Exe.
And, as I hope, shall reconcile them all. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Changes to Sandal-Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire. Enter Richard, Edward, and Montague.

Rich.
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 the Duke of York.

York.
Why how now, sons and brother, at a strife?
What is your quarrel? how began it first?

Edw.
No quarrel, but a sweet contention.^{6 note}

York.
About what?

Rich.
About that which concerns your Grace and us;
The Crown of England, father; which is yours.

York.
Mine, boy? not 'till King Henry be dead.

Rich.
Your Right depends not on his life or death.

Edw.
Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now:
By giving th' House of Lancaster leave to breathe,
It will out-run you, father, in the end.

York.
I took an oath that he should quietly reign.

Edw.
But for a Kingdom any oath may be broken:
I'd break a thousand oaths to reign one year.

Rich.
No, God forbid, your Grace should be forsworn.

York.
I shall be, if I claim by open war.

Rich.
I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.

York.
Thou can'st not, son; it is impossible.

Rich.
An oath is of no moment,^{7 note} being not took
Before a true and lawful magistrate;
That hath authority o'er him that swears.
Henry had none; but did usurp the place.
Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
Your oath, my Lord, is vain and frivolous;
Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think
How sweet a thing it is to wear a Crown;
Within whose circuit is Elysium,
And all that Poets feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest,
Until the white Rose, that I wear, be dy'd
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.

York.
Richard, enough. I will be King, or die.
Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
And whet on Warwick to this enterprize.
Thou, Richard, shalt to th' Duke of Norfolk go,
And tell him privily of our intent.
You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise.
In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
Wealthy and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.^{8 note}

While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more
But that I seek occasion how to rise,
And yet the King not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the house of Lancaster? Enter Messenger.
But stay, what news? why com'st thou in such post?

Gab.
* ^noteThe Queen, with all the northern Earls and Lords,
Intend here to besiege you in your castle.
She is hard by, with twenty thousand men;
And therefore fortify your Hold, my Lord.

York.
Ay,—with my sword. What! think'st thou, that we fear them?
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;
My brother Montague shall post to London.
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left Protectors of the King,
With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.

Mont.
Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not.
And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [Exit Montague. Enter Sir John Mortimer and Sir Hugh Mortimer.

York.
Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour.
The army of the Queen means to besiege us.

Sir John.
She shall not need, we'll meet her in the field.

York.
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.

Edw.
I hear their drums: let's set our men in order,
And issue forth and bid them battle strait.

York.
Five men to twenty! Though the odds be great,
I doubt not, Uncle, of our victory.
Many a battle have I won in France,
When as the enemy hath been ten to one;
Why should I not now have the like success? [Alarm. Exeunt. SCENE V. A Field of Battle betwixt Sandal-Castle and Wakefield. Enter Rutland and his Tutor.

Rut.
Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?
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 father slew my father, he shall die.

Tutor.
And I, my Lord, will bear him company.

Clif.
Soldiers, away, and drag him hence perforce.

Tutor.
Ah! Clifford, murder not this innocent child,
Lest thou be hated both of God and man. [Exit, drag'd off.

Clif.
How now? is he dead already? or, is't fear
That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.

Rut.
* ^noteSo looks the pent-up Lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws;
And so he walks insulting o'er his prey,
And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
And not with such a cruel threatning look.

Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die;
I am too mean a Subject of 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 stopt the passage where thy words should enter.

Rut.
Then let my father's blood open't 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
Is as a Fury to torment my soul,
And till I root out their accursed Line,
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.

Rut.
I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay me?

Clif.
Thy father hath.

Rut.
But 'twas, ere I was born.
Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest in revenge thereof, sith 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. [Clif. stabs him.

Rut.
Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ! [Dies.

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 VI. Alarm. Enter Richard Duke of York.

York.
The Army of the Queen hath got the field:
My Uncles both are slain in rescuing me,
And all my Followers to the eager foe
Turn Back, and fly like ships before the wind,
Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
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.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me,
And thrice cry'd, Courage, father! fight it out:
And full as oft came Edward to my side,
With purple falchion painted to the hilt
In blood of those, that had encounter'd him:
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cry'd, Charge! and give no foot of ground;
And cry'd, A Crown, or else a glorious tomb,
A Scepter or an earthy Sepulchre.
With this we charg'd again; but out! alas,
^{9 note}We bodg'd again; as I have seen a Swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide,
And spend her strength with over-matching waves. [A short alarm within.
Ah! hark, the fatal followers do pursue.
And I am faint and cannot fly their fury,
And were I strong I would not shun their fury.
The sands are number'd, that make up my life;
Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Enter the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland, the Prince of Wales, and Soldiers.
Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
I dare your quenchless fury to more Rage,
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 shew'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his Car,
And made an evening at the * ^notenoon-tide prick.

York.
My ashes, as the Phœnix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all,
And in that Hope I throw mine eyes to heav'n,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? what! multitudes and fear?

Clif.
So cowards fight, when they can fly no further;
So Doves do peck the Faulcon's piercing talons;
So desp'rate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

York.
Oh Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;
And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face,
And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardise,
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.

Queen.
Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes
I would prolong a while 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?
^{1 note}

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 cony struggle in the net. [York is taken Prisoner.

York.
So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;
So true men yield with robbers so o'er-matcht.

North.
What would your Grace have done unto him now?

Queen.
Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
Come make him stand upon this mole-hill here;
That raught at mountains with out-stretched arms,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
—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!
And where's that valiant crook-back'd 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 stained ^{2 note}this napkin with the blood,
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.
Alas! poor York; but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
What, hath thy fiery heart so parcht thine Entrails,
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus:
Stamp, rave and fret, that I may sing and dance.
Thou wouldst be 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 head.
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 death.
And will you pale your head in Henry's Glory,
And rob his Temples of the Diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
Oh, '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 dead.

Clif.
That is my office, for my father's sake.

Queen.
Nay, stay, let's hear the Oraisons he makes.

York.
She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!
How ill beseeming is it in thy sex
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates?
But that thy face is, vizor-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 type 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 verify'd,
“That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death.”

'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud;
But God he knows, thy share thereof is small.
'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at.
^{3 note}'Tis government, that makes them seem divine;
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 Septentrion.
Oh, tyger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide!
How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be seen to wear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bidst thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish.
Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will.
For raging wind blows up incessant show'rs,
And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;
And ev'ry drop cries vengeance for his death,
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford; and thee, false French woman.

North.
Beshrew me, but his passions move me so;
That hardly can I check mine eyes from tears.

York.
That face of his the hungry Cannibals
Would not have touch'd, ^{4 note}

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
Oh ten times more, than tygers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless Queen, a hapless father's tears,
This cloth thou dip'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;
And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears,
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And say, “Alas, it was a piteous deed!”— [He gives back the handkerchief.
There—Take the crown; and, with the crown my curse.
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 heav'n, my blood upon your heads.

North.
Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

Queen.
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.

Queen.
And here's to right our gentle-hearted King. [Stabs him.

York.
Open the gate of mercy, gracious God!
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. [Dies.

Queen.
Off with his head and set it on York gates;
So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Near Mortimer's Cross in Wales. A March. Enter Edward, Richard, and their Power.

Edward.
I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd,
Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no,
From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit?
Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
Or had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.
How fares my brother? why is he so sad?

Rich.
I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become.
I saw him in the battle range about;
And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth;
Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop,
As doth a Lion in a herd of Neat;
Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,
Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry,
The rest stand all aloof and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies,
So fled his enemies my warlike father;
^{5 note}

^{6 note}And takes her farewel of the glorious sun;
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trim'd like a yonker prancing to his love?

Edw.
Dazzle mine eyes? or do I see three suns?

Rich.
Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
Not separated with the racking clouds,
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.

Edw.
'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,
Each one already ^{7 note}

Rich.
Nay, bear three daughters.—By your leave, I speak it,
You love the breeder better than the male. Enter a Messenger.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

Mes.
Ah! one that was a woful looker on,
When as the noble Duke of York was slain;
Your princely father, and my loving Lord.

Edw.
* ^noteOh, speak no more! for I have heard too much.

Rich.
Say, how he dy'd; for I will hear it all.

Mes.
Environed he was with many foes,
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks that would have entred Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many stroaks, though with a little ax,
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
By many hands your father was subdu'd,
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen;
Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high despight;
Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept,
The ruthless Queen gave him, to dry his cheek,
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain:
And, after many scorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They set the same; and there it doth remain
The saddest spectacle that e're I view'd.

