Introductory matter

Persons represented. King Henry the sixth: Edward [Prince], Prince of Wales, his Son. Lewis the eleventh [Louis XI], the French King. Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York: Edward, Earl of March, afterwards King; his Son. George, afterwards Duke of Clarence; his Son. Richard, afterwards Duke of Gloster; his Son. Edmund, Earl of Rutland, a Youth, his Son. Duke of Exeter, Duke of Norfolk, Duke of Somerset. Earl of Warwick: Marquess of Mountague [Marquis of Montague], his Brother. Earl of Westmoreland, Earl of Oxford, Earl of Northumberland. Lord Clifford, Lord Hastings, Lord Rivers. Sir John Mortimer Sir Hugh Mortimer. Sir John Montgomery. Sir John Somervile. a Nobleman [Nobleman 1]. Lieutenant of the Tower. The Mayor of York. Humphrey, Huntsman. Sinklo, Huntsman. another Huntsman. a Son, that has kill'd his Father: a Father, that has kill'd his Son. Tutor to Rutland. three Watchmen [Watchman 1], [Watchman 2], [Watchman 3]. eight Messengers. Margaret, Queen to Henry. Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward. Bona, Sister to the French Queen. Attendants, French and English. Soldiers of both Parties: Officers, &c. [Messenger], [Messenger 1], [Messenger 2] Scene, dispers'd; in England, and France.

The third Part of King HENRY the sixth. ACT I. SCENE I. London. The Parliament House. Drums. Enter Soldiers of York's Party, as breaking in: Then, Enter the Duke of York, with Edward and Richard, his Sons; Earl of Warwick, Marquess of Mountague, Duke of Norfolk, and Others, with white Roses in their Hats.

War.
I wonder, how the king escap'd our hands.

Yor.
While we pursu'd the horsemen of the north,
He slily stole away, and left his men:
Whereat the great lord of Northumberland,
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself,
Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all a-breast,
Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in,
Were by the swords of ^note common soldiers slain.

Edw.
Lord Stafford's father, duke of Buckingham,
Is either slain, or wounded dang'rously: ^note
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow;
That this is true, father, ^note behold his blood. [shewing his bloody Sword.

Mou.
And, brother, here's the earl of Wiltshire's blood, [to Warwick, shewing his.

Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd.

Ric.
Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did. [shewing Somerset's Head.

Yor.
Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons.—
Is ^note your grace dead,14Q0834 my lord of Somerset?

Nor.
Such end have ^note all the line of John of Gaunt!

Ric.
Thus do I hope to shake king Henry's head. [shakes, and throws it away.

War.
And so do I.—Victorious prince of York,
Before I see thee seated in that throne
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,
I vow by heaven, these eyes shall never close.
This is the palace of the fearful king, [drawing towards the Throne.
And this the regal seat: possess it, York;
For it is ^note thine, and not king Henry's heirs'.

Yor.
Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will;
For hither are we broken ^note in by force.

Nor.
We'll all assist you; he, that flies, shall die.

Yor.
Thanks, gentle Norfolk.—Stay by me, my lords;—
And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night.

War.
And, when the king comes, offer him no violence,
Unless he seek to put us out ^note by force. [to the Soldiers, who retire.

Yor.
The queen, this day, here holds her parliament;
But little thinks, we shall be of her council:
By words, or blows, here let us win our right.

Ric.
Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house.

War.
The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,
Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king;
And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardise
Hath made us by-words to our enemies.

Yor.
Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute;
I mean to take possession of my right.

War.
Neither the king, nor he that loves him best,
The proudest he that ^note holds up Lancaster,
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells.
I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who ^note dares:— [putting him in the Throne.
Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. Flourish. Enter King Henry, attended; Duke of Exeter, Earl of Northumberland, Earl of Westmoreland, Lord Clifford, and Others, with red Roses in their Hats.

Kin.
My lords, look where ^note the sturdy rebel sits,
Even in the chair of state! belike, he means,
(Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer)
To aspire unto the crown, and reign as king.—
Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father;—
And thine, lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd
Revenge on him, his sons, his favourers. ^note

Nor^th.
If I be not, heavens, be reveng'd on me!

Cli.
The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.

Wes.
What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him ^note down:
My heart for anger burns, I cannot brook ^note it.

Kin.
Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland.

Cli.
Patience is for poltroons, and ^note such as † he ^note:
He durst not sit there, had your father liv'd.
My gracious lord, here in the parliament
Let us assail the family of York.

Nor^th.
Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so.

Kin.
Ah, know you not, the city favours them,
And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?

Exe.
But, when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. ^note

Kin.
Far be it from the thoughts of ^note Henry's heart,
To make a shambles of the parliament house!
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats,
Shall be the war that Henry means to use.—
Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne,
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;
I am thy ^note sovereign.

Yor.
Thou'rt deceiv'd ^note, I am thine.

Exe.
For shame, come down; he made thee duke of York.

Yor.
'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was ^note.

Exe.
Thy father was a traitor to the crown.

War.
Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown,
In following this usurping Henry.

Cli.
Whom should he follow, but his natural king?

War.
True, Clifford; and ^note that's Richard, duke of York.

Kin.
And shall I stand, and thou sit ^note in my throne?

Yor.
It must and shall be so, content thyself. ^note

War.
Be duke of Lancaster, let him be king.

Wes.
He is both king and duke of Lancaster;
And that the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.

War.
And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget,
That we are those, which chac'd you from the field,
And slew your fathers, and with colours spread
March'd through the city to the palace-gates.

Nor^th.
Yes, Warwick, ^note I remember't to my grief;
And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.

Wes.
Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy ^note sons,
Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I'll have more lives,
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.

Cli.
Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words,
I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger,
As shall revenge his death, before I stir.

War.
Poor Clifford! how I scorn his ^note worthless threats!

Yor.
Will you, we shew our title to the crown?
If not, our ^note swords shall plead it in the field.

Kin.
What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?
Thy father ^note was,14Q0835 as thou art, duke of York;
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March:
I am the son of Henry the fifth,
Who made the dauphin and the French to stoop,
And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces.

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

Kin.
The lord protector lost it, and not I;
When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old.

Ric.
You are old enough now, and yet (methinks) you lose:—
Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.

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

Mou.
Good brother, [to War.] as thou lov'st and honour'st arms,
Let's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus.

Ric.
Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly.

Yor.
Sons, peace ^note!

Kin.
Peace thou ^note! and give king Henry leave to speak.

War.
Plantagenet shall speak first:—hear him, lords;
And be you silent and attentive too,
For he, that interrupts him, shall not live.

