Imatges de pÓgina

Scene IV.



And rob his temples of the diadem,
And, if thou canst for blushing view this | And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
Now in his life, against your holy oath ?
Oh! 'tis a fault too too unpardonable !--
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his


And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice,

Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.

Cif. I will not bandy with thee word for


And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him

dead. +

Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake.
Q. Mar. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he

But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.
Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thou-
sand causes,

York. She-wolf of France, but worse than
wolves of France,

I would proloug awhile the traitor's life :-
Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northum-Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's


North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so

To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his band 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.

How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates?
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
to make
I would assay proud queen,


To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom de-

not shameless,
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou

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
Unless the adage must be verified,

That beggars, mounted, run their horse to

[They lay hands on YORK, who struggles. Cif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. [YORK is taken prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'a booty; so o'er So true men yield,, with robbers match'd. North. What would your grace have done unto him now?

Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,

Come make him stand upon this molehill here; That raught at mountains with outstretched armis,

Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.-
What! was it you, that would be England's

Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high descent ?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling

Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rut-
Look, York; I stain'd this napkin with the

That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made issue from the bosom of the boy:
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.

'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud ;
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd;
'Tis government that makes them seem di-

↑ Reached.

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 tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
Thou steru, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorse-
Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast
Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy
thy will:

For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
my sweet
These tears are

I pr'ythee grieve, to make me merry, York;
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and


What, bath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails,

That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patieut, man? thou should'st be

And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make ine
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
A crown for York ;-and, lords, bow low to



cries vengeance

for his

every drop
'Gainst thee, fell

Clifford, and thee, false

North. Beshrew me, but his passions

me so,
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
York. That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd
with blood

O ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'st in blood of my sweet

Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. [Putting a paper Crown on his Head. Ay, marry, Sir, now looks he like a king! Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair; And this is he was his adopted heir. But how is it that great Plantagenet is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ? As bethink me, you should not be king, our king Henry had shook hands with Till death, · Honest mes.

1 Handkerchief.

And I with tears do wash the blood away.
[He gives back the
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
And, if thou tIP'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast failing tears;

↑ Kill him. Impale, encircle with a crown. 1 The distinguishing mark. $ Government, in the language of the time, signified evenness of temper, and decency of minners.

The North.


And say,-Alas, it was piteous deed!-
There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my


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 beads!
North. Had he been slaughterman to all my

I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northumberland ?

Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. [Stabbing him. Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. [Stabbing him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. [Dies. Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York.


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That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds,"
Should notwithstanding, join our lights to-

And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair shining suns.

Rich. Nay, bear three daughters;-By your leave I speak it,

You love the breeder better than the male.


Not separated with the racking clouds, §
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vow'd some league inviolable :
Now are they but one lamp, one light,



In this the heaven figures some event. Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.

I think it cites us, brother, to the field;

• Demeaned himself.

4 Neat cattle, cons, oxen, &c. Aurora takes for a me her farewell of the sun, when she dismisses him to his diurnal course.

The clouds in rop.d tumultuary motion.


But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

Mess. Ah! one that was a woeful looker of,
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

Rich. Say how he died, for I will bear it all.

Mess. 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 the hardest-timber'd oak.
By many hands your father was subdued;
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen :
Who crown'd the gracious duke, in high de-

Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief be wept,

The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks,
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford

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 remais, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean


Now thou art gone, we bave no staff, no stay!

O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd

thee !

Now my soul's palace is become a prison:
Ah! would she break from hence, that this my

Might in the ground be closed up in rest:
For never henceforth shall I joy again,
Never, O never, shall I see more joy.

Rich. I cannot weep for all my body's mais


quench my


Scarce serves


Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden;

For self-same wind, that I should speak withal,
Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,
And burn me up with flames, that tears would

To weep, is to make less the depth of grief: Tears, then, for babes; blows and revenge for me!

Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it.

Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee:

His dukedom and his chair with me is left. Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,

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Scene 1.

March.-Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, with Forces.

War. How now, fair lords? What fare?

What news abroad?

Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount

Our baleful news, at each word's deliverance,
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,
The words would add more anguish than the


O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.
Edu. O Warwick! Warwick! that Planta-

Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemp



And wring the awful sceptre from his fist;
Were be as famous and as bold in war,

As he is famed for mildness, peace, and


Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick; blame

\ me not:

'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.
But, in this troublous time, what's to be done?
bodies in black mourning
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,

And wrap our
Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?
or shall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
If for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords.

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek
you out:

And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford, and the baught Northumber-

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,

Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death."
War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in


And now, to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things since then befall'n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breathed his latest


Tidings, as swiftly as the post could run,
Were brought me of your loss and his depart.
I then in London, keeper of the king,
my soldiers, gather'd




To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster,
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:

And very well appointed, as I thought,
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of
March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself,
Amongst the loving Welchmen canst pro-


Bearing the king in my behalf along :
For by my scouts I was advértised,
That she was coming with a full intent
To dash our late decree in parliament,
Touching king Henry's oath, and your succes-


Short tale to make,-we at St. Alban's met,
both sides fiercely
Our battles join'd, and

Bot, whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen;
Or whether 'twas report of her success:
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
Who thunders to his captives, blood


I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning came

Our soldiers-like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,-
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay and great rewards:
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
So that we filed: the king unto the queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and my-
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with



Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
Why, Via! To London will we march amain:
And once again cry-Charge upon our foes!
But never once again turn back and fly.