Edw.
Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
Oh Clifford, boist'rous Clifford! thou hast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry,
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him;
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
Might in the ground be closed up in rest!
For never henceforth shall I joy again,
Never, oh never, shall I see more joy.

Rich.
I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart;
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden,

For self-same wind, that I should speak withal,
Is kindling coals that fire up all my breast!
And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench.
To weep, is to make less the depth of grief:
Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me!
Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death;
Or die renowned by attempting it.

Edw.
His name that valiant Duke hath left with thee:
His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

Rich.
Nay, if thou be that princely Eagle's bird,
Shew thy descent, by gazing 'gainst the sun,
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say,
Either that's thine, or else thou wert not his. SCENE II. March. Enter Warwick, Marquis of Montague, and their army.

War.
How now, fair Lords? what fare? what news abroad?

Rich.
Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount
Our baleful news, and at each word's deliv'rance
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told;
The words would add more anguish than the wounds.
O valiant Lord, the Duke of York is slain.

Edw.
O Warwick! Warwick! That Plantagenet,
Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption,
Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death6Q0182.

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 sith then befaln.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,
Tidings, as swiftly as the post 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,
March'd towards St. Albans t' intercept the Queen,

Bearing the King in my behalf along;
For by my scouts I was advertised
That she was coming, with a full intent
To dash our late decree in parliament,
Touching King Henry's oath, and your succession.
Short tale to make, we at St. Alban's met,
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,
Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
I cannot judge; but to conclude with truth,
Their weapons, like to lightning, came and went;
Our soldiers, * ^notelike the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,
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 reward;
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.

Edw.
Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?
And when came George from Burgundy to England?

War.
Some six miles off the Duke is with his power;
And for your brother, he was lately sent
From your kind aunt, Dutchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

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,
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 Northumberland,
And of their feather many more proud birds,
Have wrought * ^note
the easy-melting King, like wax.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath inrolled 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.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong;
Now if the help of Norfolk and myself,
With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, Via! to London will we march amain,
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,

And once again cry, Charge upon our foes!—
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 sun shine day,
That cries, retire,—if Warwick bid him stay.

Edw.
Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean,
And when thou fail'st, (as God forbid the hour!)
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend!

War.
No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York;
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,
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown;
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.

Rich.
Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,
As thou hast shewn them it flinty by thy deeds,
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.

Edw.
Then strike up, drums; God and St. George for us! Enter a Messenger.

War.
How now? what news?

Mes.
The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,
The Queen is coming with a puissant host;
And craves your company for speedy counsel.

War.
^{8 note}Why then it sorts; brave warriors, let's away. [Exeunt omnes.

SCENE III. Changes to York. Enter King Henry, the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland, and the Prince of Wales, with Drums and Trumpets.

Queen.
Welcome, my Lord, to this brave town of York
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,
That sought to be encompast with your crown.
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my Lord?

K. Henry.
Ay, as the rocks cheer them, that fear their wreck.
To see this sight, it irks my very soul.
—With-hold revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault,
Nor 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.
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;
And doves will peck in safeguard 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, blest with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argu'd thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young;
And tho' man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,

Who hath not seen them (even with those wings,
Which sometimes 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 birth-right by his father's fault,
And long hereafter say unto his child,
What my great grandfather and grandsire got,
My careless father fondly gave away!
Ah, what a shame was 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. Henry.
Full well hath Clifford plaid the orator,
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,
That things ill got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son,
* ^noteWhose father 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,
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.
Ah, Cousin York; 'would, thy best friends did know,
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

Queen.
My Lord, cheer up your spirits, our foes are nigh;
And this soft courage makes your followers faint;
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son,
Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.
Edward, kneel down.

K. Henry.
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,

And in that quarrel use it to the death.

Clif.
Why, that is spoken like a toward Prince. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
Royal commanders, be in readiness;
For, with a band of thirty thousand 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.
* ^noteDarraign your battle, for they are at hand.

Clif.
I would, your highness would depart the field,
The Queen hath best success, when you are absent.

Queen.
Ay, good my Lord, and leave us to our fortune.

K. Henry.
Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.

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, St. George! SCENE IV. March. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard, Clarence, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers.

Edw.
Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace,
And set thy Diadem upon my head;
Or 'bide the mortal fortune of the field?

Queen.
Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy.
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
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 broke, for, as I hear,
You that are King, though he do wear the crown,

Have caus'd him by new act of parliament
To blot out me, and put his own son in.

Clif.
And reason too.
Who should succeed the father, but the son?

Rich.
Are you there, butcher?—O, I cannot speak.

Clif.
Ay, Crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,
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 satisfy'd.

Rich.
For God's sake, Lords, give signal to the fight.

War.
What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?

Queen.
Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick, dare you speak?
When you and I met at St. Albans last,
Your legs did better service than your hands.

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.

North.
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?

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. Henry.
Have done with words, my Lords, and hear me speak.

Queen.
Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.

K. Henry.
I pry'thee, 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'd* ^note
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.

Edw.
Say, Henry, shall I have 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.

Prince.
If that be right, which Warwick says is right,
There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

Rich.
Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands,
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

Queen.
But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam,
But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatick,
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
As venomous toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.

Rich.
Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,
Whose father bears the title of a King,
As if a channel should be call'd the sea,
Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,
† ^noteTo let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?

Edw.
^{9 note}A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns,
To make this shameless Callat know herself6Q0184.
—Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
Although thy husband may be Menelaus;
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
By that false woman, as this King by thee.
His father revell'd in the heart of France,
And tam'd the King, and made the Dauphin stoop,

And had he matcht 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,
Even then that sun-shine brew'd a show'r for him,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
And heap'd sedition on his Crown at home.
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride?
Hadst thou been meek, our Title still had slept,
And we, in pity of the gentle King,
Had slipt our claim until another age.

Cla.
But when ^{1 note}
we saw, our sun-shine made thy spring,
And that thy summer bred us no increase,
We set the ax to thy usurping root;
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,
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.

Queen.
Stay, Edward—

Edw.
No, wrangling Woman, we'll no longer stay.
These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. [Exeunt omnes.

SCENE V. Changes to a Field of Battle at Ferribridge in Yorkshire. Alarm. Excursions. Enter Warwick.

War.
Fore-spent with toil, as runners with a race,
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;
And, spight of spight, needs must I rest a while. Enter Edward running.

Edw.
Smile, gentle heav'n! or strike, ungentle death!
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.

War.
How now, my Lord, what hap? what hope of good? Enter Clarence.

Cla.
Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair;
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.
What counsel give you? whither shall we fly?

Edw.
Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. Enter Richard.

Rich.
Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
* ^noteThy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,

Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance,
And in the very pangs of death he cry'd,
(Like to a dismal clangor heard from far)
Warwick, revenge; brother, revenge my death.
So underneath the belly of their steeds,
That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoaking blood,
The noble Gentleman gave up the ghost.

War.
Then let the Earth be drunken with our blood;
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage,
And look upon, as if the Tragedy
Were plaid in jest by counterfeiting Actors?
Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never pause again, never stand still,
Till either Death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
Or Fortune give me measure of revenge.

Edw.
O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine,
And in this vow do chain my soul with thine.
And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou Setter up, and Plucker down, of Kings!
Beseeching thee, if with thy will it stands
That to my foes this body must be prey,
Yet that thy brazen gates of heav'n may ope,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul.—
Now, Lords, take leave until we meet again;
Where-e'er it be, in heaven or on earth.

Rich.
Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick,
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms,
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe;
That winter should cut off our spring time so.

War.
Away, away. Once more, sweet Lords, farewel.

Cla.
Yet let us all together to our troops,
And give them leave to fly, that will not stay,
And call them pillars that will stand to us,
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
As Victors wear at the Olympian Games.
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts,
For yet is hope of life and victory.
—Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain. [Exeunt. Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford.

Rich.
Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone;
Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,
And this for Rutland, both bound to revenge,
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

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.

Rich.
Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase,
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Alarm. Enter King Henry alone.