Kin.
Think'st thou, that I will leave my kingly throne,
Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat?
No: first shall war unpeople this my realm;
Ay, and their ^note colours—often born in France;
And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow,—
Shall be my winding-sheet.—Why faint you, lords?
My title's good, and better far than his.

War.
But ^note prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king.

Kin.
Henry the fourth by conquest got the crown.

Yor.
'Twas by rebellion against his king ^note.

&clquo;Kin.
&clquo;I know not what to say; my title's weak.&crquo;
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?

Yor.
What then?

Kin.
An if he may, then am I lawful king:
For Richard, in the view of many lords,
Resign'd the crown to Henry the fourth;
Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

Yor.
He rose against him, being his sovereign,
And made him to resign the crown ^note perforce.

War.
Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
Think you, 'twere prejudicial to the crown ^note?

Exe.
No; for he could not so resign his crown ^note,
But that the next heir should succeed and reign.

Kin.
Art thou against us, duke of Exeter?

Exe.
His is the right, and therefore pardon me.

Yor.
Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?

Exe.
My conscience tells me, he is lawful king. [to the Lords.

&clquo;Kin.
&clquo;All will revolt from me, and turn to him.&crquo;

Nor^th.
Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st,
Think not, that Henry shall be so depos'd.

War.
Depos'd he shall be, in despight of all. ^note

Nor^th.
Thou art deceiv'd: 'tis not thy southern power,
Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,—
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,—
Can set the duke up, in despight of me.

Cli.
King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:
May that ground gape, and swallow me alive,

Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!

Kin.
O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!

Yor.
Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown:—
What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?

War.
Do right unto this princely duke of York;
Or I will fill the house with armed men,
And, o'er ^note the chair of state, where now he sits,
Write up his title with usurping ^note blood. [stamps, and the Soldiers shew themselves.

Kin.
My lord of Warwick, hear me but one word;—
Let me, for this my life ^note-time, reign as king. ^note

Yor.
Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs,
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st.

Kin.
I am content: Richard Plantagenet,
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.

Cli.
What wrong is this unto the prince your son?

War.
What good is this to England, and himself?

Wes.
Base, fearful, and despairing Henry!

Cli.
How hast thou injur'd both thyself and us?

Wes.
I cannot stay to hear these articles.

Nor^th.
Nor I.

Cli.
Come, cousin, let's go tell the queen these news.

Wes.
Farewel, faint-hearted and degenerate king,
In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.

Nor^th.
Be thou a prey unto the house of York,
And die in bands for this unmanly ^note deed!

Cli.
In dreadful war may'st thou be overcome!
Or live in peace, abandon'd, and despis'd! [Exeunt Cli. Wes. and North.

War.
Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.

Exe.
They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield.

Kin.
Ah, Exeter!

War.
Why should you sigh, my lord?

Kin.
Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my son,
Whom I unnaturally shall dis-inherit.
But, be it as it may:—I here entail
The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever;
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath
To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,
To honour me as thy king and sovereign;
Neither by treason, nor hostility,
To seek to put me down, and reign thyself.

Yor.
This oath I willingly take, and will perform. [coming from the Throne.

War.
Long live king Henry!—Plantagenet, embrace him.

Kin.
And long live thou, and these thy forward sons!

Yor.
Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd.

Exe.
Accurs'd be he, that seeks to make them foes! [Flourish; and the Lords come forward.

Yor.
Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle.

War.
And I'll keep London with my soldiers.

Nor.
And I to ^note Norfolk, with my followers.

Mou.
And I unto the sea, from whence I came.

&clquo;Kin.
&clquo;And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court.&crquo; [Exeunt York, and his Sons, War. Nor. Mou. their Soldiers, and Att.

Exe.
Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger:
I'll steal away.

Kin.
Exeter, so will I. [going. Enter the Queen, and Prince.

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

Kin.
Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.

Que.
Who can be patient in such extreams?

Ah, wretched man! 'would I had dy'd a maid,
And never seen thee, never born thee son,
Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father!
Hath he deserv'd to lose his birth-right thus?
Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I;
Or felt that pain which I did for him once;
Or nourish'd him, as I did with my blood;
Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there,
Rather than made ^note that savage duke thine heir,
And dis-inherited thine only son.

Pri.
Father, you cannot dis-inherit me:
If you be king, why should not I succeed?

Kin.
Pardon me, Margaret;—pardon me, sweet son;—
The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd me.

Que.
Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be forc'd?
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timerous wretch!
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me;
And given unto the house of York such head,
As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance:
To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
What is it, but to make thy sepulcher,
And creep into it far before thy time?
Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais;
Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas;
The duke is made protector of the realm;
And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds
The trembling lamb, environed with wolves.
Had I been there, which am a silly woman,
The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes,
Before I would have granted to that act.
But thou prefer'st thy life before thine honour:
And, seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself,

Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
Until that act of parliament be repeal'd,
Whereby my son is dis-inherited.
The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours,
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread:
And spread they shall be; to thy foul disgrace,
And utter ruin of the house of York.
Thus do I leave thee:—Come, son, let's away;
Our army's ready, come, we'll after them.

Kin.
Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

Que.
Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee gone.

Kin.
Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with ^note me?

Que.
Ay, to be murther'd by his enemies.

Pri.
When I return with victory from the field,
I'll see your grace: 'till then, I'll follow her.

Que.
Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. [Exeunt Queen, and her Son.

Kin.
Poor queen! how love to me, and to her son,
Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke;
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
Will cost my ^note crown,14Q0836 and, like an empty eagle,
Tire on the flesh of me, and of my son.
The loss of those three lords torments my heart:
I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair;—
Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.

Exe.
And I, I hope ^note, shall reconcile them all. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Sandal Castle, near Wakefield in Yorkshire. A Room in the Castle. Enter Edward, Richard, and Mountague.

Ric.
Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.

Edw.
No, I can better play the orator.

Mou.
But I have reasons strong and forceable. Enter York.

Yor.
Why, how now, sons, and cousin, ^note at a strife?
What is your quarrel? how began it first?

Edw.
No quarrel, but a slight contention ^note.

Yor.
About what?

Ric.
About that which concerns your grace, and us;
The crown of England, father, which is yours.

Yor.
Mine, boy? not 'till king Henry be dead.

Ric.
Your right depends not on his life, or death.

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

Yor.
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.

Ric.
No; God forbid, your grace should be forsworn.

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

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

Yor.
Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.

Ric.
An oath is of no moment, being not took
Before a true and lawful magistrate,
That hath authority over him that swears:
Henry had none, but did usurp the place;
Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
Therefore, to arms: And, father, do but think,
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
Within whose circuit is Elyzium,
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 luke-warm blood of Henry's heart.

