The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare

And be you silent and attentive too,
For he that interrupts him shall not live.

K. Hen. 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 colours, often borne in France;
And now in England, to our heart's great sor-
row,

Shall be my winding sheet.-Why faint you, lords?

My title's good, and better far than his.

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

K. Hen. Henry the fourth by conquest got the crown.

York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king. K. Hen. I know not what to say; my title's weak.

Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?

York. 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 the chair of state, where now he sits,
Write up his title with usurping blood.

He stamps and the Soldiers show them-
selves.

K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, hear me but one word;

Let me, for this my life-time, reign as king. York. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs,

And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st. K. Hen. I am content: Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.

Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your

son?

War. What good is this to England and himself?

1. e. Detrimental to the general rights of hereditary royalty.

Or live in peace, abandon'd and despis'd!

[Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and WESTMORELAND.

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

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

K. Hen. Ah! Exeter :

War. Why should you sigh, my lord!

K. Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my son,

Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.
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;
And neither by treason, nor hostility,
To seek to put me down and reign thyself.
York. This oath I willingly take, and will
perform. [Coming from the Throne.
War. Long live king Henry !-Plantagenet,
embrace him.

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

York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd.

Exe, Accurs'd be he that seeks to mkae them foes!

[Senet. The Lords come forward. York. Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my

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

K. Hen. Exeter, so will I.

[Going.

Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee.

K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.

Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes?

Ah! wretched man! 'would I had died a maid,

And never seen thee, never borne thee son,
Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father!
Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus ?
Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as 1;
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 that savage duke thine heir,
Aud disinherited thine only son.

• Betray, discover.

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 crown, 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 1, I hope, shall reconcile them all.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.—A Room in Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire.

Enter EDWARD, PICHARD, and MONTAGUE. Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.

Edw. No, I can better play the orator.
Mont. But I have reasons strong and for-
cible.

Enter YORK.

York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. Rich. 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 de-
pose,

Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think,
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
Within whose circuit is Elysium,
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest,
Until the white rose that I wear be dyed
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.
York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or
die.

Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.
Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk,
And tell him privily of our intent.
You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentishinen will willingly

rise :

In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
Witty and courteous, 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.

But, stay; What news? Why com'st thou in such post?

Mess. 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.
York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st
thou that we fear them ?-

Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me:-
My brother Montague shall post to London :
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
Whom we have left protectors of the king,
With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths.
Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it
And thus most humbly I do take my leave.

not:

[Exit.

Enter Sir JOHN and Sir HUGH MORTIMER. York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,

York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at you are come to Sandal in a happy hour

a strife?

What is your quarrel? how began it first? Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention.

The army of the queen mean to besiege us. Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in the field.

York. What! with five thousand men ? Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.

A woman's general; What should we fear? [A March afar of, Edw I hear their drums; let's set our men in order;

And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. York. Five men to twenty !-though the odds be great,

I doubt not, uncle, of our victory,
Many a battle have I won in France,
When as the enemy hath been ten to one;
Why should I not now have the like success?
[Alarum. Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Plains near Sandal Castle. Alarums: Excursions. Enter RUTLAND and his TUTOR.

Rut. Ah! whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?

Ah! tator, look, where bloody Clifford comes ! Enter CLIFFORD, and Soldiers.

Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.

As for the brat of this accursed duke,
Whose father slew my father,--be shall die.

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

pany.

Clif. Soldiers, away with him.

[Dies. Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit.

SCENE IV.-The same.
Alarum.-Enter YORK.

York. The army of the queen hath got the field:

My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
And all my followers to the eager foe
Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind,
Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
My sons-God knows, what bath bechanced
them:

But this know, they have demean'd themselves

Like men born to renown, by life, or death.
Three times did Richard make a laue to me;
And thrice cried,-Courage, father! fight it
out:

And full as oft came Edward to my side,
With purple faulchion, painted to the hil
In blood of those that had encounter'd him :
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,

Tat. Ah! Clifford, murder not this innocent Richard cried,—Charge! and give no foot of

child,

Lest thou be hated both of God and man. [Exit, forced off by Soldiers. Clif. How now I is he dead already? Or, is it fear,

That makes him close his eyes?-I'll open pent-up lion o'er the

them.

Rut. So looks 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! geatle 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. Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood

Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.

Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again;

He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and

thine

Were not revenge sufficient for me;
No, if I digg'd up thy forefather's graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York

Is as a fury to torment my soul;
And till I root out their accursed line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore-

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

Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. Rut. 1 never did thee barm; Why wilt thou slay me?

Clif. Thy father hath.

Rut. But 'twas ere I was horn.

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 bast no cause.
Clif No cause?

• Since.

ground!

And cried,-A crown, or else a glorious tomb.
A sceptre! or an earthly sepulchre!
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,

waves.

And spend her strength with over-matching (A short Alarum within. Ah! hark! the fatal followers do pursue; And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury: And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury:

The sands are number'd, that make up my life!

Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter Queen MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, and Soldiers.

And, if thou canst for blushing view this | And will you pale your head in Henry's glory.

face:

And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice,

Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere

word:

But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.
[Draws.

Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thou-
sand causes,

I would prolong awhile the traitor's life :Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.

North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so
much,

To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away?
It is war's prize to take all vantages;
And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

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

the gin.

North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. [York is taken prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'a booty;

So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'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 arms,

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

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

And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
Oh! 'tis a fault too too unpardonable !-
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, bia
head;

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 makes.

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

Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's
tooth,

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

thee

To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom dcriv'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 Jerusalein;
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 verified,
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 di-
vine ;

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 To bid the father wipe his eyes witbal, [child, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible : Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rut-Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseland?

Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?

Look, York; I stain'd this napkin with the
blood

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

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

dance.

What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine en-
trails,

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. 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 him.

Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.

[Putting a paper Crown on his Head.
Ay, marry, Sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted beir.
But how is it that great Plantagenet

Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ?
As I bethink me, you should not be king,
Till our king Henry had shook hands with
death,

Honest men. i Reached. 1 Handkerchief.

less,
[wish:
Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy
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.
Rutland's obse-
These tears are my sweet

quies;

And every drop cries vengeance for his death,

'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false French-woman.

North. Besbrew me, but his passions

me so,

move

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

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

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

curse;

And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!-
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
North. Had he been slaughterman to all my
kin,

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.

news;

Or, had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard

The happy tidings of his good escape.-
How fares my brother? Why is he so sad?
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolved
Where our right valiant father is become.
I saw him in the battle range about;
And watch'd him how he singled Clifford
forth,

Methought he bore him in the thickest troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of neat: +

Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; Who, having pinch'd a few, and made them

cry,

The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
So fared our father with his enemies;
So fled his enemies my warlike father;
Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be 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,
Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love?
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three

suns?

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

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.

Enter a MESSENGER.

But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? Mess. Ah! one that was a woeful 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.

Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear 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-
spight;

Laugh'd 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 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 leas

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 bath left with thee:

His dukedom and his chair with me is le
Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eag.es
bird,

Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun;
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom

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The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare, Volume 10