K. Henry.
This battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light,

What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
Now sways it this way like a mighty sea
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind.
Sometime the flood prevails; and then the wind;
Now, one the better, then another best,
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered,
So is the equal poize of this fell war.
Here on this mole-hill will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret my Queen and Clifford too
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead, if God's good will were so,
For what is in this world but grief and woe?
O God! methinks it were a happy life^{2 note}
To be no better than a homely swain,
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials queintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run,
How many make the hour full compleat,
How many hours bring about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the time;
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young;

So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So many months ere I shall sheer the fleece;
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years,
Past over, to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah! what a life were this! how sweet, how lovely!
Gives not the haw-thorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich-embroider'd canopy
To Kings, that fear their subjects' treachery?
O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.
And, to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a Prince's delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched on a curious bed,
When care, mistrust and treasons wait on him. SCENE VII. Alarm. Enter a Son that had kill'd his Father.* ^note

Son.
Ill blows the wind, that profits no body.—
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
May be possessed with some store of crowns;
And I that haply take them from him now,
May yet, ere night, yield both my life and them
To some man else, as this dead man doth me.
—Who's this! oh God! it is my father's face,
Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd:
Oh heavy times, begetting such events!
From London by the King was I prest forth;
My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man,
Came on the part of York, prest by his master;
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,
Have by my hands of life bereaved him.

Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did;
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee.
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks,
And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill.

K. Henry.
O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear;
And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,^{3 note}

Be blind with tears, and break o'er-charg'd with grief. Enter a Father bearing his Son.

Fath.
Thou, that so stoutly hast resisted me,
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold,
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
But let me see—Is this our foe-man's face?
Ah, no, no, no, it is my only son!
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
Throw up thine eyes; see, see, what showers arise,
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart.
O pity, God, this miserable age!
^{4 note}What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
O boy! thy father gave thee life too soon,^{5 note}

And hath bereft thee of thy life too late.

K. Henry.
Woe above woe; grief, more than common grief;
O, that my death would stay these rueful deeds!
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses.
The one his purple blood right well resembles,
The other his pale cheek, methinks, presenteth.
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.

Son.
How will my mother, for a father's death,
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfy'd?

Fath.
How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,
Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfy'd?

K. Henry.
How will the country, for these woful chances,
Mis-think the King, and not be satisfy'd?

Son.
Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death?

Fath.
Was ever father, so bemoan'd his son?

K. Henry.
Was ever King, so griev'd for subjects' woe?
Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much.

Son.
I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. [Exit.

Fath.
These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet,
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre;
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell,
And so obsequious will thy father be,^{6 note}

Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
* ^noteAs Priam was for all 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.

K. Henry.
Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
Here sits a King more woful than you are. SCENE VIII. Alarms. Excursions. Enter the Queen, Prince of Wales, and Exeter.

Prince.
Fly, father, fly, for all your friends are fled;
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull.
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

Queen.
Mount you, my Lord, towards Berwick post amain.
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steel graspt in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.

Exe.
Away, for vengeance comes along with them.
—Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
Or else come after, I'll away before.

K. Henry.
Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter;
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the Queen intends. Forward, away! [Exeunt. SCENE IX. A loud Alarm. Enter Clifford wounded.

Clif.
Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
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 glew'd many friends to thee; [Falling.
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt,^{7 note}
Impairing Henry, strengthn'ing mis-proud York.
The common People swarm like summer flies;
And whither fly the gnats, but to the Sun?
And who shines now, but Henry's enemies?
O Phœbus! hadst thou never giv'n consent
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning Car had never 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,
They never then had sprung like summer flies.
I, and ten thousand in this luckless Realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death;
And thou this day hadst kept thy Chair in peace.
For what doth cherish Weeds, but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold our flight.^{8 note}

The foe is merciless, and will not pity,
For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity.
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;
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. [He faints. Alarm and Retreat. Enter Edward, Warwick, Richard, Montague, Clarence, and Soldiers.

Edw.
Now breathe we, Lords, good fortune bids us pause;

And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen,
That led calm Henry, though he were a King,
As doth a Sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
Command an Argosie to stem the waves.
But think you, Lords, that Clifford fled with them?

War.
No, 'tis impossible he should escape:
For though before his face I speak the word,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:
And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. [Clifford groans.

Rich.
Whose soul is that which takes her hearty leave?
A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.^{9 note}
See who it is.

Edw.
And now the battle's ended,
If friend or foe, let him be gently used.

Rich.
Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch,
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth;
But set his murd'ring knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring;
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;
Instead whereof, let his supply the room.
Measure for Measure must be answered.

Edw.
Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our House,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours;
Now death shall stop his dismal threatning sound,
And his ill-boading tongue no more shall speak.

War.
I think, his understanding is bereft.
—Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?

Dark cloudy death o'er-shades his beams of life,
And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say.

Rich.
O, 'would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth.
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts,
As in the time of death he gave our father.

Cla.
If so thou think'st, vex him with * ^noteeager words.

Rich.
Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.

Edw.
Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

War.
Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.

Cla.
While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.

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

Edw.
Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.

Cla.
Where's Captain Margaret to fence you now?

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

Rich.
What, not an oath! nay, then the world goes hard,
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath,
I know by that, he's dead; and, by my soul,
If this right hand would buy but two hours' life,
That I in all despight might rail at him,
This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing blood
Stifle the villain, whose unstanched 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,
From whence shall Warwick cut the Sea to France,
And ask the lady Bona for thy Queen;
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together.
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 t'offend thine ears.
First, will I see the Coronation,

And then to Britany I'll cross the sea,
T'effect this marriage, so it please my Lord.

Edw.
Ev'n as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;
For on thy shoulder do I build my Seat:
And never will I undertake the thing,
Wherein thy counsel, and consent, is wanting.
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Glo'ster;
And George, of Clarence; Warwick as ourself
Shall do and undo, as him pleaseth best.

Rich.
Let me be Duke of Clarence; George, of Glo'ster;
For Glo'ster's Dukedom is too ominous.

War.
Tut, that's a foolish observation.
Richard, be Duke of Glo'ster. Now to London,
To see these honours in possession. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. A Wood in Lancashire. Enter Sinklo and Humphry, with cross-bows in their hands.

Sinklo.
Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves,
For through this laund anon the Deer will come,
And in this covert will we make our Stand,
Culling the principal of all the Deer.

Hum.
I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.

Sink.
That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost;
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best,
And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befel me on a day,
In this self-place where now we mean to stand.

Hum.
Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past.

Enter King Henry with a prayer-book.

K. Henry.
From Scotland am I stol'n ev'n of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine,
Thy place is fill'd, thy scepter wrung from thee;
Thy balm washt off,^{1 note}

Sink.
Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee.
This is the quondam King, let's seize upon him.

K. Henry.
Let me embrace these four Adversities;
For wise men say, it is the wisest course.

Hum.
Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

Sink.
Forbear a while, we'll hear a little more.

K. Henry.
My Queen and Son are gone to France for aid,
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone to crave the French King's Sister
To wife for Edward. If this news be true,
Poor Queen and Son! your labour is but lost,
For Warwick is a subtle orator,
And Lewis, a Prince soon won with moving words.
—By this account, then, Margaret may win him,
For she's a woman to be pitied much;
Her sighs will make a batt'ry in his breast,
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart,
The Tyger will be mild, while she doth mourn,
And Nero would be tainted with remorse,
To hear, and see her plaints, her brinish tears.
—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;
That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more,
While Warwick tells his Title, smooths the wrong,
* ^note
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,
And in conclusion wins the King from her,
With promise of his sister, and what else,
To strengthen, and support King Edward's place.
—O Marg'ret, thus 'twill be, and thou, poor soul,
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn.

Hum.
Say, what art thou that talk'st of Kings and Queens?

K. Henry.
More than I seem, and less than I was born to;
A man at least, for less I should not be;
And men may talk of Kings, and why not I?

Hum.
Ay, but thou talk'st, as if thou wert a King.

K. Henry.
Why, so I am in mind, and that's enough.

Hum.
But if thou be a King, where is thy Crown?

K. Henry.
My Crown is in my heart, not on my head,
Not deck'd with Diamonds and Indian Stones,
Not to be seen; my Crown is call'd Content,
A Crown it is, that seldom Kings enjoy.

Hum.
Well, if you be a King crown'd with Content,
Your crown Content and you must be contented
To go along with us. For, as we think,
You are the King, King Edward hath depos'd,
And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance,
Will apprehend you as his enemy.

K. Henry.
But did you never swear, and break an oath?

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

K. Henry.
Where did you dwell when I was King of England?

Hum.
Here, in this country, where we now remain.

K. Henry.
I was anointed King at nine months old;
My father and my grandfather were Kings,
And you were sworn true subjects unto me;
And tell me then, have you not broke your oaths?

Sink.
No, we were subjects but while you were King.