Yor.
Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.—
Cousin, thou ^note shalt to London presently,
And whet on Warwick to this enterprize.—
Thou, Richard, shalt to the duke of Norfolk go,
And tell him privily of our intent.—
You, Edward, shall unto my lord of Cobham,
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise:
In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
Witty, and ^note courteous,14Q0837 liberal, full of spirit.—
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 a Messenger ^note, hastily.
But, stay; What news?—Why com'st thou in such post?

Mes.
The 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.

Yor.
Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou, that we fear them?—
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;—
My cousin ^note Mountague 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.

Mou.
Cousin, I go ^note; I'll win them, fear it not:
And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [Exit Mountague.

Enter Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer.

Yor.
Sir John, and sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles!
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
The army of the queen mean to besiege us.

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

Yor.
What, with five thousand men?

Ric.
Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.
A woman's general; What should we fear? [March afar off.

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

Yor.
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? [Alarum. Exeunt. SCENE III. Plains near the Castle. Alarums, as a Battle join'd. Excursions, and Parties flying. Enter, in the Rear of them, Edmund Earl of 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, pursuing.

Cli.
Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.
As for the brat14Q0838 of this accursed ^note duke,—
His father ^note slew my father, he shall die.

Tut.
And I, my lord, will bear him company.

Cli.
Soldiers, away with him.

Tut.
Ah, Clifford, murther not this innocent child,
Lest thou be hated both of God and man. [Exit, forc'd off.

Cli.
How now! is he dead already? Or, is it fear,
That makes him close his eyes?—I'll open them.

Rut.
So 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 threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die;—
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath;
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.

Cli.
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 it ^note again;
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

Cli.
Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine,
Were not revenge sufficient for me:
No, if I dig'd up thy fore-fathers' 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—

Rut.
O, let me pray before I take my death:—
To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me!

Cli.
Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

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

Cli.
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.

Cli.
No cause?
Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [stabbing him.

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

Cli.
Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade,
Shall rust upon my weapon, 'till thy blood,
Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit. SCENE IV. The same. Another Part of them. Alarums, &c. Enter York.

Yor.
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 earthly sepulcher!
With this, we charg'd again: but (out, alas!)
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. [Alarum heard.
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 ^note up my life;
Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter Queen, Clifford, Northumberland, and Soldiers.
Come, bloody Clifford,—rough Northumberland,—
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
I am your but, and I abide your shot.

Nor^th.
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 tumbl'd from his car,
And made an evening at the noon-tide prick.

Yor.
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 heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?

Cli.
So cowards fight, when they can fly no farther;
So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breath out invectives 'gainst the officers.

Yor.
O, 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.

Cli.
I will not bandy with thee word for word;
But buckle ^note with thee blows, twice two for one. [assailing him.

Que.
Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes,
I would prolong a while the traitor's life:—
Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.

Nor^th.
Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so much,
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away?
It is war's prize, to take all vantages;
And ten to one is no impeach of valour. [joins with Cli.

Cli.
Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

Nor^th.
So doth the coney struggle in the net.

Yor.
So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;
So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. [falls his Sword.

Nor^th.
What would your grace have done unto him now?

Que.
Brave warriors, Clifford, and Northumberland,
Come make him stand upon this mole-hill here;
That raught at mountains with out-stretched arms, ^note
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.—
What! was it you, that would be England's king?
Was't you, that revel'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 ^note prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice,
Was wont to chear his dad in mutinies?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
Look, York; I stain'd this † napkin with the blood
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made ^note issue from the bosom of the boy:
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this &dagger2; 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 parch'd thine entrails,
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport;
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.—
A crown for York;—and, lords, bow low to him.— [they give her a paper Crown.
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.— [puts it upon his Head.
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is ^note he was his adopted heir.—
But how is it, that great Plantagenet
Is crown'd so soon, and broke ^note 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?
O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!—
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head;
And, whilst we breath, take time to do him dead.

Cli.
That is my office, for my father's death. ^note

Que.
Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes.

Yor.
She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,
Whose tongue more poisons ^note than the adder's tooth!
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
Upon their woes ^note, whom fortune captivates?
But that thy face is vizard-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use ^note of evil deeds,
I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush:
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom ^note 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:
'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.
O tygress' ^note heart, wrapt in a woman's hide!
How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish:
Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will:
For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;
And every drop cries vengeance for his death,—
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford,—and thee, false French-woman.

Nor^th.
Beshrew me, but his passions move ^note me so,
That hardly can I check my eyes ^note from tears.

Yor.
That face of his14Q0839 the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood ^note:
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,—
O, 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 &dagger2; 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!
There, take &dagger2; 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 heaven, my blood upon your heads!

Nor^th.
Had he been slaughter-man of all ^note my kin,
I could ^note not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly ^note sorrow gripes his soul.

Que.
What, weeping ripe, my lord Northumberland?
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

Cli.
Here's † for my oath, here's † for my father's death.

Que.
And here's † to right our gentle-hearted king. [stabbing him.

Yor.
Open thy gate ^note of mercy, gracious God!
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. [dies.

Que.
Off with his head, and set it on York gates;—
So York may over-look the town of York. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. A Plain in Hereford-shire. Drums. Enter Edward, and Richard, with Forces, marching.

Edw.
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 our brother? why is he so sad?

Ric.
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 singl'd 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;
Methinks, 'tis prize ^note enough to be his son.
See, how the morning14Q0840 opes her golden gates, ^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?

Ric.
Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
Not separated by 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 wond'rous 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 blazing by our meeds,
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair shining suns.

Ric.
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 fore-tell
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.
O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.

Ric.
Say how he dy'd, for ^note 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 enter'd Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hew down and fell ^note 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 cheeks ^note,
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'er I view'd.

Edw.
Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon;
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!—
O Clifford, boistrous 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, o, never, shall I see more joy.

Ric.
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 burthen;
For self-same wind, that I should speak withal,
Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, ^note
And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench.
To weep, is to make less the depth of sorrow:
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.

Ric.
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 is thine, or else thou wert not his. Drums. Enter Warwick, Mountague, and Others, with Forces.

War.
How now, fair lords? What fare? what news abroad?

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

Edw.
Ah, Warwick ^note, Warwick, that Plantagenet
Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption,

Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death!

War.
Ten days ago, I drown'd these news in tears:
And now, to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things since then ^note befall'n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
Were brought me of your loss, and his depart ^note.
I then in London, keeper of the king,
Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
March'd toward Saint Alban's to 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 Saint 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 rob'd my soldiers of their heated spleen;
Or whether 'twas report of her success;
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
Who thunders to his captives ^note—blood and death,
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning ^note came and went;
Our soldiers'—like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like an idle thresher ^note with a flail,—
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of the cause ^note,
With promise of high pay and great rewards ^note:
But all in vain; they had no heart ^note 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: ^note
And for your brother,—he was lately sent,
From your kind aunt, dutchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

Ric.
'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.

