The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works
Page 81
Our archers placèd strongly in the midst.
John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of this multitude.
They thus directed, we ourself will follow
In the main battle, whose puissance on both sides
Shall be well wingèd with our chiefest horse.
This, and Saint George to boot! What think’st thou, Norfolk?
NORFOLK
A good direction, warlike sovereign.He showeth him a paper
This paper found I on my tent this morning.
(He reads)
‘Jackie of Norfolk be not too bold,
For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.’
KING RICHARD
A thing devisèd by the enemy.—
Go, gentlemen, each man unto his charge.
Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls.
Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
Devised at first to keep the strong in awe.
Our strong arms be our conscience; swords, our law.
March on, join bravely! Let us to’t, pell mell—
If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.His oration to his army
What shall I say, more than I have inferred?
Remember whom you are to cope withal:
A sort of vagabonds, rascals and runaways,
A scum of Bretons and base lackey peasants,
Whom their o‘ercloyèd country vomits forth
To desperate ventures and assured destruction.
You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;
You having lands and blessed with beauteous wives,
They would distrain the one, distain the other.
And who doth lead them, but a paltry fellow?
Long kept in Bretagne at our mother’s cost;
A milksop; one that never in his life
Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow.
Let’s whip these stragglers o’er the seas again,
Lash hence these overweening rags of France,
These famished beggars, weary of their lives,
Who—but for dreaming on this fond exploit—
For want of means, poor rats, had hanged themselves.
If we be conquered, let men conquer us,
And not these bastard Bretons, whom our fathers
Have in their own land beaten, bobbed, and thumped,
And in record left them the heirs of shame.
Shall these enjoy our lands? Lie with our wives?
Ravish our daughters?
Drum afar off
Hark, I hear their drum.
Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen!
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood!
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!Enter a Messenger
What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?
MESSENGER
My lord, he doth deny to come.
KING RICHARD Off with young George’s head!
NORFOLK
My lord, the enemy is past the marsh.
After the battle let George Stanley die.
KING RICHARD
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom.
Advance our standards! Set upon our foes!
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons.
Upon them! Victory sits on our helms!
Exeunt
5.7 Alarum. Excursions. Enter Sir William Catesby
CATESBY calling
Rescue, my lord of Norfolk! Rescue, rescue!
⌈To a soldier⌉ The King enacts more wonders than a man,
Daring an opposite to every danger.
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
⌈Calling⌉ Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!
Alarums. Enter King Richard
KING RICHARD
A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!
CATESBY
Withdraw, my lord. I’ll help you to a horse.
KING RICHARD
Slave, I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die.
I think there be six Richmonds in the field.
Five have I slain today, instead of him.
A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!
Exeunt
5.8 Alarum. Enter King Richard ⌈at one door⌉ and Henry Earl of Richmond ⌈at another⌉. They fight. Richard is slain. ⌈Exit Richmond.⌉ Retreat and flourish. Enter Henry Earl of Richmond and Lord Stanley Earl of Derby, with divers other lords and soldiers
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND
God and your arms be praised, victorious friends!
The day is ours. The bloody dog is dead.
STANLEY (bearing the crown)
Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee.
Lo, here this long usurpèd royalty
From the dead temples of this bloody wretch
Have I plucked off, to grace thy brows withal.
Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.
⌈He sets the crown on Henry’s head⌉
KING HENRY THE SEVENTH
Great God of heaven, say ‘Amen’ to all.
But tell me—young George Stanley, is he living?
STANLEY
He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town,
Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.
KING HENRY THE SEVENTH
What men of name are slain on either side?
⌈STANLEY⌉(reads)
John Duke of Norfolk, Robert Brackenbury,
Walter Lord Ferrers, and Sir William Brandon.
KING HENRY THE SEVENTH
Inter their bodies as becomes their births.
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled
That in submission will return to us,
And then—as we have ta‘en the sacrament—
We will unite the white rose and the red.