K. Henry.
Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man?
Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear,
Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
And as the air blows it to me again,
Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
And yielding to another when it blows,
Commanded always by the greater gust,
Such is the lightness of you common men.
—But do not break your oaths, for of that sin
My mild intreaty shall not make you guilty.
Go where you will, the King shall be commanded,
And be you Kings, command, and I'll obey.

Sink.
We are true Subjects to the King, King Edward.

K. Henry.
So would you be again to Henry,
If he were seated as King Edward is.

Sink.
We charge you in God's name, and in the King's,
To go with us unto the officers.

K. Henry.
In God's name lead, your King's name be obey'd;
And what God will, that let your King perform;
And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Changes to the Palace. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, Clarence, and Lady Gray.

K. Edw.
Brother of Glo'ster, at St. Alban's field
This lady's husband, ^{2 note}Sir John Gray, was slain,
His land then seiz'd on by the Conqueror;
Her suit is now to repossess those lands,
Which we in justice cannot well deny,
Because, in quarrel of the house of York,
The worthy gentleman did lose his life.

Glo.
Your Highness shall do well to grant her suit,
It were dishonour to deny it her.

K. Edw.
It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.

Glo.
Yea! is it so? [Aside.
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.

K. Edw.
* ^noteWidow, we will consider of your suit,
And come some other time to know our mind.

Gray.
Right gracious Lord, I cannot brook delay.
May't please your Highness to resolve me now,
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.

Glo. [Aside.]
Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you all your lands,
And if what pleases him, shall pleasure you.
—Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow.

Clar. [Aside.]
I fear her not, unless she chance to fall.

Glo. [Aside.]
God forbid that! for he'll take vantages.

K. Edw.
How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.

Clar. [Aside.]
I think, he means to beg a child of her.

Glo. [Aside.]
Nay, whip me then: he'll rather give her two.

Gray.
Three, my most gracious Lord.

Glo. [Aside.]
You shall have four, if you'll be ruled by him.

K. Edw.
'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.

Gray.
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 you, for you will have leave;
Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. [Gloucester and Clarence retire to the other side.

K. Edw.
Now tell me, Madam, do you love your children?

Gray.
Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.

K. Edw.
And would you not do much to do them good?

Gray.
To do them good, I would sustain some harm.

K. Edw.
Then get your husband's lands to do them good.

Gray.
Therefore I came unto your Majesty.

K. Edw.
I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.

Gray.
So shall you bind me to your Highness' service.

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

Gray.
What you command, that rests in me to do.

K. Edw.
But you will take exceptions to my boon?

Gray.
No, gracious Lord, except I cannot do it.

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

Gray.
Why, then I will do what your Grace commands.

Glo.
He plies her hard, and much rain wears the marble.

Clar.
As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt.

Gray.
Why stops my Lord? shall I not hear my task?

K. Edw.
An easy task, 'tis but to love a King.

Gray.
That's soon perform'd, because I am a Subject.

K. Edw.
Why then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.

Gray.
I take my leave with many thousand thanks.

Glo.
The match is made, she seals it with a curt'sy.

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

Gray.
The fruits of love I mean, my loving Liege.

K. Edw.
Ay, but I fear me, in another sense.
What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get?

Gray.
My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;
That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants.

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

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

K. Edw.
But now you partly may perceive my mind.

Gray.
My mind will never grant what I perceive
Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright.

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

Gray.
To tell you plain, I'd rather lie in prison.

K. Edw.
Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.

Gray.
Why, then my honesty shall be my dower;
For by that loss I will not purchase them.

K. Edw.
Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.

Gray.
Herein your Highness wrongs both them and me.
But, mighty Lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadness of my suit;
Please you dismiss me, or with ay, or no.

K. Edw.
Ay, if thou wilt say, Ay, to my request:

No; if thou dost say, No, to my demand.

Gray.
Then, No, my Lord. My suit is at an end.

Glo.
The widow likes him not, she knits her brows.

Clar.
He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.

K. Edw. [Aside.]
Her looks do argue her replete with modesty.
Her words do shew her wit incomparable,
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?

Gray.
'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.

Gray.
And that is more than I will yield unto.
I know, I am too mean to be your Queen;
And yet too good to be your Concubine.

K. Edw.
You cavil, Widow; I did mean, my Queen.

Gray.
'Twill grieve your Grace, my sons should call you father.

K. Edw.
No more than when my daughters call thee mother.
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;
And, by God's mother, I, being but a batchelor,
Have other some. Why, 'tis a happy thing,
To be the father unto many sons.
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my Queen.

Glo.
The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.

Clar.
When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift.

K. Edw.
Brothers, you muse what Chat we two have had.

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

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 lasts.

Glo.
By so much is the Wonder in extreams.

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,
And brought your prisoner to your Palace-gates.

K. Edw.
See, that he be convey'd unto the Tower:
And go we, Brothers, to the man that took him,
To question of his Apprehension.
—Widow, go you along—Lords, use her honourably. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Manet Gloucester.

Glo.
Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all,
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
To cross me from the golden time I look for.
And yet between my soul's desire and me,
The lustful Edward's Title buried,
Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward;
And all th' unlook'd-for issue of their bodies,
To take their rooms ere I can place myself.
A cold premeditation for my purpose!
Why, then I do but dream on Sov'reignty,
Like one that stands upon a promontory,
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,
And chides the Sea that sunders him from thence,

Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way;
So do I wish, the Crown being so far off,
And so I chide the means that keep me from it;
And so, I say, I'll cut the causes off,
Flatt'ring my mind with things impossible.
My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,
Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
—Well, say there is no Kingdom then for Richard,
What other pleasure can the world afford?
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And 'witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
Oh miserable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden Crowns.
Why, Love forswore me in my mother's womb;
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where sits deformity to mock my body;
To shape my legs of an unequal size;
To disproportion me in every part,
Like to a Chaos, or ^{3 note}unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impression like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd?
Oh, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
—Then since this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to check, ^{4 note}
to o'er-bear such
As are of better person than myself;

I'll make my heav'n to dream upon the Crown;
And, while I live, t'account this world but Hell,
Until the mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head,
Be round impaled with a glorious Crown.
And yet I know not how to get the Crown,
For many lives stand between me and home,
And I, like one lost in a thorny wood,
That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns,
Seeking a way, and straying from the way,
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling desp'rately to find it out,
Torment myself to catch the English Crown.
And from that torment I will free myself,
Or hew my way out with a bloody ax.
Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile;
And cry, Content, to that which grieves my heart;
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions.
I'll drown more sailors, than the Mermaid shall;
I'll slay more gazers, than the Basilisk;
I'll play the orator, as well as Nestor;
Deceive more slily, than Ulysses could;
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.
I can add colours ev'n to the Camelion;
Change shapes with Proteus, for advantages;
^{5 note}

SCENE IV. Changes to France. Flourish. Enter King Lewis, Lady Bona, Bourbon. Edward Prince of Wales, Queen Margaret, and the Earl of Oxford. Lewis sits, and riseth up again.

K. Lewis.
Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,
Sit down with us; it ill befits thy State,
And Birth, that thou shouldst stand, while Lewis sits.

Queen.
No, mighty King of France; now Margaret
Must strike her sail, and learn a while to serve,
Where Kings command. I was, I must confess,
Great Albion's Queen in former golden days,
But now mischance hath trod my Title down,
And with dishonour laid me on the ground;
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,
And to my humble Seat conform myself.

K. Lew.
Why, say, fair Queen, whence springs this deep despair?

Queen.
From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears;
And stops my tongue, while my heart's drown'd in cares.

K. Lew.
Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,
And sit thou by our side. Yield not thy neck [Seats her by him.
To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind
Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.

Queen.
Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts,
And give my tongue-ty'd sorrows leave to speak.
Now therefore be it known to noble Lewis,

That Henry, sole possessor of my love,
Is, of a King, become a banish'd man,
And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn;
While proud ambitious Edward, Duke of York,
Usurps the regal Title, and the Seat
Of England's true-anointed lawful King.
This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret,
With this my son Prince Edward, Henry's heir,
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid,
And, if thou fail us, all our hope is done.
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help.
Our People and our Peers are both mis-led,
Our Treasure seiz'd, our Soldiers put to flight,
And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.

K. Lew.
Renowned Queen, with patience calm the storm;
While we bethink a means to break it off.

Queen.
The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.

K. Lew.
The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee.

Queen.
^{6 note}

SCENE V. Enter Warwick.

K. Lew.
What's he, approacheth boldly to our Presence?

Queen.
Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.

