Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  Say

  What of that?

  Cade

  Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go in their hose and doublets.

  Dick

  And work in their shirt too; as myself, for example, that am a butcher.

  Say

  You men of Kent,—

  Dick

  What say you of Kent?

  Say

  Nothing but this; ’tis ‘bona terra, mala gens.’

  Cade

  Away with him, away with him! he speaks Latin.

  Say

  Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will.

  Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ,

  Is term’d the civil’st place of this isle:

  Sweet is the country, because full of riches;

  The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy;

  Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.

  I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy,

  Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.

  Justice with favour have I always done;

  Prayers and tears have moved me, gifts could never.

  When have I aught exacted at your hands,

  But to maintain the king, the realm and you?

  Large gifts have I bestow’d on learned clerks,

  Because my book preferr’d me to the king,

  And seeing ignorance is the curse of God,

  Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,

  Unless you be possess’d with devilish spirits,

  You cannot but forbear to murder me:

  This tongue hath parley’d unto foreign kings

  For your behoof,—

  Cade

  Tut, when struck’st thou one blow in the field?

  Say

  Great men have reaching hands: oft have I struck

  Those that I never saw and struck them dead.

  Bevis

  O monstrous coward! what, to come behind folks?

  Say

  These cheeks are pale for watching for your good.

  Cade

  Give him a box o’ the ear and that will make ’em red again.

  Say

  Long sitting to determine poor men’s causes

  Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.

  Cade

  Ye shall have a hempen caudle, then, and the help of hatchet.

  Dick

  Why dost thou quiver, man?

  Say

  The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.

  Cade

  Nay, he nods at us, as who should say, I’ll be even with you: I’ll see if his head will stand steadier on a pole, or no. Take him away, and behead him.

  Say

  Tell me wherein have I offended most?

  Have I affected wealth or honour? speak.

  Are my chests fill’d up with extorted gold?

  Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?

  Whom have I injured, that ye seek my death?

  These hands are free from guiltless bloodshedding,

  This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts.

  O, let me live!

  Cade

  [Aside] I feel remorse in myself with his words; but I’ll bridle it: he shall die, an it be but for pleading so well for his life. Away with him! he has a familiar under his tongue; he speaks not o’ God’s name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike off his head presently; and then break into his son-in-law’s house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them both upon two poles hither.

  All

  It shall be done.

  Say

  Ah, countrymen! if when you make your prayers,

  God should be so obdurate as yourselves,

  How would it fare with your departed souls?

  And therefore yet relent, and save my life.

  Cade

  Away with him! and do as I command ye.

  Exeunt some with Lord Say

  The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; there shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere they have it: men shall hold of me in capite; and we charge and command that their wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue can tell.

  Dick

  My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside and take up commodities upon our bills?

  Cade

  Marry, presently.

  All

  O, brave!

  Re-enter one with the heads

  Cade

  But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another, for they loved well when they were alive. Now part them again, lest they consult about the giving up of some more towns in France. Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until night: for with these borne before us, instead of maces, will we ride through the streets, and at every corner have them kiss. Away!

  Exeunt

  SCENE VIII. SOUTHWARK.

  Alarum and retreat. Enter Cade and all his rabblement

  Cade

  Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus’ Corner! Kill and knock down! throw them into Thames!

  Sound a parley

  What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or parley, when I command them kill?

  Enter Buckingham and Clifford, attended

  Buckingham

  Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee:

  Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king

  Unto the commons whom thou hast misled;

  And here pronounce free pardon to them all

  That will forsake thee and go home in peace.

  Clifford

  What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent,

  And yield to mercy whilst ’tis offer’d you;

  Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths?

  Who loves the king and will embrace his pardon,

  Fling up his cap, and say ‘God save his majesty!’

  Who hateth him and honours not his father,

  Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake,

  Shake he his weapon at us and pass by.

  All

  God save the king! God save the king!

  Cade

  What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave? And you, base peasants, do ye believe him? will you needs be hanged with your pardons about your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke through London gates, that you should leave me at the White Hart in Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out these arms till you had recovered your ancient freedom: but you are all recreants and dastards, and delight to live in slavery to the nobility. Let them break your backs with burthens, take your houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daughters before your faces: for me, I will make shift for one; and so, God’s curse light upon you all!

  All

  We’ll follow Cade, we’ll follow Cade!

  Clifford

  Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth,

  That thus you do exclaim you’ll go with him?

  Will he conduct you through the heart of France,

  And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?

  Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;

  Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil,

  Unless by robbing of your friends and us.

  Were’t not a shame, that whilst you live at jar,

  The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,

  Should make a start o’er seas and vanquish you?

  Methinks already in this civil broil

  I see them lording it in London streets,

  Crying ‘Villiago!’ unto all they meet.

  Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry

  Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman’s mercy.

  To France, to France, and get what you have lost;

  Spare England, for it is your native coast;

  Henry hath money, you are strong and manly;

  God on our side, doubt not of victory.

  All

  A Cliff
ord! a Clifford! we’ll follow the king and Clifford.

  Cade

  Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay their heads together to surprise me. My sword make way for me, for here is no staying. In despite of the devils and hell, have through the very middest of you? and heavens and honour be witness, that no want of resolution in me. but only my followers’ base and ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to my heels.

  Exit

  Buckingham

  What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him;

  And he that brings his head unto the king

  Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.

  Exeunt some of them

  Follow me, soldiers: we’ll devise a mean

  To reconcile you all unto the king.

