The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner.

  CARDINAL BEAUFORT (to some of his attendants)

  Sirs, take away the Duke and guard him sure.

  GLOUCESTER

  Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch

  Before his legs be firm to bear his body.

  Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,

  And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.

  Ah, that my fear were false; ah, that it were!

  For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear.

  Exit Gloucester, guarded by the Cardinal’s men

  KING HENRY

  My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best

  Do or undo, as if ourself were here.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  What, will your highness leave the Parliament?

  KING HENRY

  Ay, Margaret, my heart is drowned with grief,

  Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes,

  My body round engirt with misery;

  For what’s more miserable than discontent?

  Ah, uncle Humphrey, in thy face I see

  The map of honour, truth, and loyalty;

  And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come

  That e‘er I proved thee false, or feared thy faith.

  What louring star now envies thy estate,

  That these great lords and Margaret our Queen

  Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?

  Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong.

  And as the butcher takes away the calf,

  And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strains,

  Bearing it to the bloody slaughterhouse,

  Even so remorseless have they borne him hence;

  And as the dam runs lowing up and down,

  Looking the way her harmless young one went,

  And can do naught but wail her darling’s loss;

  Even so myself bewails good Gloucester’s case

  With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimmed eyes

  Look after him, and cannot do him good,

  So mighty are his vowèd enemies.

  His fortunes I will weep, and ’twixt each groan,

  Say ‘Who’s a traitor? Gloucester, he is none’.

  Exit ⌈with Salisbury and Warwick⌉

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun’s hot beams.

  Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,

  Too full of foolish pity; and Gloucester’s show

  Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile

  With sorrow snares relenting passengers,

  Or as the snake rolled in a flow’ring bank

  With shining chequered slough doth sting a child

  That for the beauty thinks it excellent.

  Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I—

  And yet herein I judge mine own wit good—

  This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world

  To rid us from the fear we have of him.

  CARDINAL BEAUFORT

  That he should die is worthy policy;

  But yet we want a colour for his death.

  ’Tis meet he be condemned by course of law.

  SUFFOLK

  But, in my mind, that were no policy.

  The King will labour still to save his life,

  The commons haply rise to save his life;

  And yet we have but trivial argument

  More than mistrust that shows him worthy death.

  YORK

  So that, by this, you would not have him die?

  SUFFOLK

  Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I.

  YORK (aside)

  ’Tis York that hath more reason for his death.

  (Aloud) But my lord Cardinal, and you my lord of

  Suffolk,

  Say as you think, and speak it from your souls.

  Were’t not all one an empty eagle were set

  To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,

  As place Duke Humphrey for the King’s Protector?

  QUEEN MARGARET

  So the poor chicken should be sure of death.

  SUFFOLK

  Madam, ‘tis true; and were’t not madness then

  To make the fox surveyor of the fold,

  Who being accused a crafty murderer,

  His guilt should be but idly posted over

  Because his purpose is not executed?

  No—let him die in that he is a fox,

  By nature proved an enemy to the flock,

  Before his chaps be stained with crimson blood,

  As Humphrey, proved by reasons, to my liege.

  And do not stand on quillets how to slay him;

  Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,

  Sleeping or waking, ‘tis no matter how,

  So he be dead; for that is good conceit

  Which mates him first that first intends deceit.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Thrice-noble Suffolk, ’tis resolutely spoke.

  SUFFOLK

  Not resolute, except so much were done;

  For things are often spoke and seldom meant;

  But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,

  Seeing the deed is meritorious,

  And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,

  Say but the word and I will be his priest.

  CARDINAL BEAUFORT

  But I would have him dead, my lord of Suffolk,

  Ere you can take due orders for a priest.

  Say you consent and censure well the deed,

  And I’ll provide his executioner;

  I tender so the safety of my liege.

  SUFFOLK

  Here is my hand; the deed is worthy doing.

  QUEEN MARGARET And SO say I.

  YORK

  And I. And now we three have spoke it,

  It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.

  Enter a Post

  POST

  Great lord, from Ireland am I come amain

  To signify that rebels there are up

  And put the Englishmen unto the sword.

  Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,

  Before the wound do grow uncurable;

  For, being green, there is great hope of help.

  ⌈Exit⌉

  CARDINAL BEAUFORT

  A breach that craves a quick expedient stop!

  What counsel give you in this weighty cause?

  YORK

  That Somerset be sent as regent thither.

  ’Tis meet that lucky ruler be employed—

  Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

  SOMERSET

  If York, with all his far-fet policy,

  Had been the regent there instead of me,

  He never would have stayed in France so long.

  YORK

  No, not to lose it all as thou hast done.

  I rather would have lost my life betimes

  Than bring a burden of dishonour home

  By staying there so long till all were lost.

  Show me one scar charactered on thy skin.

  Men’s flesh preserved so whole do seldom win.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging fire

  If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with.

  No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still.

  Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,

  Might happily have proved far worse than his.

  YORK

  What, worse than naught? Nay, then a shame take all!

  SOMERSET

  And, in the number, thee that wishest shame.

  CARDINAL BEAUFORT

  My lord of York, try what your fortune is.

  Th’uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms

  And temper clay with blood of Englishmen.

  To Ireland will you lead a band of men

  Collected choicely, from each county some,

  And try your hap
against the Irishmen?

  YORK

  I will, my lord, so please his majesty.

  SUFFOLK

  Why, our authority is his consent,

  And what we do establish he confirms.

  Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

  YORK

  I am content. Provide me soldiers, lords,

  Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

  SUFFOLK

  A charge, Lord York, that I will see performed.

  But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.

  CARDINAL BEAUFORT

  No more of him—for I will deal with him

  That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.

  And so, break off; the day is almost spent.

  Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

  YORK

  My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days

  At Bristol I expect my soldiers;

  For there I’ll ship them all for Ireland.

  SUFFOLK

  I’ll see it truly done, my lord of York.

  Exeunt all but York

  YORK

  Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,

  And change misdoubt to resolution.

  Be that thou hop‘st to be, or what thou art

  Resign to death; it is not worth th’enjoying.

  Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man

  And find no harbour in a royal heart.

  Faster than springtime showers comes thought on

  thought,

  And not a thought but thinks on dignity.

  My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,

  Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.

  Well, nobles, well: ’tis politicly done

  To send me packing with an host of men.

  I fear me you but warm the starved snake,

  Who, cherished in your breasts, will sting your hearts.

  ’Twas men I lacked, and you will give them me.

  I take it kindly. Yet be well assured

  You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands.

  Whiles I in Ireland nurse a mighty band,

  I will stir up in England some black storm

  Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell,

  And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage

  Until the golden circuit on my head

  Like to the glorious sun’s transparent beams

  Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.

  And for a minister of my intent,

  I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,

  John Cade of Ashford,

  To make commotion, as full well he can,

  Under the title of John Mortimer.

  In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade

  Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,

  And fought so long till that his thighs with darts

  Were almost like a sharp-quilled porcupine;

  And in the end, being rescued, I have seen

  Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,

  Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.

  Full often like a shag-haired crafty kern

  Hath he conversed with the enemy

  And, undiscovered, come to me again

  And given me notice of their villainies.

  This devil here shall be my substitute,

  For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,

  In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble.

  By this I shall perceive the commons’ mind,

  How they affect the house and claim of York.

  Say he be taken, racked, and torturèd—

  I know no pain they can inflict upon him

  Will make him say I moved him to those arms.

  Say that he thrive, as ’tis great like he will—

  Why then from Ireland come I with my strength

  And reap the harvest which that coistrel sowed.

  For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,

  And Henry put apart, the next for me. Exit

  3.2 ⌈The curtains are drawn apart, revealing Duke Humphrey of Gloucester in his bed with two men lying on his breast, smothering him in his bed⌉

  FIRST MURDERER (to the Second Murderer)

  Run to my lord of Suffolk—let him know

  We have dispatched the Duke as he commanded.

  SECOND MURDERER

  O that it were to do! What have we done?

  Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

  Enter the Duke of Suffolk

  FIRST MURDERER Here comes my lord.

  SUFFOLK

  Now, sirs, have you dispatched this thing?

  FIRST MURDERER Ay, my good lord, he’s dead.