K. Lew.
Welcome, brave Warwick. What brings thee to France? [He descends. She ariseth.

Queen.
Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;
For this is he, that moves both wind and tide.

War.
From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
My Lord and Sov'reign, 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.

Queen.
If that go forward, Henry's hope is done!

War.
And, gracious Madam, in our King's behalf, [Speaking to Bona.
I am commanded, with your leave and favour,
Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue
To tell the passion of my Sov'reign's heart.
Where fame, late ent'ring at his heedful ears,
Hath plac'd thy beauty's image and thy virtue's.

Queen.
King Lewis, and lady Bona, hear me speak,
Before you answer Warwick. His demand
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,
But from deceit bred by necessity;
For how can tyrants safely govern home,
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?
To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice,
That Henry liveth still; but were he dead,

Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son.
Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage
Thou draw not on thee danger and dishonour,
For tho' Usurpers sway the Rule a while,
Yet heav'ns 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
Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest;
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
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.

Oxf.
Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy Liege,
Whom thou obeyedst thirty and six years,
And not bewray thy treason with a blush?

War.
Can Oxford, that did ever fence the Right,
Now buckler falshood with a Pedigree?
For shame, leave Henry, and call Edward King.

Oxf.
Call him my King, by whose injurious doom
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,
When nature brought him to the door of death?
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,
Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside,
While I use farther conference with Warwick.

Queen.
Heav'ns grant, that Warwick's words bewitch him not! [They stand aloof.

K. Lew.
Now, Warwick, tell me ev'n upon thy conscience,
Is Edward your true King? for I were loth
To link with him, that were not lawful chosen.

War.
Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.

K. Lew.
But is he gracious in the people's eyes?

War.
The more, that Henry was unfortunate.

K. Lew.
Then further; all dissembling set aside,
Tell me for truth the measure of his love
Unto our sister Bona.

War.
Such it seems,
As may beseem a Monarch like himself;
Myself have often heard him say, and swear,
^{7 note}That this his love was an eternal plant,
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground,
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun,
^{8 note}Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,
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, that often ere this day, [Speaking to War.

When I have heard your King's desert recounted,
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.

K. Lew.
Then, Warwick, this. Our sister shall be Edward's.
And now forthwith shall articles be drawn
Touching the jointure that your King must make,
Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd.
Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness,
That Bona shall be wife to th' English King.

Prince.
To Edward, but not to the English King.

Queen.
Deceitful Warwick, it was thy device
By this alliance to make void my suit;
Before thy Coming, Lewis was Henry's friend.

K. Lew.
And still is friend to him and Margaret;
But if your Title to the Crown be weak,
As may appear by Edward's good success,
Then 'tis but reason, that I be releas'd
From giving aid, which late I promised.
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand,
That your estate requires, and mine can yield.

War.
Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease,
Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.
And as for you yourself, our quondam Queen,
* ^noteYou have a father able to maintain you;
And better 'twere, you troubled him than France.

Queen.
Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, peace!
Proud setter-up and puller-down of Kings!
I will not hence, till with my talk and tears,
Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold
^{9 note}Thy sly conveyance, and thy Lord's false love; [Post, blowing a horn within.
For both of you are birds of self-same feather.

K. Lew.
Warwick, this is some Post to us, or thee.

SCENE VI. Enter a Post.

Post.
My Lord Ambassador, these letters are for you; [To Warwick.
Sent from your brother, Marquis Montague.
—These, from our King unto your Majesty. [To K. Lew.
—And, Madam, these for you; from whom I know not. [To the Queen. 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.
I hope, all's for the best.

K. Lew.
Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, fair Queen?

Queen.
Mine such, as fills my heart with unhop'd joys.

War.
Mine full of sorrow and heart's discontent.

K. Lew.
What! has your King marry'd the lady Gray?
And now, to sooth your forgery and his,
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?
Is this th' alliance, that he seeks with France?
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?

Queen.
I told your Majesty as much before;
This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty.

War.
King Lewis, I here protest in sight of heav'n,
And by the hope I have of heav'nly 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 death?

^{1 note}Did I let pass th' abuse done to my Niece?
Did I impale him with the regal Crown?
Did I put Henry from his native Right?
And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame?
Shame on himself, for my desert is honour!
And to repair my honour lost for him,
I here renounce him, and return to Henry.
—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.

Queen.
Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love,
And I forgive and quite forget old faults,
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,
And, as for Clarence, as my letters tell me,
He's very likely now to fall from him,
For matching more for wanton lust than honour,
Or than for strength and safety of our Country.

Bona.
Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd,
But by thy help to this distressed Queen?

Queen.
Renowned Prince, how shall poor Henry live,
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?

Bona.
My quarrel, and this English Queen's, are one.

War.
And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours.

K. Lew.
And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's.
Therefore at last I firmly am resolv'd
You shall have aid.

Queen.
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,
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers,
To revel it with him and his new bride.
Thou seest what's past, ^{2 note}go fear thy King withal.

Bona.
Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
I wear the willow garland for his sake.

Queen.
Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside;
And I am ready to put armour on.

War.
Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong;
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.
—There's thy reward, be gone.— [Exit Post.

K. Lew.
But, Warwick,
Thyself and Oxford with five thousand men
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle.
And, as occasion serves, this noble Queen
And prince shall follow with a fresh supply.
Yet ere thou go, but answer me one doubt:
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?

War.
This shall assure my constant loyalty,
That if our Queen and this young Prince agree,
I'll join my younger daughter and my joy,^{3 note}

To him forthwith, in holy wedlock' bands.

Queen.
Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion.
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous;
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick,
And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable,
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.

Prince.
Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it,
And here to pledge my vow, I give my hand. [He gives his hand to Warwick.

K. Lew.
Why stay we now; these soldiers shall be levy'd,
And thou, Lord Bourbon, our High Admiral,
Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet.
I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance,
For mocking marriage with a Dame of France. [Exeunt. Manet Warwick.

War.
I came from Edward as ambassador,
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 Stale 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.

ACT IV. SCENE I. The Palace in England. Enter Gloucester, Clarence, Somerset and Montague.

Gloucester.
Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you
Of this new marriage with the lady Gray?
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?

Clar.
Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France:
How could he stay till Warwick made Return?

Som.
My Lords, forbear this talk. Here comes the King. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Lady Gray as Queen, Pembroke, Stafford, and Hastings: Four stand on one side, and four on the other.

Glo.
And his well chosen bride.

Cla.
I mind to tell him plainly what I think.

K. Edw.
Now, brother Clarence, how like you our choice,
That you stand pensive, as half malecontent?

Clar.
As well as Lewis of France, or th' Earl of Warwick,
Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment,
That they'll take no offence at our abuse.

K. Edw.
Suppose, they take offence without a cause.
They are but Lewis and Warwick, and I am Edward,
Your King and Warwick's, and must have my will.

Glo.
And you shall have your will, because our King.
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

K. Edw.
Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?

Glo.
Not I; no. God forbid that I should wish
Them severed whom God hath join'd together;

Pity to sunder them, that yoke so well.

K. Edw.
Setting your scorns and your mislike aside,
Tell me some reason, why the Lady Gray
Should not become my wife, and England's Queen?
And you too, Somerset and Montague,
Speak freely what you think.

Clar.
Then, this is my opinion; that King Lewis
Becomes your enemy for mocking him
About the marriage of the lady Bona.

Glo.
And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,
Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.

K. Edw.
What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd,
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
'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred marriage.

Hast.
Why, knows not Montague, that of itself
England is safe, if true within itself?

Mont.
Yes; but the safer, when 'tis back'd with France.

Hast.
'Tis better using France, than trusting France.
Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas,^{4 note}
Which he hath given for fence impregnable,
And with their helps alone defend ourselves:
In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies.

Clar.
For this one speech, Lord Hastings well deserves
To have the Heir of the Lord Hungerford.

K. Edw.
Ay, what of that? it was my will and Grant,
And for this once my will shall stand for law.

Glo.
And yet, methinks, your Grace hath not done well,
To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales

Unto the brother of your loving bride.
She better would have fitted Me, or Clarence;
But in your bride you bury brotherhood.

Clar.
Or else you * ^notewould not have bestow'd the heir
Of the Lord Bonvil on your new wife's son,
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.

K. Edw.
Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife
That thou art malecontent? I will provide thee.

Clar.
In chusing for yourself, you shew'd your judgment;
Which being shallow, you shall give me Leave
To play the broker in mine own hehalf;
And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you.