Ric.
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 Mountague.

Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland,
And, of their feather, many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax:
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament;
And now to London all the crew are gone,
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
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,
Among ^note the loving Welshmen canst procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, via! to London will we march amain ^note;
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry—Charge upon the foe ^note,
But never once again turn back and fly.

Ric.
Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick speak:
Ne'er may he live to see a sun-shine day,
That cries—Retire, when Warwick bids ^note 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 king: ^note
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along;
And he, that casts not ^note up his cap for joy,
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward,—valiant Richard,—Mountague,—
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,

But sound the trumpets, and about our task.

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

Edw.
Then strike up, drums;—God, and saint 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.
Why then it sorts, brave warriors: Let's away. [Exeunt, marching. SCENE II. Before York. Enter, with Drum and Colours, marching, King Henry, and Queen, Prince, Clifford, Northumberland, and Forces.

Que.
Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,
That sought to be encompass'd with your crown:
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

Kin.
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.

Cli.
My gracious liege, this too much lenity,
And harmful pity, must be lay'd 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 safe-guard 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 dis-inherit him,
Which argu'd thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young:
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones,
Who hath not seen them, even with those wings
Which sometime they have us'd in fearful ^note 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 were this! Look on the boy;
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.

Kin.
Full well hath Clifford play'd 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,

Whose 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!

Que.
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.

Kin.
Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
And learn this lesson,—Draw thy sword in right.

Pri.
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.

Cli.
Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. ^note 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 ^note,
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him:
Darraign your battle, ^note for they are at hand.

Cli.
I would, your highness would depart the field;
The queen hath best success when you are absent.

Que.
Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.

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

Nor^th.
Be it with resolution then to fight.

Pri.
My royal father, cheer these noble lords,

And hearten those that fight in your defence:
Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint George! Drums. Enter Edward, Duke of York; with George, and Richard, his Brothers; Warwick, Norfolk, Mountague, 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?

Que.
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 ^note knee;
I was adopted heir by his consent:
Since when, his oath is broke;14Q0841 for, as I hear, ^note
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.

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

Ric.
Art thou there, butcher?—O, I cannot speak!

Cli.
Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee,
Or any he the proudest of thy sort.

Ric.
'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?

Cli.
Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfy'd.

Ric.
For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight.

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

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

War.
Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.

Cli.
You said so much ^note before, and yet you fled.

War.
'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

Nor^th.
No, nor your manhood, that durst make ^note you stay.

Ric.
Northumberland, I hold ^note thee reverently;—
Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swoln heart
Upon that Clifford there ^note, that cruel child-killer.

Cli.
I slew thy father; Call'st thou him a child?

Ric.
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.

Kin.
Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.

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

Kin.
I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue;
I am a king, and priviledg'd to speak.

Cli.
My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here,
Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.

Ric.
Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword:
By him that made us all, I am resolv'd,
That Clifford's manhood lies upon ^note his tongue.

Edw.
Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day,
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown.

War.
If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;
For York in justice puts his armour on.

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

Ric.
Whoever ^note got thee, there thy mother stands;
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

Que.
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 venom'd ^note toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.

Ric.
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,
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born ^note heart? ^note

Edw.
A wisp of straw14Q0842 were worth a thousand crowns,
To make this shameless callet know herself.—
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 revel'd in the heart of France,
And tam'd the king, and made the dauphin stoop;
And, had he † match'd according to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day:
But, when he took a beggar to his bed,
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day;
Even then that sun-shine brew'd a shower for him,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
And heap'd sedition ^note on his crown at home.
For what hath broach'd ^note 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.

Geo.
But, when we saw our sun-shine made thy spring,
And that thy summer bred us no encrease, ^note
We set the axe 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 further conference,
Since thou deny'st ^note the gentle king to speak.—
Sound, trumpets!—let our bloody colours wave!—
And either victory, or else a grave.

Que.
Stay, Edward.

Edw.
No, wrangling woman, I'll ^note no longer stay:
Thy words ^note will cost ten thousand lives to-day. [Exeunt, marching. SCENE III. The same. A Field of Battle. Alarums. Excursions. Enter Warwick.

War.
Fore-spent ^note with toil, as runners with a race,
I lay me down a little while to breath:
For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repay'd,
Have rob'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
That, spight of spight, needs must I rest a while. Enter Edward, running.

Edw.
Smile, gentle heaven! ^note 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 George.

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

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

Ric.
Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
Thy brother's blood14Q0843 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 fet-locks 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, while the foe doth rage;
And look upon, as if the tragedy
Were play'd 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 giv'n me measure of revenge.

Edw.
O Warwick, I do bend † my knee with thine;
And, in this vow, do chain my soul to 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 heaven 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 in earth.

Ric.
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.

Geo.
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. SCENE IV. The same. Another Part of it. Excursions. Enter Richard, and Clifford.

Ric.
Now, Clifford, I have singl'd 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.

Cli.
Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:
This is the hand, that stab'd thy father York;
And this the hand, that slew thy brother Rutland;
And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death, ^note
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother,
To execute the like upon thyself;
And so, have at thee. [they fight. Enter Warwick, as joining Richard; Clifford flies.

Ric.
Nay, Warwick, single out some other chace;
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The same. Another Part. Alarums. Enter King Henry.

Kin.
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 ^note 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,14Q0844 it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
How many make ^note the hour full compleat,
How many hours bring ^note 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 ^note:
So many hours must I tend my flock,
So many hours must I take my rest,
So many hours must I cóntemplate,
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young,
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean ^note,
So many years ere I ^note shall shear 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 hawthorn 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 in a curious bed,
When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. Alarums. Enter a Son that has kill'd his Father, dragging in the Body.

Son.
Ill blows the wind, that profits nobody.
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. [goes to rifle him.
Who's this?—O God! it is my father's face,
Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.
O heavy times, begetting such events!
From London by the king was I press'd forth;
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
Came on the part of York, press'd 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.

Kin.
O piteous spectacle! o bloody times!
Whilst ^note 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,
Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief. Enter a Father that has kill'd his Son, bringing in the Body.

Fat.
Thou that so stoutly hast ^note 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 mine only son!—
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise,
Blown by the windy tempest of my heart,
Upon thy wounds, that kill ^note mine eye and heart!—
O, pity, God, this miserable age!—
What stratagems ^note, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!—
O boy, thy father gave thee life too late,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too soon!

Kin.
Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
O, that my death would stay these ruthful 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 ^note (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?

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

Kin.
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?

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

Kin.
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, with the Body.