  SUFFOLK

  Why, that’s well said. Go, get you to my house.

  I will reward you for this venturous deed.

  The King and all the peers are here at hand.

  Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,

  According as I gave directions?

  FIRST MURDERER ’Tis, my good lord.

  SUFFOLK

  Then draw the curtains close; away, be gone!

  Exeunt ⌈the Murderers, drawing the curtains as

  they leave⌉

  Sound trumpets, then enter King Henry and Queen

  Margaret, Cardinal Beaufort, the Duke of Somerset,

  and attendants

  KING HENRY ⌈to Suffolk⌉

  Go call our uncle to our presence straight.

  Say we intend to try his grace today

  If he be guilty, as ’tis published.

  SUFFOLK

  I’ll call him presently, my noble lord.

  Exit

  KING HENRY

  Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,

  Proceed no straiter ’gainst our uncle Gloucester

  Than from true evidence, of good esteem,

  He be approved in practice culpable.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  God forbid any malice should prevail

  That faultless may condemn a noble man!

  Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

  KING HENRY

  I thank thee, Meg. These words content me much.

  Enter Suffolk

  How now? Why look’st thou pale? Why tremblest

  thou?

  Where is our uncle? What’s the matter, Suffolk?

  SUFFOLK

  Dead in his bed, my lord—Gloucester is dead.

  QUEEN MARGARET Marry, God forfend!

  CARDINAL BEAUFORT

  God’s secret judgement. I did dream tonight

  The Duke was dumb and could not speak a word.

  King Henry falls to the ground

  QUEEN MARGARET

  How fares my lord? Help, lords—the King is dead!

  SOMERSET

  Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!

  SUFFOLK

  He doth revive again. Madam, be patient.

  KING HENRY

  O heavenly God!

  QUEEN MARGARET How fares my gracious lord?

  SUFFOLK

  Comfort, my sovereign; gracious Henry, comfort.

  KING HENRY

  What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me?

  Came he right now to sing a raven’s note

  Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;

  And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,

  By crying comfort from a hollow breast

  Can chase away the first-conceived sound?

  Hide not thy poison with such sugared words.

  ⌈He begins to rise. Suffolk offers to assist him⌉

  Lay not thy hands on me—forbear, I say!

  Their touch affrights me as a serpent’s sting.

  Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!

  Upon thy eyeballs murderous tyranny

  Sits in grim majesty to fright the world.

 
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding—

  Yet do not go away. Come, basilisk,

  And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight.

  For in the shade of death I shall find joy;

  In life, but double death, now Gloucester’s dead.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus?

  Although the Duke was enemy to him,

  Yet he most Christian-like laments his death.

  And for myself, foe as he was to me,

  Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,

  Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,

  I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,

  Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,

  And all to have the noble Duke alive.

  What know I how the world may deem of me?

  For it is known we were but hollow friends,

  It may be judged I made the Duke away.

  So shall my name with slander’s tongue be wounded

  And princes’ courts be filled with my reproach.

  This get I by his death. Ay me, unhappy,

  To be a queen, and crowned with infamy.

  KING HENRY

  Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.

  What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face?

  I am no loathsome leper—look on me!

  What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?

  Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen.

  Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester’s tomb?

  Why, then Queen Margaret was ne‘er thy joy.

  Erect his statue and worship it, 80

  And make my image but an alehouse sign.

  Was I for this nigh wrecked upon the sea,

  And twice by awkward winds from England’s bank

  Drove back again unto my native clime?

  What boded this, but well forewarning winds

  Did seem to say, ‘Seek not a scorpion’s nest,

  Nor set no footing on this unkind shore’.

  What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts

  And he that loosed them forth their brazen caves,

  And bid them blow towards England’s blessed shore,

  Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock.

  Yet Aeolus would not be a murderer,

  But left that hateful office unto thee.

  The pretty vaulting sea refused to drown me,

  Knowing that thou wouldst have me drowned on

  shore

  With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness.

  The splitting rocks cow’red in the sinking sands,

  And would not dash me with their ragged sides,

  Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,

  Might in thy palace perish Margaret.

  As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,

  When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,