K. Edw.
Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be King.
And not be ty'd unto his brother's will.

Queen.
My Lords, before it pleas'd his Majesty
To raise my state to Title of a Queen,
Do me but right, and you must all confess
That I was not ignoble of Descent;
And meaner than myself have had like fortune.
But as this Title honours me and mine,
So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing,
Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.

K. Edw.
My Love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns;
What danger, or what sorrow, can befal thee,
So long as Edward is thy constant friend,
And their true Sovereign, whom they must obey?
Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too,
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands,
Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe,
And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.

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

SCENE II. Enter a Post.

K. Edw.
Now, Messenger, what letters or what news from France?

Post.
My Sovereign Liege, no letters, and few words;
But such as I, without your special pardon,
Dare not relate.

K. Edw.
Go to, we pardon thee.
So tell their words, as near as thou canst guess them.
What answer makes King Lewis to our letters?

Post.
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.
But what said lady Bona to my marriage?

Post.
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;
She had the wrong. But what said Henry's Queen?
For so I heard, that she was there in place.

Post.
Tell him, quoth she, my mourning weeds are done;
And I am ready to put armour on.

K. Edw.
Belike, she means to play the Amazon.
But what said Warwick to these injuries?

Post.
He, more incens'd against your Majesty
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?
Well, I will arm me, being thus fore-warn'd:
They shall have wars, and pay for their presumption.
But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?

Post.
Ay, gracious Sov'reign, they're so link'd in friendship,
That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter. [Exit.

Clar.
Belike the younger; Clarence will have the elder.^{5 note}
—Now, brother King, farewel, and sit you fast,
For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter;
That though I want a Kingdom, yet in Marriage
I may not prove inferior to yourself.
—You, * ^notethat love me and Warwick, follow me. [Exit Clarence, and Somerset follows.

Glo.
Not I: my thoughts aim at a further matter:
I stay not for love of Edward, but the Crown. [Aside.

K. Edw.
Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick?
Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen;
And haste is needful in this desp'rate case.
Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf
Go levy men, and make prepare for war;
They are already, or will soon be landed;
Myself in person will strait follow you. [Exe. Pembroke and Stafford.
But ere I go, Hastings and Montague,
Resolve my doubt: You twain, of all the rest,
Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance;
Tell me, if you love Warwick more than me?
If it be so, then both depart to him,
I rather wish you foes, than hollow friends.
But if you mind to hold your true obedience,
Give me assurance with some friendly vow,
That I may never have you in suspect.

Mon.
So God help Montague, as he proves true!

Hast.
And Hastings, as he favours Edward's Cause!

K. Edw.
Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?

Glo.
Ay, in despight of all that shall withstand you.

K. Edw.
Why so. Then am I sure of victory.
Now therefore let us hence, and lose no hour,
'Till we meet Warwick with his foreign Power. [Exe. SCENE III. In Warwickshire. Enter Warwick and Oxford, with French Soldiers.

War.
Trust me, my Lord, all hitherto goes well;
The common people swarm by numbers 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 cowardise
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, friend, my daughter shall be thine.
And now what rests, but in * ^notenight's overture,
Thy brother being carelesly encamp'd,
His soldiers lurking in the towns about,^{6 note}


And but attended by a simple guard,

We may surprize and take him at our pleasure?
Our scouts have found th'adventure very easy;
That as Ulysses and stout Diomede
With slight and manhood stole to Rhesus' Tents,
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,
* ^noteSo we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,
At unawares may beat down Edward's guard,
And seize himself, I say not slaughter him,
For I intend but only to surprize him.
You, that will follow me to this attempt,
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 George! [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Enter the Watchmen to guard the King's Tent.

1 Watch.
Come on, my masters, each man take his Stand:
The King by this has set him down to sleep.

2 Watch.
What, will he not to bed?

1 Watch.
Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow,
Never to lie and take his natural Rest,
Till Warwick or himself be quite supprest.

2 Watch.
To morrow then, belike, shall be the day;
If Warwick be so near, as men report.

3 Watch.
But say, I pray, what Nobleman is that,
That with the King here resteth in his tent?

1 Watch.
'Tis the Lord Hastings, the King's chiefest friend.

3 Watch.
O, is it so?—But why commands the King,
That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,
While he himself keepeth in the cold field?

2 Watch.
'Tis the more honour, because the more dangerous.

3 Watch.
Ay, but give me worship and quietness;
I like it better than a dang'rous honour.
If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,
'Tis to be doubted, he would waken him.

1 Watch.
Unless our halberds did shut up his passage.

2 Watch.
Ay; wherefore else guard we this royal tent,
But to defend his person from night-foes? Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, and French Soldiers, silent all.

War.
This is his tent; and see, where stands his guard.
—Courage, my masters: honour now, or never!
But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.

1 Watch.
Who goes there?

2 Watch.
Stay, or thou diest. [Warwick and the rest cry all, Warwick! Warwick! and set upon the Guard; who fly, crying, Arms! Arms! Warwick and the rest following them. The Drum beating, and Trumpets sounding. Enter Warwick, Somerset, and the rest, bringing the King out in a gown, sitting in a chair; Glo'ster and Hastings flying over the Stage.

Som.
What are they that fly there?

War. Richard and Hastings.
Let them go, here is the Duke.

K. Edw.
The Duke! why, Warwick, when we parted,
Thou call'dst me King?

War.
Ay, but the case is alter'd.
When you disgrac'd me in my ambassade,
Then I degraded you from being King;
* ^note
And come now to create you Duke of York.
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,
Nor how to study for the people's welfare,
Nor how to shrowd yourself from enemies?

K. Edw.
Brother of Clarence, and art thou here too?
Nay, then I see, that Edward needs must down.
Yet, Warwick, in despight of all mischance,
Of thee thyself, and all thy complices,
Edward will always bear himself as King;
Though fortune's malice overthrow my state,
My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.

War.
Then, for his mind, be Edward England's King, [Takes off his Crown.
But Henry now shall wear the English crown,
And be true King, indeed; thou but the shadow.
—My Lord of Somerset, at my request,
See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd
Unto my brother, archbishop of York.
When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows,
I'll follow you, and tell you what reply
Lewis and Lady Bona sent to him.
—Now for a while farewel, good Duke of York.

K. Edw.
What fates impose, that men must needs abide;
It boots not to resist both wind and tide. [Exit King Edward led out.

Oxf.
What now remains, my Lords, for us to do,
But march to London with our soldiers?

War.
Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do;
To free King Henry from imprisonment,
And see him seated in the regal throne. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. The Palace. Enter Rivers and the Queen.

Riv.
Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?

Queen.
Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn,
What late misfortune has befaln King Edward?

Riv.
What! loss of some pitcht 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 now 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.

Queen.
Till then fair hope must hinder life's decay.
And I the rather wean me from despair,
For love of Edward's off-spring in my womb,
This is't, that makes me bridle in my 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 th' English crown.

Riv.
But, Madam, where is Warwick then become?

Queen.
I am informed that he comes tow'rds 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. SCENE VI. A Park near Middleham-Castle in Yorkshire. Enter Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and Sir William Stanley.

Glo.
Now, my Lord Hastings, and Sir William Stanley,
Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither,
Into the chiefest thicket of the park.
Thus stands the case. You know, our King, my brother,
Is pris'ner to the bishop, at whose hands,
He hath good usage and great liberty;
And often but attended with weak guard
Comes hunting this way to disport himself.
I have advertis'd him by secret means,
That if about this hour he make his way,
Under the colour of his usual game;
He shall here find his friends with horse and men,
To set him free from his captivity. Enter King Edward and a Huntsman with him.

Hunt.
This way, my Lord, for this way lies the game.

K. Edw.
Nay, this way, man; see where the huntsmen stand.
Now, brother Glo'ster, Hastings, and the rest,
Stand you thus close to steal the bishop's deer?

Glo.
Brother, the time and case requireth haste,
Your horse stands ready by at the park-corner.

K. Edw.
But whither shall we then?

Hast.
To Lyn, my Lord,
And ship from thence to Flanders.

Glo.
Well guess'd, believe me, for that was my meaning.

K. Edw.
Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.

Glo.
But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to talk.

K. Edw.
Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou go along?

Hunt.
Better do so, than tarry and be hang'd.

Glo.
Come then away, let's ha' no more ado.

K. Edw.
Bishop, farewel; shield thee from Warwick's frown;
And pray, that I may repossess the crown. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. Changes to the Tower in London. Enter King Henry, Clarence, Warwick, Somerset, young Richmond, Oxford, Montague, and Lieutenant of the Tower.