Fat.
These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulcher;
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,
Even for ^note the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
For I have murther'd where I should not kill. [Exit, with the Body.

Kin.
Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
Here sits a king more woful than you are. Alarums. Excursions. Enter the Queen, Prince, Exeter, and Others, hastily.

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

Que.
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.

Kin.
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 VI. The same. A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded.

Cli.
Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, [sinks.
Which, whilst it lasted, gave king Henry light.
Ah, Lancaster ^note, I fear thine over-throw ^note,
More than my body's parting with my soul:
My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt ^note.
Impairing Henry,14Q0845 strength'ning misproud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies: ^note
And whither ^note fly the gnats, but to the sun?
And who shines now, but Henry's enemy? ^note
O Phœbus, hadst thou never given consent
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd ^note the earth:

And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
And as ^note thy father, and his father, did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York, ^note
I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our deaths ^note,
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 out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
And, at ^note 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 stab'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. [faints. Drums. Enter Edward; George, and Richard, his Brothers; Warwick, Mountague, and Forces.

Edw.
Now breath 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 argosy 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 words ^note,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave;
And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. [Clifford groans.

Edw.
Who's soul is that14Q0846 which takes her heavy leave? ^note

Ric.
A deadly groan, like life in death ^note departing. ^note

Edw.
See who it is: and, now the battle's ended,
If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd.

Ric.
Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
Who not contented that he lop'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 ^note supply the room;
Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw.
Bring forth that fatal scritch-owl to our house,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
Now death shall stop his dismal threat'ning sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. [Attendants bring the Body forward.

War.
I think, his understanding is bereft:—
Speak, Clifford ^note, 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.

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

Geo.
If so thou think'st ^note, vex him with eager words.

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

Edw.
Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

War.
Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults ^note.

Geo.
While we devise fell tortures for thy faults ^note.

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

Edw.
Thou pity'dst Rutland, I will pity thee.

Geo.
Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now?

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

Ric.
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,
Would this right hand14Q0847 buy but an hour's life ^note,
That I in all despight might rail at him,
I'd chop it ^note 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 ^note.—
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal king.
From thence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
To ask the lady Bona for thy queen:
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not ^note dread
The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.
First, will I see the coronation;
And then to Britany I'll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.

Edw.
Even 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 Gloster;—
And George, of Clarence;—Warwick, as ourself,

Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best.

Ric.
Let me be duke of Clarence; George, of Gloster;
For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.

War.
Tut, that's a foolish observation;
Richard, be duke of Gloster: Now to London,
To see these honours in possession. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. A Chace in the North of England. Enter Humphrey, and Sinklo, Keepers; with Cross-bows in their Hands.

Sin.
Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves;
For through this lawn anon the deer will come;
And in this covert will we make our ^note stand,
Culling the principal of all the deer.

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

Sin.
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. ^note Enter King Henry, disguis'd.

K. H.
From Scotland am I stoln, even 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 wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now,

No humble suitors prease ^note to speak for right,
No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
For how can I help them, and not myself? ^note

&clquo;Sin.
&clquo;Ay, here's a deer, whose skin's a keeper's fee:&crquo;
&clquo;This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.&crquo;

K. H.
Let me embrace these sour adversities ^note;
For wise men say, it is the wisest course.

&clquo;Hum.
&clquo;Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.&crquo;

&clquo;Sin.
&clquo;Forbear a while, we'll hear a little more.&crquo;

K. H.
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 pity'd much:
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn;
And Nero will 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:
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
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 Margaret, 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? [starting out upon him.

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

Hum.
But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?

K. H.
My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones,
Nor 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. H.
But did you never swear, and break an oath?

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

K. H.
Where did you dwell, when I was king of England?

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

K. H.
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?

Sin.
No; for we were subjects but while you were king.

K. H.
Why, am I dead? do I not breath 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; ^note for, of that sin,
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
Go where you will, the king shall be commanded;
And be you kings, command, and I'll obey.

Sin.
We are true subjects to the king, king Edward.

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

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

K. H.
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. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter Edward, as King; the Lady Grey with him; Clarence, and Gloster, following.

K. E.
Brother of Gloster,14Q0848 at Saint Alban's field
This lady's husband, sir John Grey ^note, was slain,
His lands ^note 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. E.
It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;Yea, is it so?&crquo;
&clquo;I see, the lady hath a thing to grant,&crquo; [to Cla.
&clquo;Before the king will grant her humble suit.&crquo;

&clquo;Cla.
&clquo;He knows the game; How true he keeps the wind?&crquo;

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;Silence!&crquo;

K. E.
Widow, we will consider of your suit;
And come some other time, to know our mind.

Lad.
Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay:
May't please your highness, to resolve me now;
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you all your lands,&crquo;
&clquo;An if what pleases him ^note, shall pleasure you.&crquo;
&clquo;Fight closer, or (good faith) you'll catch a blow.&crquo;

&clquo;Cla.
&clquo;I fear her not, unless she chance to fall.&crquo;

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;God forbid that! for he'll take vantages.&crquo;

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

&clquo;Cla.
&clquo;I think, he means to beg a child of her.&crquo;

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;Nay, whip me then ^note; he'll rather give her two.&crquo;

Lad.
Three, my most gracious lord.

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;You shall have four, if you'll be rul'd by him.&crquo;

K. E.
'Twere pity, they should lose their father's land. ^note

Lad.
Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.

K. E.
Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit.

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;Ay, good leave have you; for you will have leave,&crquo;
&clquo;Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch.&crquo; [retiring to a Distance with Cla.

K. E.
Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?

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

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

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

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

Lad.
Therefore I came unto your majesty.

K. E.
I'll tell you how ^note these lands are to be got.

Lad.
So shall you bind me to your highness' service.

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

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

K. E.
But you will take exceptions to my boon.

Lad.
No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.

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

Lad.
Why, then I will do what your grace commands.

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble.&crquo;

&clquo;Cla.
&clquo;As red as fire! nay, then her wax will melt.&crquo;

Lad.
Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my task?

K. E.
An easy task; 'tis but to love a king.

Lad.
That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.

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

Lad.
I take my leave, with many thousand thanks. ^note

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;The match is made, she seals it with a curt'sy.&crquo;

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

Lad.
The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.

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

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

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

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

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

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

K. E.
To tell thee plain, I aim to lye with thee.

Lad.
To tell you plain, I had rather lye in prison.

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

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

K. E.
Herein ^note thou wrong'st thy children mightily.

Lad.
Herein your highness wrongs both them and me:
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
Accords ^note not with the sadness of my suit;
Please you dismiss me, either with ay, or no.

K. E.
Ay; if thou wilt say, ay, to my request:
No; if thou dost say, no, to my demand.

Lad.
Then, no, my lord; my suit is at an end.

