blotting your names from book of memory,
Rasing the characters of your renown,
Defacing monuments of conquer'd France,
Undoing all, as all had never been.
Beauf.
Nephew, what means this passionate discourse?
For France, 'tis ours, and we will keep it still.
Glouc.
Aye, uncle, we will keep it—if we can.
She should have stay'd in France, and starved in France,
Before—
Beauf.
Nay, noble lord, you're now too hot.
It was the pleasure of our lord the king.
Glouc.
My lord of Winchester, I know your mind.
'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,
But 'tis my presence that doth trouble you,
My lords, farewell—and say, when I am gone,
I prophesied, France will be lost ere long.
[Exit.
-- 19 --
Beauf.
There goes our great protector—lords, look to him—
Let not his fawning words bewitch your hearts.
What though the common people favour him,
And with his name gild their new coined treasons,
Calling him Humphry, the good duke of Glo'ster—
Jesu preserve the worthy, good duke Humphry—
I fear him, Lords, with all this flattering gloss,
And warn you to be wise and circumspect.
[Ex. Beaufort, Somerset, and the rest.
Manent York and Warwick.
York.
And wherefore weeps Warwick, the valiant earl?
War.
For grief, that what we've lost is past recovery;
For, were there hope to conquer them again,
My sword should shed not blood—my eyes no tears.
Anjou and Maine!—myself did win them both:
Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer.
And are the cities that I got with wounds
Delivered up again with peaceful words?
My heart's too full—I can no more discourse.
Exit.
York. (alone)
Anjou and Maine are given to the French—
Paris is lost—the state of Normandy
Stands on a doubtful point, now they are gone.
Suffolk concluded on the articles;
The peers agreed, and Henry is well pleased
To change two dukedoms for a poor king's daughter.
I cannot blame them all; what is't to them?
'Tis not their own that they thus throw away.
Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage,
And purchase friends, and give to courtezans,
-- 20 --
Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone;
While as the silly owner of the goods
Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands,
And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof,
Ready to starve, and dares not touch his own,—
So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue,
While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold.
Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French!
Cold news for me! for I had hopes of France,
Even as I have of England's fertile soil.
A day will come when York shall claim his own;
Then, shall not Lancaster usurp my right,
Nor hold the sceptre in his childish gripe,
Nor wear the crown upon his monkish brow;
The crown—the golden mark I seek to hit.
Then will I raise aloft the milk white rose,
With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed,
And in my standard bear the arms of York
to grapple with the house of Lancaster.
Till then, be still awhile—watch, York, and wake
While others sleep. Soon shall thy proud day dawn
Exit.
END OF ACT I.
-- 21 --
John Herman Merivale [1817], Richard, Duke of York; or, the contention of York and Lancaster. (As altered from Shakspeare's Three Parts of Henry VI.) In five acts. As it is performed at the Theatre Royal, Drury-Lane (Published by Richard White [etc.], London) [word count] [S41100].