K. Henry.
Mr. Lieutenant, now that God and friends
Have shaken Edward from the regal seat,
And turn'd my captive state to liberty,
My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys,
At our enlargement what are thy due fees?

Lieu.
Subjects may challenge nothing of their sovereigns,
But if an humble prayer may prevail,
I then crave pardon of your Majesty.

K. Henry.
For what, lieutenant? for well using me?
Nay, be thou sure, I'll well requite thy kindness,
For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure,
Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds
Conceive, when after many moody thoughts,
At last, by notes of houshold harmony,
They quite forget their loss of liberty.

—But Warwick, after God, thou sett'st me free,
And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee,
He was the author, thou the instrument.
Therefore that I may conquer fortune's spight,
By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me;
And that the people of this blessed land
May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars;
Warwick, although my head still wear the crown,
I here resign my government to thee,
For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.

War.
Your grace has still been fam'd for virtuous,
And now may seem as wise as virtuous,
By spying and avoiding fortune's malice;
For few men rightly temper with the stars;^{7 note}
Yet in this one thing let me blame your Grace,
For chusing me, when Clarence is in place.

Clar.
No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway,
To whom the heav'ns in thy nativity
Adjudg'd an olive branch and lawrel crown,
As likely to be blest in peace and war;
And therefore I yield thee my free consent.

War.
And I chuse Clarence only for protector.

K. Henry.
Warwick and Clarence, give me both your hands;
Now join your hands and with your hands, your hearts;
That no dissention hinder government
I make you both protectors of this land,
While I myself will lead a private life,
And in devotion spend my latter days
To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise.

War.
What answers Clarence to his sov'reign's will?

Clar.
That he consents, if Warwick yield consent;
For on thy fortune I repose myself.

War.
Why then, though loth, yet must I be content:

We'll yoke together, like a double shadow
To Henry's body, and supply his place;
I mean, in bearing weight of government,
While he enjoys the honour, and his ease.
And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful,
Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor;
And all his lands and goods confiscated.

Clar.
What else? and that succession be determin'd.

War.
Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.

K. Henry.
But with the first of all our chief affairs,
Let me intreat, for I command no more,
That Margaret your Queen and my son Edward
Be sent for, to return from France with speed.
For till I see them here, by doubtful fear
My joy of liberty is half eclips'd.

Clar.
It shall be done, my sov'reign, with all speed.

K. Henry.
My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that,
Of whom you seem to have so tender care?

Som.
My Liege, it is young Henry, Earl of Richmond.

K. Henry.
Come hither, England's hope: if secret powers [Lays his hand on his head.
Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,
* ^noteThis pretty lad will prove our country's bliss.
His looks are full of peaceful majesty,
His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown,
His hand to wield a scepter, and himself
Likely in time to bless a regal throne.
Make much of him, my Lords; for this is he
Must help you more, than you are hurt by me. Enter a Post.

War.
What news, my friend?

Post.
That Edward is escaped from your brother,
And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.

War.
Unsavory news; but how made he escape?

Post.
He was convey'd by Richard Duke of Glo'ster,
And the Lord Hastings, who attended him
In secret ambush on the forest-side,
And from the bishop's huntsmen rescu'd him;
For hunting was his daily exercise.

War.
My brother was too careless of his charge.
—But let us hence, my sov'reign, to provide
A salve for any sore that may betide. [Exeunt. Manent Somerset, Richmond, and Oxford.

Som.
My Lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's:
For, doubtless, Burgundy will yield him help,
And we shall have more wars before't be long.
As Henry's late presaging prophesy
Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Richmond;
So doth my heart mis-give me, in these conflicts
What may befal him, to his harm and ours.
Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst,
Forthwith we'll send him hence to Britany,
Till storms be past of civil enmity.

Oxf.
Ay, for if Edward re-possess the crown,
'Tis like, that Richmond with the rest shall down.

Som.
It shall be so; he shall to Britany.
Come therefore, let's about it speedily. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Changes to York. Enter King Edward, Glocester, Hastings, and soldiers.

K. Edw.
Now, brother Richard, Hastings, and the rest,
Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,
And says, that once more I shall interchange
My wained state for Henry's regal crown.
Well have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas,

And brought desired help from Burgundy.
What then remains, we being thus arriv'd
From Ravenspurg, before the gates of York,
But that we enter, as into our Dukedom?

Glo.
The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this.
For many men, that stumble at the threshold,
Are well foretold that danger lurks within.

K. Edw.
Tush! man, aboadments must not now affright us:
By fair or foul means we must enter in,
For hither will our friends repair to us.

Hast.
My Liege, I'll knock once more to summon them. Enter, on the walls, the Mayor of York and his Brethren.

Mayor.
My Lords, we were forewarned of your coming,
And shut the gates for safety of ourselves;
For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.

K. Edw.
But, master Mayor, if Henry be your King,
Yet Edward, at the least, is Duke of York.

Mayor.
True, my good Lord, I know you for no less.

K. Edw.
Why, and I challenge nothing but my Dukedom;
As being well content with that alone.

Glo.
But when the fox has once got in his nose,
He'll soon find means to make the body follow. [Aside.

Hast.
Why, master Mayor, why stand you in a doubt?
Open the gates. We are King Henry's friends.

Mayor.
Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be open'd. [He descends.

Glo.
A wise stout captain, and persuaded soon!

Hast.
The good old man would fain that all were well,^{8 note}

So 'twere not 'long of him; but being enter'd,
I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade
Both him and all his brothers unto reason. Enter the Mayor, and two Aldermen.

K. Edw.
So, master Mayor, these gates must not be shut
But in the night, or in the time of war.
What, fear not, man, but yield me up the keys; [Takes his keys.
For Edward will defend the town and thee,
And all those friends that deign to follow me. March. Enter Montgomery, with Drum and Soldiers.

Glo.
Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery,
Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd.

K. Edw.
Welcome, Sir John; but why come you in arms?

Montg.
To help King Edward in his time of storm,
As every loyal subject ought to do.

K. Edw.
Thanks, good Montgom'ry; but we now forget
Our title to the crown, and only claim
Our Dukedom, till God please to send the rest.

Montg.
Then fare you well, for I will hence again;
I came to serve a King, and not a Duke.
—Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. [The Drum begins a March.

K. Edw.
Nay, stay, Sir John, a while; and we'll debate,
By what safe means the crown may be recover'd.

Montg.
What talk you of debating? in few words,
If you'll not here proclaim yourself our King,
I'll leave you to your fortune, and be gone
To keep them back that come to succour you.
Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title?

Glo.
Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?

K. Edw.
When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim:
'Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.

Hast.
Away with scrupulous wit, now arms must rule.

Glo.
And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
—Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand,
The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.

K. Edw.
Then be it, as you will, for 'tis my right,
And Henry but usurps the diadem.

Mont.
Ay, now my Sov'reign speaketh like himself:
And now will I be Edward's champion.

Hast.
Sound, trumpet, Edward shall be here proclaim'd:
Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. [Flourish.

Sold.

Edward the fourth, by the grace of God, King of England and France, and Lord of Ireland, &c.

Mont.
And whosoe'er gain-says King Edward's right,
By this I challenge him to single fight. [Throws down his Gauntlet.

All.
Long live Edward the fourth!

K. Edw.
Thanks, brave Montgomery; and thanks to all.
If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness.
Now, for this night, let's harbour here in York,
And when the morning sun shall raise his car
Above the border of this horizon,
We'll forward towards Warwick, and his mates;
For well I wot, that Henry is no soldier.
Ah, froward Clarence, evil it beseems thee
To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother!
Yet as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick.

Come on, brave soldiers, doubt not of the day,
And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. [Exeunt. SCENE IX. Changes again to London. Enter King Henry, Warwick, Montague, Clarence, Oxford, and Somerset.

War.
What counsel, Lords? Edward from Belgia,
With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders,
Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas;
And with his troops doth march amain to London;
And many giddy people flock to him.

K. Henry.
^{9 note}Let's levy men, and beat him back again.

Clar.
A little fire is quickly trodden out,
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,
Shalt stir, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,
The knights and gentlemen to come with thee.
Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,
Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find
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 Sov'reign, with the loving citizens,
Like to his island girt with th' ocean,

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.
—Farewel, my Sovereign.

K. Henry.
Farewel, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope.

Clar.
In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand.

K. Henry.
Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!

Mont.
Comfort, my Lord. And so I take my leave.

Oxf. [Kissing Henry's hand.]
And thus I seal my truth, and bid adieu.