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;The widow likes him not, she knits her brows ^note.&crquo;

&clquo;Cla.
&clquo;He is the bluntest wooer in christendom.&crquo;

&clquo;K. E.
&clquo;Her looks do argue ^note her replete with modesty;&crquo;
&clquo;Her words do shew ^note her wit incomparable;&crquo;
&clquo;All her perfections challenge sovereignty:&crquo;
&clquo;One way, or other, she is for a king;&crquo;
&clquo;And she shall be my love, or else my queen.&crquo;—
Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen?

Lad.
'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord:
I am a subject fit to jest withal,
But far unfit to be a sovereign.

K. E.
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.

Lad.
And that is more than I will yield unto:
I know, I am too mean to ^note be your queen;
And yet too good to be your concubine.

K. E.
You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen.

Lad.
'Twill grieve your grace, my sons should call you—father.

K. E.
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.

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.&crquo;

&clquo;Cla.
&clquo;When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift.&crquo;

K. E.
Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.

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

K. E.
You'd think it strange, if I should marry her.

Cla.
To whom, my lord?

K. E.
Why, Clarence, to myself.

Glo.
That would be ten days' wonder, at the least.

Cla.
That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.

Glo.
By so much is the wonder in extreams.

K. E.
Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both,
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. Enter some Noblemen.

1. N.
My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,
And brought as prisoner ^note to your palace gate.

K. E.
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 ^note. [Exeunt King, Lady, Clarence, and Lords.

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 the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies,
To take their rooms, ere I can place myself ^note:
A cold premeditation for my purpose!
Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty;—
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 ^note me from it;
And so I say—I'll cut the causes off,
Flattering me with impossibilities:—
My eye's too quick, my heart o'er-weens 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 ^note my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
O miserable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!
Why, love fore-swore 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 an unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impression like the dam.

And am I then a man to be belov'd?
O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to check, to o'er-bear such
As are of better person than myself,
I'll make my heaven—to dream upon the crown;
And, while I live, to account this world but hell,
Until the head, ^note14Q0849 this mis-shap'd trunk doth bear,
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 rents 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 desperately ^note 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 axe.
Why, I can smile, and murther while I smile;
And, cry ^note, 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 to the cameleon;
Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages,
And set the murth'rous Machiavel ^note to school.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown ^note?

Tut! were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. [Exit. SCENE III. France. A Room in some Palace. Flourish. Enter Lewis the French King, and Lady Bona, attended: King takes his State. Then, Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward her Son, and the Earl of Oxford.

Lew.
Fair queen of England, worthy Margaret, [rising.
Sit down with us; it ill befits thy state,
And birth, that thou should'st stand, while Lewis doth sit.

Q. M.
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 lay'd me on the ground;
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,
And to my humble seat conform myself.

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

Q. M.
From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears,
And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.

Lew.
Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,
And sit thee by our side: [seats her by him.] yield not thy neck
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.

Q. M.
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 see'st, ourselves in heavy plight.

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

Q. M.
The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.

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

Q. M.
O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.
And see, where comes the breeder of my sorrow. Enter Warwick, attended.

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

Q. M.
Our earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.

Lew.
Welcome, brave Warwick! [coming from his State] What brings thee to France? [Mar. rises.

Q. M.
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 sovereign, and thy vowed friend,
I come,—in kindness, and unfeigned love,—
First, to do greetings to thy royal person;
And, then, to crave a league of amity;
And, lastly, to confirm that amity

With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant
That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister,
To England's king, in lawful marriage.

&clquo;Q. M.
&clquo;If that go forward, Henry's hope is done.&crquo;

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

Q. M.
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 thy danger and dishonour:
For though usurpers sway the rule a while,
Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.

War.
Injurious Margaret!

Pri.
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 obeyed'st 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 downfal 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.

Lew.
Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and lord Oxford,
Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside
While I use further conference with Warwick.

Q. M.
Heavens grant, that Warwick's words bewitch him not! [retiring, with Oxf. and the Prince.

Lew.
Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience,
Is Edward your true king? for I were loth,
To link with him that were not lawful chosen ^note.

War.
Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.

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

War.
The more, that Henry was unfortunate ^note.

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,—
That this his love14Q0850 was an eternal ^note plant;
Whereof the root ^note was fix'd in virtue's ground,
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun;
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,
Unless the lady Bona quit his pain.

Lew.
Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.

Bon.
Your grant, or your denial ^note, shall be mine:—
Yet I confess, [to War.] that often ere this day,
When I have heard your king's desert recounted,
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.

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 counterpoiz'd:—
Draw near, queen Margaret; and be a witness,
That Bona shall be wife to the English king.

Pri.
To Edward, but not to the English king.

Q. M.
Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device,
By this alliance to make void my suit;
Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend.

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,
Which 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,—
You have a father able to maintain you;
And better 'twere, you troubl'd him than France.

Q. M.
Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, peace ^note;
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
Thy sly conveyance, and thy lord's false love;
For both of you are birds of self-same feather. [Tucket heard.

Lew.
Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
My lord embassador, these &dagger2; letters are for you;
Sent from your brother, marquess Mountague.—
These &dagger2; from our king unto your majesty.— [to Lew.
And, madam, these &dagger2; for you; from whom, I know not. [to Mar. 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.

Pri.
Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were nettl'd:
I hope, all's for the best.

Lew.
Warwick, what are thy news?—and yours, fair queen?

Q. M.
Mine, such as fill my heart with unhop'd joys.

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

Lew.
What! has your king marry'd the lady Grey?
And now, to sooth ^note your forgery and his,

Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?
Is this the alliance that he seeks with France?
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?

Q. M.
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 heaven,
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss,—
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's;
No more my king, for he dishonours me;
But most himself, if he could see his shame.—
Did I forget, that by the house of York
My father came untimely to his death?
Did I let pass the 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 ^note, 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.

Q. M.
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.

Bon.
Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd,
But by the help of this distressed queen?

Q. M.
Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live,
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?

Bon.
My quarrel, and this English queen's, are one.

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

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

Q. M.
Let me give humble thanks for all at once.

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 see'st what's past, go fear thy king withal.

Bon.
Tell him, In hope he'll prove a ^note widower shortly,
I'll wear ^note the willow garland for his sake.

Q. M.
Tell him, My mourning weeds are lay'd 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 &dagger2; reward; be gone. [Exit Messenger.

Lew.
But, Warwick;
Thyself, and ^note 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 mine eldest daughter,14Q0851 and my joy,
To him forthwith in holy wedlock-bands.

Q. M.
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.

Pri.
Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it;
And here, to pledge my vow, I give my † hand.