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great War-
wick speak;
Ne'er may be live to see a sunshine day,
That cries-Retire, if Warwick bid him stay.
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I
And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven fore-
fend !

War. No longer earl of March, but duke of

For in the marches here, we heard, you were,
Making another head to fight again.

Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle
And when came George from Burgundy to Eng.

War. Some six miles off the duke is with the

The next degree is, England's royal throne;
In every borough as we pass along;
For king of England shalt thou be proclair'd
And he, that throws not up his cap for joy,
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward,-valiant Richard,-Montague,-
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard
as steel,

And for your brother, he was lately sent,
From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant War-
wick fled.

(As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,)
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edw. Then strike up, drums;-God
Saint George for us!

oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now, his scandal of retire.

War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thon hear; For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine Cam pluck the diadem bead,

from faint Henry's


War. How now? What news?

Mess. 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.

SCENE II.-Before York.

Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARET, the
UMBERLAND, with Forces.

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave
town of York:-

• Lofty.

Yonder's the head of that arch euemy,
That sought to be encompass'd with your


Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck ;

To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, Not wittingly have I infringed my vow..

Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity, must he laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his, that spoils her young before her face. Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he, that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on; And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood.

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My careless father fondly + gave away?
Ah! what a shame were this! Look on the

And let his inanly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with

K. Hen. Full well bath Clifford play'd the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. Brt, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear, That things ill got had ever bad success ? And happy always was 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 jet of pleasure. Ah! cousin York! 'would thy best friends did know, How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits! Our foes are high, And this soft courage makes your followers faint.

You promised knighthood to our forward son; Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.Edward, kneel down.

K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; Aud learn this lesson,-Draw thy sword in right. Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave

I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.

Clif. Why, that is spokon like a toward prince.

• Henry was a very amiable and pious monarch: he founded the munificent college of Eton; and also hing's College, Cambridge.

↑ Foolishly.


Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness; For, with a band of thirty thousand men, Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York; And, in the towns as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to bin: D'arraign your battle for they are at hand. Clif. I would your highness would depart the field;

The queen hath best success when you are


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

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

North. Be it with resolution then to fight. Prince. My royal father, cheer these woble lords,

And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheath your sword, good father; cry St. George!


Edw. Now, perjured Henry! Wilt thou kacel for grace,

And set thy diadem upon my head;
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?
Q. Mar. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting

Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?
Edw. I am his king, aud he should bow his

I was adopted heir by his consent:

Since when, bis oath is broke; for, as I bear,
You-that are king, though he do wear the
Have caused him, by new act of parliament,
To blot out me, and put his own son in.
Clif. And reason too;

Who should succeed the father, bat the son! Rich. Are you there, butcher 1-0 I cannot speak.

Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee,

Or any he the proudest of thy sort. Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?

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Scene II.

Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close

thy lips.

K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my These words will cost ten thousand lives to day. tongue;


I am a king, and privileged to speak.

Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.
Rick. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword;
By him that made us all, I am resolved, *
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.
Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or

Towton and Saxton in Yorkshire.
Clif. My liege, the wound that bred this meet-SCENE III-A Field of Battle between
ing here,
Alarums: Excursions.-Enter WARWICK.
War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a


For strokes received, and many blows repaid,
I lay me down a little while to breathe :
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their

And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while.
Enter EDWARD, running.
or strike, un-

Edw. Sinile, gentle heaven!
gentle death!

For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is

A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown,

War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;

For York in justice puts his armour on.
Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says
is right,

There is no wrong, but every thing is right.
Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother

For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.
Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire,
nor dam;

But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
As venom toads, or lizard's dreadful stings.
Rick. Iron of Naples, hid with


gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king, (As if a channel should be call'd the sea,) Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,


Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer

To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?
Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thou-
sand crowns,

To make this shameless callet ¶ know herself.
Heleu of Greece was fairer far than thou,
Although thy husband may be Menelaus: **
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
By that false woman, as this king by thee.
His father revell'd in the heart of France,
And tamed the king, and made the dauphin

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 graced thy poor sire with his bridal day;
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for

That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of



And either victory, or else a grave.
Mar. Stay, Edward.

War. How now, my lord? What hap? What
hope of good?

It is my firm persuasion. + One branded by nature.


Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad des-

ranks are broke, and ruin follows us :
What counsel give you, whither shall we fly?
Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with

And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what bath broach'd this tumult, but thy
pride ?

Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
And we, in pity of the gentle king,
Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made
thy spring,


And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.


Rich. Ah! Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?

drunk, Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath

Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's


And, in the very pangs of death, he cried,
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,
Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my


That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking
So underneath the belly of their steeds,

And that tby summer bred us no increase,
We set the axe to thy usurping root;

though the edge hath something hit our-I
Yet, know thou since we have begun to strike,
We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee
Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.
Edu. And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.-
our bloody

The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:

Why stand we like soft hearted women bere,
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
And look upon, ⚫ as if the tragedy
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
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 closed these eyes of mine,
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with

And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,


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,
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
That to my foes this body must be prey,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul !--
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.

Rich. Brother, give me thy hand-and gen-
tle Warwick,
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:-
1, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
That winter should cut off our spring-time so.
War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords,

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 are mere spectators.

1 Gilt is a superficial covering of god.

* Keutel was then pronounced channel.
how thy meanness of birth by thy indecent rail-

**Le. A cuckold.

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