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twg_000000019400 | his son. See how the morning opes her golden gates And takes her farewell of the glorious sun. How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimmed like a younker prancing to his love! EDWARD. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? RICHARD. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019401 | severed in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see, they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vowed some league inviolable. Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. EDWARD. Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think it cites us, brother, to the field, That we, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019402 | the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should notwithstanding join our lights together, And overshine the earth, as this the world. Whateer it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair shining suns. RICHARD. Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male. Enter | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019403 | a Messenger, blowing. But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? MESSENGER. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on When as the noble Duke of York was slain, Your princely father and my loving lord. EDWARD. O, speak no more, for I have heard too much! RICHARD. Say how he died, for I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019404 | will hear it all. MESSENGER. Environed he was with many foes, And stood against them as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks that would have entered Troy. But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hews down and fell the hardest-timbered oak. By many hands your father was subdued, But only slaughtered | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019405 | by the ireful arm Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen, Who crowned the gracious duke in high despite, Laughed in his face; and when with grief he wept, The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheeks A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain. And after many scorns, many foul taunts, They | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019406 | took his head, and on the gates of York They set the same; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that eer I viewed. EDWARD. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. O Clifford, boisterous Clifford, thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry; And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019407 | treacherously hast thou vanquished him, For hand to hand he would have vanquished thee. Now my souls 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! RICHARD. I cannot weep, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019408 | for all my bodys moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart; Nor can my tongue unload my hearts great burthen, For selfsame wind that I should speak withal Is kindling coals that fires all my breast And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. To weep is to make less the depth of grief: Tears, then, for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019409 | babes; blows and revenge for me! Richard, I bear thy name; Ill venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it. EDWARD. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; His dukedom and his chair with me is left. RICHARD. Nay, if thou be that princely eagles bird, Show thy descent by gazing gainst the sun; For chair and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019410 | dukedom, throne and kingdom say, Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. March. Enter Warwick, Marquess Montague and their army. WARWICK. How now, fair lords! What fare? What news abroad? RICHARD. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each words deliverance Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019411 | words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! EDWARD. O, Warwick, Warwick, that Plantagenet Which held thee dearly as his souls redemption Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. WARWICK. Ten days ago I drowned these news in tears, And now, to add more measure to your woes, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019412 | come to tell you things sith then befalln. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss and his depart. I, then in London, keeper of the King, Mustered my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019413 | I thought, Marched toward Saint Albans 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 Henrys oath and your succession. Short tale to make, we at Saint Albans met, Our battles joined, and both | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019414 | sides fiercely fought. But, whether twas the coldness of the King, Who looked full gently on his warlike Queen, That robbed my soldiers of their heated spleen, Or whether twas report of her success; Or more than common fear of Cliffords rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth, Their weapons | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019415 | like to lightning came and went; Our soldiers, like the night-owls lazy flight, Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. I cheered them up with justice of our cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards, But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019416 | 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. EDWARD. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019417 | from Burgundy to England? WARWICK. Some six miles off the Duke is with the soldiers; And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. RICHARD. Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled. Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But neer till now his scandal | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019418 | of retire. WARWICK. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henrys head And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Were he as famous and as bold in war As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. RICHARD. I know it well, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019419 | Lord Warwick; blame me not. Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. But in this troublous time whats to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019420 | arms? If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords. WARWICK. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out, And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting Queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many moe proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting King like wax. He swore consent to your succession, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019421 | 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, Amongst the loving Welshmen | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019422 | canst procure, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, _via_, to London will we march amain, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry Charge upon our foes! But never once again turn back and fly. RICHARD. Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak. Neer may he live to see a sunshine day That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019423 | cries Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. EDWARD. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou failstas God forbid the hour! Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend! WARWICK. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York. The next degree is Englands royal throne; For King of England shalt thou be proclaimed In every borough as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019424 | we pass along, And he that throws not up his cap for joy Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets and about our task. RICHARD. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019425 | deeds, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. EDWARD. Then strike up, drums! God and Saint George for us! Enter a Messenger. WARWICK. How now, what news? MESSENGER. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The Queen is coming with a puissant host, And craves your company for speedy counsel. WARWICK. Why then it sorts; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019426 | brave warriors, lets away. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. Before York Flourish. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince of Wales, Clifford and Northumberland with drums and trumpets. QUEEN MARGARET. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonders the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompassed with your crown. Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019427 | KING HENRY. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wrack! To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! Tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow. CLIFFORD. My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019428 | 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 serpents mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019429 | York did level at thy crown, Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows. He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue like a loving sire; Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019430 | though mans 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 used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climbed unto their nest, Offering their own lives in their youngs defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent. Were it not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019431 | pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his fathers 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019432 | leave thine own with him. KING HENRY. Full well hath Clifford played 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? Ill leave my son my virtuous deeds behind, And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019433 | would my father had left me no more; For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession any jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York, would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! QUEEN MARGARET. My lord, cheer up your spirits; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019434 | our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son. Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down. KING HENRY. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson: draw thy sword in right. PRINCE EDWARD. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, Ill draw it as apparent to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019435 | the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. CLIFFORD. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. Enter a Messenger. MESSENGER. Royal commanders, be in readiness; For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York, And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019436 | to him. Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. CLIFFORD. I would your highness would depart the field. The Queen hath best success when you are absent. QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. KING HENRY. Why, thats my fortune too; therefore Ill stay. NORTHUMBERLAND. Be it with resolution then to fight. PRINCE EDWARD. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019437 | My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence. Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry Saint George! March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague and Soldiers. EDWARD. Now, perjured Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace And set thy diadem upon my head, Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? QUEEN MARGARET. Go | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019438 | rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? EDWARD. I am his king, and he should bow his knee. I was adopted heir by his consent. Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You that are king, though he do wear the crown, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019439 | Have caused him by new act of Parliament To blot out me and put his own son in. CLIFFORD. And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son? RICHARD. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! CLIFFORD. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee, Or any he, the proudest of thy sort. RICHARD. Twas you that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019440 | killed young Rutland, was it not? CLIFFORD. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. RICHARD. For Gods sake, lords, give signal to the fight. WARWICK. What sayst thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? QUEEN MARGARET. Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick, dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Albans last, Your legs did better service than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019441 | your hands. WARWICK. Then twas my turn to fly, and now tis thine. CLIFFORD. You said so much before, and yet you fled. WARWICK. Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. NORTHUMBERLAND. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. RICHARD. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019442 | my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. CLIFFORD. I slew thy father; callst thou him a child? RICHARD. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland, But ere sunset Ill make thee curse the deed. KING HENRY. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET. Defy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019443 | them then, or else hold close thy lips. KING HENRY. I prithee, give no limits to my tongue. I am a king, and privileged to speak. CLIFFORD. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still. RICHARD. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword. By Him that made us all, I am resolved That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019444 | Cliffords manhood lies upon his tongue. EDWARD. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts today That neer shall dine unless thou yield the crown. WARWICK. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on. PRINCE EDWARD. If that be right which Warwick says is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019445 | right, There is no wrong, but everything is right. RICHARD. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For well I wot thou hast thy mothers tongue. QUEEN MARGARET. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam, But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, Marked by the Destinies to be avoided, As venom toads or lizards dreadful stings. RICHARD. Iron of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019446 | Naples, hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king, As if a channel should be called the sea, Shamst thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? EDWARD. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns To make this shameless callet know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019447 | far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus; And neer was Agamemnons brother wronged By that false woman as this king by thee. His father revelled in the heart of France, And tamed the King, and made the Dauphin stoop; And had he matched according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But when | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019448 | he took a beggar to his bed And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day, Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him That washed his fathers fortunes forth of France And heaped sedition on his crown at home. For what hath broached this tumult but thy pride? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019449 | we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipped our claim until another age. GEORGE. But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, 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, Well never leave | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019450 | till we have hewn thee down Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. EDWARD. And in this resolution I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference, Since thou deniest the gentle King to speak. Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave; And either victory or else a grave! QUEEN MARGARET. Stay, Edward. EDWARD. No, wrangling woman, well no longer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019451 | stay. These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire Alarums. Excursions. Enter Warwick. WARWICK. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe; For strokes received, and many blows repaid, Have robbed my strong-knit sinews of their strength, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019452 | And spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile. Enter Edward, running. EDWARD. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death; For this world frowns and Edwards sun is clouded. WARWICK. How now, my lord, what hap? What hope of good? Enter George. GEORGE. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke and ruin follows us. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019453 | What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly? EDWARD. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. Enter Richard. RICHARD. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brothers blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broached with the steely point of Cliffords lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019454 | Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my death! So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stained their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. WARWICK. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood; Ill kill my horse because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019455 | women here, Wailing our losses whiles the foe doth rage, And look upon, as if the tragedy Were played in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above Ill never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine, Or Fortune given me measure of revenge. EDWARD. O Warwick, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019456 | do bend my knee with thine, And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And, ere my knee rise from the earths 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019457 | 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, Whereer it be, in heaven or in earth. RICHARD. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019458 | That winter should cut off our spring-time so. WARWICK. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell. GEORGE. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019459 | may plant courage in their quailing breasts, For yet is hope of life and victory. Forslow no longer; make we hence amain. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. Another Part of the Field Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. RICHARD. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone. Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019460 | Wert thou environed with a brazen wall. CLIFFORD. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone. This is the hand that stabbed thy father York, And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And heres the heart that triumphs in their death And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother To execute the like upon thyself; And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019461 | so have at thee! They fight. Warwick comes; Clifford flies. RICHARD. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. Another Part of the Field Enter King Henry. KING HENRY. This battle fares like to the mornings war, When dying clouds contend with growing light, What time the shepherd, blowing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019462 | of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea Forced to retire by fury of the wind. Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; Now one the better, then another | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019463 | best, Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror nor conquered. So is the equal poise of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory! For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, Have chid me from the battle, swearing both They prosper best of all | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019464 | when I am thence. Would I were dead, if Gods good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe? O God! Methinks 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019465 | the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours brings 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 times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019466 | So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece. So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Passed over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019467 | 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 embroidered canopy To kings that fear their subjects treachery? O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, the shepherds homely curds, His cold thin drink | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019468 | out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh trees shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a princes delicates His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. Alarum. Enter a Son that hath killed his father, bringing in the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019469 | dead 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. Whos this? O | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019470 | God! It is my fathers face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have killed. O heavy times, begetting such events! From London by the King was I pressed forth; My father, being the Earl of Warwicks man, Came on the part of York, pressed by his master; And I, who at his hands received my life, Have by my hands | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019471 | 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 flowed their fill. KING HENRY. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019472 | enmity. Weep, wretched man, Ill aid thee tear for tear; And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears and break oercharged with grief. Enter a Father who has killed his son, with the body in his arms. FATHER. Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold, For | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019473 | I have bought it with an hundred blows. But let me see: is this our foemans 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 with the windy tempest of my heart Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019474 | heart! O, pity, God, this miserable age! What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! KING HENRY. Woe above woe, grief more than common grief! O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019475 | 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 cheeks, methinks, presenteth. Wither one rose, and let the other flourish! If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. SON. How will my mother for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019476 | a fathers death Take on with me and neer be satisfied! FATHER. How will my wife for slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears and neer be satisfied! KING HENRY. How will the country for these woeful chances Misthink the King and not be satisfied! SON. Was ever son so rued a fathers death? FATHER. Was ever father so | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019477 | bemoaned his son? KING HENRY. Was ever king so grieved for subjects woe? Much is your sorrow, mine ten times so much. SON. Ill bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. [_Exit with the body._] FATHER. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, For from my heart thine image | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019478 | neer shall go. My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; And so obsequious will thy father be, Even for the loss of thee, having no more, As Priam was for all his valiant sons. Ill bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, For I have murdered where I should not kill. [_Exit with the body._] KING HENRY. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019479 | Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woeful than you are. Alarums. Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince of Wales and Exeter. PRINCE EDWARD. Fly, father, fly, for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull. Away, for death doth hold us in pursuit. QUEEN MARGARET. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019480 | 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 grasped in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. EXETER. Away, for vengeance comes along with them. Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed, Or else come after; Ill away | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019481 | before. KING HENRY. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter; Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the Queen intends. Forward; away! [_Exeunt._] SCENE VI. Another Part of the Field A loud alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. CLIFFORD. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which whiles it lasted gave King Henry light. O | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019482 | Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow More than my bodys parting with my soul! My love and fear glued many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melts, Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York. The common people swarm like summer flies; And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? And who shines now but Henrys enemies? O Phoebus, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019483 | hadst thou never given consent That Phathon should check thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorched the earth! And, Henry, hadst thou swayed as kings should do, Or as thy father and his father did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I, and ten thousand in this luckless | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019484 | realm Had left no mourning widows for our death, And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight. The foe is merciless and will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019485 | not pity, For at their hands I have deserved 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 stabbed your fathers bosoms, split my breast. [_He faints._] Alarum and retreat. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Montague, Warwick and Soldiers. EDWARD. Now breathe | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019486 | 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, filled with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? WARWICK. No, tis impossible | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019487 | he should escape; For, though before his face I speak the words, Your brother Richard marked him for the grave, And wheresoer he is, hes surely dead. [_Clifford groans and dies._] RICHARD. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? A deadly groan, like life and deaths departing. EDWARD. See who it is; and, now the battles ended, If | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019488 | friend or foe, let him be gently used. RICHARD. Revoke that doom of mercy, for tis Clifford, Who, not contented that he lopped the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, I mean our princely father, Duke of York. WARWICK. From off | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019489 | the gates of York fetch down the head, Your fathers head, which Clifford placed there; Instead whereof let this supply the room. Measure for measure must be answered. EDWARD. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours; Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019490 | shall speak. [_Soldiers bring the body forward._] WARWICK. I think his understanding is bereft. Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death oershades his beams of life, And he nor sees nor hears us, what we say. RICHARD. O, would he did, and so, perhaps, he doth! Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019491 | avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. GEORGE. If so thou thinkst, vex him with eager words. RICHARD. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. EDWARD. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. WARWICK. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. GEORGE. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. RICHARD. Thou didst love York, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019492 | I am son to York. EDWARD. Thou pitiedst Rutland, I will pity thee. GEORGE. Wheres Captain Margaret to fence you now? WARWICK. They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont. RICHARD. What, not an oath? Nay then, the world goes hard When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. I know by that hes dead; and, by my soul, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019493 | If this right hand would buy but two hours life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain whose unstaunched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. WARWICK. Ay, but hes dead. Off with the traitors head, And rear it in the place your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019494 | fathers stands. And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned Englands royal king; From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen. So shalt thou sinew both these lands together, And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scattered foe that hopes to rise again; For though | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019495 | they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation, And then to Brittany Ill cross the sea To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. EDWARD. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, And never | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019496 | will I undertake the thing Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester; And George, of Clarence. Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. RICHARD. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester, For Gloucesters dukedom is too ominous. WARWICK. Tut, thats a foolish observation. Richard, be Duke | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019497 | of Gloucester. Now to London, To see these honours in possession. [_Exeunt._] ACT III SCENE I. A Forest in the North of England Enter two Keepers with crossbows in their hands. KEEPER. Under this thick-grown brake well shroud ourselves, For through this laund anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019498 | of all the deer. KEEPER. Ill stay above the hill, so both may shoot. KEEPER. That cannot be; the noise of thy crossbow 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, Ill tell thee what befell me on a day | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000019499 | In this self place where now we mean to stand. KEEPER. Here comes a man; lets stay till he be past. Enter King Henry, disguised, with a prayer-book. KING HENRY. From Scotland am I stolen, even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, tis no land of thine; Thy place is filled, | 60 | gutenberg |
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