Lew.
Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levy'd,—
And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral,
Shalt ^note 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 All but Warwick.

War.
I came from Edward as embassador,
But I return his sworn and mortal foe:
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,
But dreadful war shall answer his demand.
Had he none else to make a 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 ^note mockery. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Clarence, Gloster, Somerset, Mountague, and Others.

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

Cla.
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.

Glo.
And his well-chosen bride.

Cla.
I mind to tell him plainly what I think. Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended; Lady Grey, as Queen; Pembroke, Stafford, Hastings, and divers Others.

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

Cla.
As well as Lewis of France, or the earl of Warwick;
Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment,
That they'll take no offence at our ^note abuse. ^note

K. E.
Suppose, they take offence without a cause,
They are but Lewis and Warwick; 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. E.
Yea ^note, brother Richard, are you offended too?

Glo.
Not I:
No; God forbid, that I should wish them sever'd,
Whom God hath join'd together: ay, and 'twere pity,
To sunder them that yoke so well together.

K. E.
Setting your scorns, and your mislike ^note, aside,
Tell me some reason, why the lady Grey
Should not become my wife, and England's queen:—

And you too, Somerset, and Mountague,
Speak freely what you think.

Cla.
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. E.
What, if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd,
By such invention as I can devise?

Mou.
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.

Has.
Why, knows not Mountague, that of itself
England is safe, if true within itself?

Mou.
Yes ^note; but the safer, when 'tis back'd with France.

Has.
'Tis better14Q0852 using France, than trusting France:
Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas,
Which he hath given for fence impregnable,
And with their helps only defend ourselves;
In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies

Cla.
For this one speech, lord Hastings well deserves
To have the heir of the lord Hungerford.

K. E.
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.

Cla.
Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir
Of the lord Bonville on your new wife's son,
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.

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

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

K. E.
Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king,
And not be ty'd unto his brother's will ^note.

Que.
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 ^note cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.

K. E.
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.
I hear, yet say not much, but think the more. Enter Messenger.

K. E.
Now, messenger, what letters, or what news,
From France?

Mes.
My liege ^note, no letters; and few words,
But such as I (without your special pardon)
Dare not relate.

K. E.
Go to, we pardon thee: therefore, in brief,

Tell me ^note their words as near as thou canst guess them.
What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters?

Mes.
At my depart ^note, these were his very words;
Go tell false Edward, thy supposed ^note king,—
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers,
To revel it with him and his new bride.

K. E.
Is Lewis so brave? belike, he thinks me Henry.
But what said lady Bona to my marriage?

Mes.
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. E.
I blame her not, she could say little less;
She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen?
For I have ^note heard, that she was there in place.

Mes.
Tell him, quoth she, my mourning weeds are done ^note,
And I am ready to put armour on.

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

Mes.
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. E.
Ha! durst the traitor breath out so proud ^note 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?

Mes.
Ay, gracious sovereign; ^note they are so link'd in friendship,
That young prince Edward ^note marries Warwick's daughter.

Cla.
Belike, the elder; Clarence will have the younger.
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, that love me and Warwick, follow me. [Exit. Somerset follows.

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;Not I:&crquo;
&clquo;My thoughts aim at a further matter; I&crquo;
&clquo;Stay not for love ^note of Edward, but the crown.&crquo;

K. E.
Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!
Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen;
And haste is needful in this desperate case.—
Pembroke, and Stafford, you in our behalf
Go levy men, and make prepare for war;
They are already, or quickly will be landed:
Myself in person will straight follow you. [Exeunt Pemb. and Staf.
But, ere I go, Hastings,—and Mountague,—
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.

Mou.
So God help Mountague, as he proves true!

Has.
And Hastings, as he favours Edward's cause!

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

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

K. E.
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. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Plain in Warwickshire.

Enter Warwick, Oxford, and Forces.

War.
Trust me, my lord ^note, all hitherto goes well;
The common people by numbers swarm ^note to us. Enter Clarence, and Somerset.
But, see, where Somerset and Clarence comes ^note;—
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?

Cla.
Fear not that, my lord.

War.
Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;—
And welcome, Somerset:—I hold it cowardice,
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love;
Else might I think, that Clarence, Edward's brother,
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings:
But welcome, Clarence ^note; my daughter shall be thine. [giving him his Hand.
And now what rests, but, in night's coverture,
Thy brother being carelesly encamp'd,
His soldiers lurking in the towns ^note about,
And but attended by a simple guard,
We may surprize and take him at our pleasure?
Our scouts have found the adventure very easy:
That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede,
By slight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents,
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds;14Q0853
So 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 in 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, marching. SCENE III. Edward's Camp, near Warwick. His Tent in Front: Enter certain Watchmen.

1. W.
Come on, my masters, each man take his stand;
The king, by this, is set him down to sleep.

2. W.
What, will he not to bed?

1. W.
Why, no: for he hath made a solemn vow,—
Never to lye and take his natural rest,
Till Warwick, or himself, be quite supprest.

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

3. W.
But say, I pray, what nobleman is that,
That with the king here resteth in his tent?

1. W.
'Tis the lord Hastings, the king's chiefest friend.

3. W.
O, is it so? But why commands the king,
That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,
While he himself keeps here in the cold field?

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

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

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

2. W.
Ay; wherefore else guard we his royal tent,
But to defend his person from night-foes? Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, ^note and Forces.

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

1. W.
Who goes there?

2. W.
Stay, or thou dy'st. Warwick, and the rest, cry all—Warwick! Warwick!—and set upon the Guard; who fly, crying—Arm! arm!—Warwick, and the rest, following them. The Drum beating, and Trumpet sounding, Re-enter Warwick, and the rest; bringing the King out in his Gown, sitting in a Chair: Gloster, and Hastings fly.

Som.
What are they that fly there?

War.
Richard, and Hastings: let them go, here's the duke.

K. E.
The duke! why, Warwick, when we parted last ^note,
Thou call'dst me king.

War.
Ay, but the case is alter'd:
When you disgrac'd me in my embassage ^note,
Then I degraded you from being king,
And come now to create you duke of York.
Alas! how should you govern any kingdom,
That know not how to use embassadors;
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. E.
Yea, 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:

But Henry now shall wear the English crown, [taking it from Edward's Head.
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 his grace what answer
Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him:—
Now, for a while, farewel, good duke of York.

K. E.
What fates impose, that men must needs abide;
It boots not to resist both wind and tide. [Exit, led off forcibly; Somerset with him.

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 IV. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter the Queen, and Lord Rivers.

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

Que.
Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn
What late misfortune is befaln king Edward?

Riv.
What, loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick?

Que.
No, but the loss of his own royal person.

Riv.
Then is my sovereign slain?