  Exeunt

  SCENE IX. KENILWORTH CASTLE.

  Sound Trumpets. Enter King Henry VI, Queen Margaret, and Somerset, on the terrace

  King Henry VI

  Was ever king that joy’d an earthly throne,

  And could command no more content than I?

  No sooner was I crept out of my cradle

  But I was made a king, at nine months old.

  Was never subject long’d to be a king

  As I do long and wish to be a subject.

  Enter Buckingham and Clifford

  Buckingham

  Health and glad tidings to your majesty!

  King Henry VI

  Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade surprised?

  Or is he but retired to make him strong?

  Enter below, multitudes, with halters about their necks

  Clifford

  He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield;

  And humbly thus, with halters on their necks,

  Expect your highness’ doom of life or death.

  King Henry VI

  Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates,

  To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!

  Soldiers, this day have you redeemed your lives,

  And show’d how well you love your prince and country:

  Continue still in this so good a mind,

  And Henry, though he be infortunate,

  Assure yourselves, will never be unkind:

  And so, with thanks and pardon to you all,

  I do dismiss you to your several countries.

  All

  God save the king! God save the king!

  Enter a Messenger

  Messenger

  Please it your grace to be advertised

  The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland,

  And with a puissant and a mighty power

  Of gallowglasses and stout kerns

  Is marching hitherward in proud array,

  And still proclaimeth, as he comes along,

  His arms are only to remove from thee

  The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms traitor.

  King Henry VI

  Thus stands my state, ’twixt Cade and York distress’d.

  Like to a ship that, having ’scaped a tempest,

  Is straightway calm’d and boarded with a pirate:

  But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed;

  And now is York in arms to second him.

  I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him,

  And ask him what’s the reason of these arms.

  Tell him I’ll send Duke Edmund to the Tower;

  And, Somerset, we’ll commit thee thither,

  Until his army be dismiss’d from him.

  Somerset

  My lord,

  I’ll yield myself to prison willingly,

  Or unto death, to do my country good.

  King Henry VI

  In any case, be not too rough in terms;

  For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language.

  Buckingham

  I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal

  As all things shall redound unto your good.

  King Henry VI

  Come, wife, let’s in, and learn to govern better;

  For yet may England curse my wretched reign.

  Flourish. Exeunt

  SCENE X. KENT. IDEN’S GARDEN.

  Enter Cade

  Cade

  Fie on ambition! fie on myself, that have a sword, and yet am ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods and durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now am I so hungry that if I might have a lease of my life for a thousand years I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, to see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss to cool a man’s stomach this hot weather. And I think this word ‘sallet’ was born to do me good: for many a time, but for a sallet, my brainpan had been cleft with a brown bill; and many a time, when I have been dry and bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a quart pot to drink in; and now the word ‘sallet’ must serve me to feed on.

  Enter Iden

  Iden

  Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court,

  And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?

  This small inheritance my father left me

  Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy.

  I seek not to wax great by others’ waning,

  Or gather wealth, I care not, with what envy:

  Sufficeth that I have maintains my state

  And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.

  Cade

  Here’s the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the king carrying my head to him: but I’ll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.

  Iden

  Why, rude companion, whatsoe’er thou be,

  I know thee not; why, then, should I betray thee?

  Is’t not enough to break into my garden,

  And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds,

  Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner,

  But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?

  Cade

  Brave thee! ay, by the best blood that ever was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as a doornail, I pray God I may never eat grass more.

  Iden

  Nay, it shall ne’er be said, while England stands,

  That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,

  Took odds to combat a poor famish’d man.

  Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine,

  See if thou canst outface me with thy looks:

  Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;

  Thy hand is but a finger to my fist,

  Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon;

  My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;

  And if mine arm be heaved in the air,

  Thy grave is digg’d already in the earth.

  As for words, whose greatness answers words,

  Let this my sword report what speech forbears.

  Cade

  By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I heard! Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on my knees thou mayst be turned to hobnails.

  Here they fight. Cade falls

  O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain me: let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the ten meals I have lost, and I’ll defy them all. Wither, garden; and be henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell in this house, because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.

  Iden

  Is’t Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?

  Sword, I will hollow thee for this thy deed,

  And hang thee o’er my tomb when I am dead:

>   Ne’er shall this blood be wiped from thy point;

  But thou shalt wear it as a herald’s coat,

  To emblaze the honour that thy master got.

  Cade

  Iden, farewell, and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be cowards; for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour.

  Dies

  Iden

  How much thou wrong’st me, heaven be my judge.

  Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee;

  And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,

  So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell.

  Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels

  Unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave,

  And there cut off thy most ungracious head;

  Which I will bear in triumph to the king,

  Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon.

  Exit

  ACT V

  SCENE I. FIELDS BETWEEN DARTFORD AND BLACKHEATH.

  Enter York, and his army of Irish, with drum and colours

  York

  From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right,

  And pluck the crown from feeble Henry’s head:

  Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright,

  To entertain great England’s lawful king.

  Ah! sancta majestas, who would not buy thee dear?

  Let them obey that know not how to rule;

  This hand was made to handle naught but gold.

  I cannot give due action to my words,

  Except a sword or sceptre balance it:

  A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul,

  On which I’ll toss the flower-de-luce of France.

  Enter Buckingham

  Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?

  The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.

  Buckingham

  York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well.

  York

  Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting.

  Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?

  Buckingham

  A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,

  To know the reason of these arms in peace;