K. Henry.
Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,
And all at once, once more a happy farewel.

War.
Farewel, sweet Lords; let's meet at Coventry. [Exeunt.

K. Henry.
Here at the palace will I rest a while.
Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your Lordship:
Methinks, the pow'r, that Edward hath in field,
Should not be able to encounter mine.

Exe.
The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest.

K. Henry.
That's not my fear, ^{1 note}my meed hath got me fame;
I have not stopt mine ears to their demands,
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays,
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,
My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears.
I have not been desirous of their wealth,
Nor much opprest them with great subsidies,
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd.
Then why should they love Edward more than me?
No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace,
And when the lion fawns upon the lamb,

The lamb will never cease to follow him. [Shout within. A Lancaster! a Lancaster!^{2 note}

Exe.
Hark, hark, my Lord, what shouts are these? Enter King Edward, and his Soldiers.

K. Edw.
Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him hence,
And once again proclaim us King of England.
—You are the fount, that make small brooks to flow,
Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry,
And swell so much the higher, by their ebb.
—Hence with him to the Tower, let him not speak. [Ex. with King Henry.
And, Lords, to Coventry bend we our course,
Where peremptory Warwick now remains.
The sun shines hot; and if we use delay,
Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay.

Glo.
Away betimes, before his forces join;
And take the great-grown traitor unawares:
Brave warriors, march amain tow'rds Coventry. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I. Before the Town of Coventry. Enter Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two Messengers and others, upon the walls.

Warwick.
Where is the Post, that came from valiant Oxford?
How far hence is thy Lord, mine honest fellow?

1 Mes.
By this at Dunsmore, marching hither-ward.

War.
How far off is our brother Montague?
—Where is the Post, that came from Montague?

2 Mes.
By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. Enter Somerville.

War.
Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?
And by thy guess how nigh is Clarence now?

Somerv.
At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
And do expect him here some two hours hence.

War.
Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.

Somerv.
It is not his, my Lord; here Southam lies.
The drum, your Honour hears, marcheth from Warwick.

War.
Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends.

Somerv.
They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. March. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, and Soldiers.

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

Glo.
See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall.

War.
Oh, unbid spight! is sportful Edward come?
Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduc'd,
That we could hear no news of his repair?

K. Edw.
Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city-gates,
Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee?
Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy,
And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

War.
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?

War.
Is not a Dukedom, Sir, a goodly gift?

Glo.
Ay, by my faith, for a poor Earl to give:
I'll do thee service for so good a gift.

War.
'Twas I, that gave the Kingdom to thy brother.

K. Edw.
Why, then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.

War.
Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight,
And, Weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
And Henry is my King, Warwick his subject.

K. Edw.
But Warwick's King is Edward's prisoner;
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this,
What is the body when the head is off?

Glo.
Alas! that Warwick had no more fore-cast,
But while he thought to steal the single ten,
The King was slily finger'd from the Deck;
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.

K. Edw.
'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.

Glo.
Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down, kneel down.
Nay, when? Strike now, or else the iron cools.

War.
I'd rather chop this hand off at a blow,

And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.

K. Edw.
Sail, how thou canst; have wind and tide thy friend;
This hand fast wound about thy coal-black hair
Shall, while thy head is warm and new cut off,
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood;
Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more. SCENE II. Enter Oxford, with drum and colours.

War.
O chearful colours! see, where Oxford comes!

Oxf.
Oxford! Oxford! for Lancaster!

Glo.
The gates are open, let us enter too.

K. Edw.
So other foes may set upon our backs.
Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt,
Will issue out again and bid us battle:
If not, the city being of small defence,
We'll quickly rouze 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!

Glo.
Thou, and thy brother both, shall buy this treason
Ev'n with the dearest blood your bodies bear.

K. Edw.
The harder match'd, the greater victory;
My mind presageth happy gain and conquest. Enter Somerset, with drum and colours.

Som.
Somerset! Somerset! for Lancaster!

Glo.
Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
Have sold their lives unto the house of York,
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.

Enter Clarence, with drum and colours.

War.
And lo! where George of Clarence sweeps along,
Of force enough to bid his brother battle,
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails
More than the nature of a brother's love.
Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call— [A Parley is sounded; Richard and Clarence whisper together; and then Clarence takes his red rose out of his hat, and throws it at Warwick.]^{3 note}

Cla.
Father of Warwick, know you what this means?
Look, here, I throw my infamy at thee.
I will not ruinate my father's house,
Who gave his blood * ^noteto lime the stones together,
And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick,
That Clarence is so harsh, so † ^noteblunt, unnatural,
To bend the fatal instruments of war
Against his brother, and his lawful King?
Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath;
To keep that oath were more impiety,
Than Jepthah's, when he sacrific'd his daughter.
I am so sorry for my trespass made,
That, to deserve well at my brother's hands,
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe;
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee,
As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,
To plague thee for thy foul mis-leading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.
—Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;

And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.

K. Edw.
Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd,
Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate.

Glo.
Welcome, good Clarence, this is brother-like.

War.
O * ^notepassing traitor, perjur'd and unjust!

K. Edw.
What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight?
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?

War.
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; St. George and victory! [Exeunt. March. Warwick and his Company follow. SCENE III. A Field of Battle near Barnet. Alarm and Excursions. Enter Edward, bringing forth Warwick wounded.

K. Edw.
So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our Fear;
^{4 note}For Warwick was a bug, that scar'd us all.
Now, Montague, sit fast, I seek for thee;
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,
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 ax's edge,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
Whose top branch over-peer'd Jove's spreading tree,
And kept low shrubs from winter's pow'rful wind.
These eyes, that now are dim'd with death's black veil,
Have been as piercing as the mid-day Sun,
To search the secret treasons of the world.
The wrinkles in my brow, now fill'd with blood,
Were lik'ned 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.
* ^note
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Ev'n now forsake me; and of all my lands
Is nothing left me, but my body's length.
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And live we how we can, yet die we must. Enter Oxford and Somerset.

Som.
Ah, Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are,
We might recover all our loss again;
The Queen from France hath brought a puissant Pow'r;
Ev'n now we heard the news. Ah, could'st thou fly!

War.
Why, then I would not fly.—Ah, Montague;
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
And with thy lips keep in my soul a while.
Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood,
That glews my lips, and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.

Som.
Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his last,
And to the latest gasp cry'd out for Warwick,
And said, Commend me to my valiant brother.
And more he would have said, and more he spoke,

^{5 note}Which sounded like a clamour in a vault,
That might not be distinguish'd; but at last
I well might hear deliver'd with a groan,
O, farewel, Warwick!—

War.
Sweetly rest his soul!
Fly, Lords, and save yourselves; for Warwick bids
You all farewel, to meet again in heav'n. [Dies.

Oxf.
Away, away, to meet the Queen's great power. [They bear away his Body, and Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to another Part of the Field. Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph; with Gloucester, Clarence, and the rest.

K. Edw.
Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course,
And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory.
But, in the midst of this bright-shining day,
I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud,
That will encounter with our glorious Sun,
Ere he attain his easeful western bed;
I mean, my Lords, those Powers, that the Queen
Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our Coast,
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.

Clar.
A little gale will soon disperse that cloud,
And blow it to the source from whence it came;
Thy very beams will dry those vapours up,
For every cloud engenders not a storm.

Glo.
The Queen is valued thirty thousand strong,

And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her.
If she hath time to breathe, be well assur'd,
Her faction will be full as strong as ours.

K. Edw.
We are advertis'd by our loving friends,
That they do hold their course tow'rd Tewksbury.
We having now the best at Barnet field,
Will thither straight; for willingness rids way;
And as we march, our strength will be augmented
In every county as we go along.
Strike up the Drum, cry,—Courage, and away. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Changes to Tewksbury. March. Enter the Queen, Prince of Wales, Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers.

Queen.
Great Lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,
But chearly seek how to redress their harms.
What though the mast be now blown over-board,
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,
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 tear-full eyes add water to the sea;
And give more strength to that which hath too much,
While 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 tackle; what of these?
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?
And Somerset another goodly mast?
The friends of France our shrouds and tackling still?
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 three-fold death.
This speak I, 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.

Prince.
Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit
Should, if a coward heard her speak these words,
Infuse his breast with magnanimity,
And make him naked, foil a man at arms.
I speak not this, as doubting any here,
For did I but suspect a fearful man,
He should have leave to go away betimes;
Lest, in our Need, he might infect another,
And make him of like spirit to himself.
If any such be here, as, God forbid!
Let him depart before we need his help.