Que.
Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner;
Either betray'd by falshood of his guard,
Or by his foe surpriz'd at unawares:
And, as I further have to understand,
Is new committed to the bishop of York,

Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe.

Riv.
These news, I must confess, are full of grief:
Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may;
Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day.

Que.
'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 it that makes me bridle my ^note passion,
And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross;
Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear,
And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs,
Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown
King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown ^note.

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

Que.
I am informed, that he comes towards London,
To set the crown once more on Henry's head:
Guess thou the rest, king Edward's friends ^note must down.
But, to prevent the tyrant's violence,
(For trust not him that hath once 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 V. Yorkshire. Park of Middleham Castle. Enter Gloster, Hastings, Sir William Stanley, and Others.

Glo.
Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William Stanley,
Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither,
Into this chiefest thicket of the park.
Thus stands ^note the case: You know, our king, my brother,

Is prisoner to the bishop here, 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 advértis'd him by secret means,
That if, about this hour, he make this 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. [Horns. Enter King Edward, and a Huntsman.

Hun.
This way, my lord; for this way lies the game.

K. E.
Nay, this way, man; see, where the huntsmen stand ^note.—
Now, brother of Gloster, lord 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 at the park-corner for you.

K. E.
But whither ^note shall we then?

Has.
To Lyn, my lord; and ship ^note from thence to Flanders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

K. E.
Bishop, farewel: shield thee from Warwick's frown;
And pray that I may repossess the crown. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. London. A Room in the Tower. Enter King Henry, and the Lieutenant of the Tower; Somerset, leading in his Hand young Richmond; Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, and divers Others.

K. H.
Master 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. H.
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 set'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 spite,
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 hath 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:
Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace,
For choosing me, when Clarence is in place.

Cla.
No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway.

To whom the heavens, 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 choose Clarence only for protector.

K. H.
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 sovereign's will?

Cla.
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 ^note.

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

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

K. H.
But, with the first of all your chief affairs,
Let me entreat, (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.

Cla.
It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed.

K. H.
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. H.
Come hither, England's hope: If secret powers [laying his Hand on his Head.
Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,
This 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 ^note you more than you are hurt by me. Enter a Messenger.

War.
What news, my friend?

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

War.
Unsavoury news: But how made he escape?

Mes.
He was convey'd by Richard duke of Gloster,
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 sovereign, to provide
A salve for any sore that may betide. [Exeunt King, War. Cla. Lieu. and Att.

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 repossess 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 VII. Before York. Drums. Enter King Edward, Gloster, Hastings, and Forces, marching.

K. E.
Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, and the rest;
Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,
And says—that once more I shall enterchange
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 haven before the gates of York,
But that we enter, as into our dukedom. [they approach the Gates, and knock.

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

Has.
My liege, I'll knock once more, to summon them. Enter the Mayor, and Others, upon the Walls.

May.
My lords, we were fore-warned of your coming,
And shut the gates for safety of ourselves;
For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.

K. E.
But, master mayor, if Henry be your king,
Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York.

May.
True, my good lord; I know you for no less.

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

&clquo;Glo.
&clquo;But, when the fox hath once got in his nose,&crquo;
&clquo;He'll soon find means to make the body follow.&crquo;

Has.
Why, master mayor, why stand you in a doubt?
Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends.

May.
Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be open'd. [Exit, from above.

Glo.
A wise stout captain, and persuaded ^note soon!

Has.
The good old man would fain that all were well,
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. Re-enter Mayor, below; Attendants with him.

K. E.
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; [taking them of him.
For Edward will defend the town, and thee,
And all those friends that deign to follow me. Drums. Enter Montgomery, and Forces.

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

K. E.
Welcome, sir John! But why come you in arms?

Mon.
To help king Edward in his ^note time of storm,
As every loyal subject ought to do.

K. E.
Thanks, good Montgomery: But we now forget
Our title to the crown; and only claim
Our dukedom, 'till God please to send the rest.

Mon.
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. [March begun.

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

Mon.
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 should we ^note fight, if you pretend no title?

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

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

Has.
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. E.
Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right,
And Henry but usurps the diadem.

Mon.
Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself;
And now will I be Edward's champion.

Has.
Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd:—
Come, fellow soldier, make thou proclamation. [giving him a Paper. Trumpet sounds. Sol. [reads.]

Edward the fourth, by the grace of God, king of England and France, and lord of Ireland,14Q0854 &c.

Mon.
And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's right,

By this I challenge him to single fight. [throwing down his Gauntlet.

all.
Long live Edward the fourth!

K. E.
Thanks, brave Montgomery;—
And thanks unto you 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! how 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 VIII. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, Mountague, Exeter, and Oxford.

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

K. H.
Let's levy men, and beat him back again.

Cla.
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,
Shall stir, in ^note Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,

The knights and gentlemen to come with thee:—
Thou, brother Mountague, 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 sovereign, with the loving citizens,—
Like to his island, girt in with the ocean;
Or modest Dian, circl'd 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. H.
Farewel, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope.

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

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

Mou.
Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave.

Oxf.
And thus † I seal my truth, and bid adieu.

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

War.
Farewel, sweet lords; let's meet at Coventry. [Exeunt War. Cla. Oxf. and Mou.

K. H.
Here at the palace will I rest a while.
Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship?
Methinks, the power, that Edward hath in field,
Shall not ^note be able to encounter mine.

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

K. H.
That's not my fear, my meed hath14Q0855 got me fame:
I have not stop'd 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: ^note

I have not been desirous of their wealth,
Nor much oppress'd 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!

Exe.
Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these? Enter Edward, and Soldiers, hastily; Gloster, and Others, with him.

K. E.
Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him hence,
And once again proclaim us king of England.—
You are the fount, that makes 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.— [Henry born off.
And, lords, towards 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 towards Coventry. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. Coventry. Enter, upon the Walls, Warwick, and divers Others.

War.
Where is the post, that came from valiant Oxford?

How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?

1. M.
By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.

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

2. M.
By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. Enter Sir John Somervile.

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

Som.
At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
And do expect him here some two hours hence. [Drum heard.

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

Som.
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.

Som.
They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. Drums. Enter King Edward, with Gloster, and Forces, marching.

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

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

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

K. E.
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. E.
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. E.
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, whiles he thought ^note to steal the single ten,
The king was slily ^note finger'd from the deck!—
You left poor Henry at the ^note bishop's palace,
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the tower.

K. E.
'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 had 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. E.
Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend;
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair,
Shall, whiles 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. Enter Oxford, with Drum and Colours.

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

Oxf.
Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster! [he, and his Forces, enter the City.

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

K. E.
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 but of ^note small defence,
We'll quickly rouze the traitors in the same.