Smile, heaven, upon this fair conjunction,
That long have frowned upon their enmity.
What traitor hears me and says not ‘Amen’?
England hath long been mad, and scarred herself;
The brother blindly shed the brother’s blood;
The father rashly slaughtered his own son;
The son, compelled, been butcher to the sire;
All that divided York and Lancaster,
United in their dire division.
O now let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true succeeders of each royal house,
By God’s fair ordinance conjoin together,
And let their heirs—God, if his will be so—
Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace,
With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days.
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
That would reduce these bloody days again
And make poor England weep forth streams of blood.
Let them not live to taste this land’s increase,
That would with treason wound this fair land’s peace.
Now civil wounds are stopped; peace lives again.
That she may long live here, God say ‘Amen’.
⌈Flourish.⌉ Exeunt
ADDITIONAL PASSAGES
The following passages are contained in the Folio text, but not the Quarto; they were apparently omitted from performances.
a. AFTER I.2.I54These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear—
No, when my father York and Edward wept
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made
When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him;
Nor when thy warlike father like a child
Told the sad story of my father’s death
And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,
T
hat all the standers-by had wet their cheeks
Like trees bedashed with rain. In that sad time
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear,
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
b. AFTER 1.3.166RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Wert thou not banishèd on pain of death?
QUEEN MARGARET
I was, but I do find more pain in banishment
Than death can yield me here by my abode.
c. AFTER I.4.68O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease thee
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath in me alone.
O spare my guiltless wife and my poor children.
d. AFTER 2.2.88The Folio has Dorset and Rivers enter with Queen Elizabeth at 2.2.33.I.
DORSET
Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeased
That you take with unthankfulness his doing.
In common worldly things ’tis called ungrateful
With dull unwillingness to pay a debt
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven
For it requires the royal debt it lent you.
RIVERS
Madam, bethink you like a careful mother
Of the young Prince your son. Send straight for him;
Let him be crowned. In him your comfort lives.
Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward’s grave
And plant your joys in living Edward’s throne.
e. AFTER 2.2.II0RIVERS
Why with some little train, my lord of Buckingham?
BUCKINGHAM
Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude
The new-healed wound of malice should break out,
Which would be so much the more dangerous
By how much the estate is green and yet ungoverned.
Where every horse bears his commanding rein
And may direct his course as please himself,
As well the fear of harm as harm apparent
In my opinion ought to be prevented.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
I hope the King made peace with all of us,
And the compact is firm and true in me.
RIVERS
And so in me, and so I think in all.
Yet since it is but green, it should be put
To no apparent likelihood of breach,
Which haply by much company might be urged.
Therefore I say, with noble Buckingham,
That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince.
HASTINGS And so say I.
f. AFTER 3.I.I70And summon him tomorrow to the Tower
To sit about the coronation.
g. AFTER 3.5.I00Beginning Richard Gloucester’s speech. The Folio brings on Lovell and Ratcliffe instead of Catesby at 3.5.19.1.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Go, Lovell, with all speed to Doctor Shaw;
(To Ratcliffe) Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both
Meet me within this hour at Baynard’s Castle.
Exeunt Lovell and Ratcliffe,
h. AFTER 3.7.I43If not to answer, you might haply think
Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,
Which fondly you would here impose on me.
If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
So seasoned with your faithful love to me,
Then on the other side I checked my friends.
Therefore to speak, and to avoid the first,
And then in speaking not to incur the last,
Definitively thus I answer you.
i. AFTER 4.I.96In the Folio, the characters do not exit during the Duchess of York’s preceding speech.
QUEEN ELIZABETH
Stay: yet look back with me unto the Tower.—
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes,
Whom envy hath immured within your walls.
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones,
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
For tender princes: use my babies well.
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.
Exeunt
j. AFTER 4.4.22IKING RICHARD
You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.
QUEEN ELIZABETH
Cousins indeed, and by their uncle cozened
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts,
Thy head all indirectly gave direction.
No doubt the murd‘rous knife was dull and blunt
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys
Till that my nails were anchored in thine eyes—
And I in such a desp’rate bay of death,
Like a poor barque of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.
k. AFTER 4.4.273KING RICHARD
Say that I did all this for love of her.
QUEEN ELIZABETH
Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
KING RICHARD
Look what is done cannot be now amended.
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends I’ll give it to your daughter.
If I have killed the issue of your womb,
To quicken your increase I will beget
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.
A grandam’s name is little less in love
Than is the doting title of a mother.
They are as children but one step below,
Even of your mettall, of your very blood:
Of all one pain, save for a night of groans
Endured of her for whom you bid like sorrow.
Your children were vexation to your youth,
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
The loss you have is but a son being king,
And by that loss your daughter is made queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity.
The king that calls your beauteous daughter wife,
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother.
Again shall you be mother to a king,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repaired with double riches of content.
What? We have many goodly days to see.
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
Shall come again, transformed to orient pearl,
Advantaging their loan with interest
Of ten times double gain of happiness.
Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go.
Make bold her bashful years with your experience.
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer’s tale.
Put in her tender heart th’aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty. Acquaint the Princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys.
And when this arm of mine hath chastised
The petty rebel, dull-brained Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror’s bed—
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victoress: Caesar’s Caesar.
QUEEN ELIZABETH
What were I best to say? Her
father’s brother
Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle?
Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honour, and her love
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
VENUS AND ADONIS
WITH Venus and Adonis, Shakespeare made his debut in print: his signature appears at the end of the formal dedication to the Earl of Southampton in which the poem is described as ‘the first heir of my invention’—though Shakespeare had already begun to make his mark as a playwright. A terrible outbreak of plague, which was to last for almost two years, began in the summer of I592, and London’s theatres were closed as a precaution against infection. Probably Shakespeare wrote his poem at this time, perhaps seeing a need for an alternative career. It is an early example of the Ovidian erotic narrative poems that were fashionable for about thirty years from 1589; the best known outside Shakespeare is Christopher Marlowe’s Hero and Leander, written at about the same time.
Ovid, in Book I0 of the Metamorphoses, tells the story of Venus and Adonis in about seventy-five lines of verse; Shakespeare’s poem—drawing, probably, on both the original Latin and Arthur Golding’s English version (I565-7)—is I,I94 lines long. He modified Ovid’s tale as well as expanding it. In Ovid, the handsome young mortal Adonis returns the love urged on him by Venus, the goddess of love. Shakespeare turns Adonis into a bashful teenager, unripe for love, who shies away from her advances. In Ovid, the lovers go hunting together (though Venus chases only relatively harmless beasts, and advises Adonis to do the same); in Shakespeare, Adonis takes to the hunt rather as a respite from Venus’ remorseless attentions. Whereas Ovid’s Venus flies off to Cyprus in her dove-drawn chariot and returns only after Adonis has been mortally wounded, Shakespeare’s anxiously awaits the outcome of the chase. She hears the yelping of Adonis’ hounds, sees a bloodstained boar, comes upon Adonis’ defeated dogs, and at last finds his body. In Ovid, she metamorphoses him into an anemone; in Shakespeare, Adonis’ body melts away, and Venus plucks the purple and white flower that springs up in its place.
Shakespeare’s only addition to Ovid’s narrative is the episode (259-324) in which Adonis’ stallion lusts after a mare, so frustrating Adonis’ attempt to escape Venus’ embraces. But there are many rhetorical elaborations, such as Venus’ speech of attempted seduction (95-1174), her disquisition on the dangers of boar-hunting (6I3-7I4), her metaphysical explanation of why the night is dark (72I-68), Adonis’ reply (769-8I0), culminating in his eloquent contrast between lust and love, and Venus’ lament over his body (I069-II64).