Complete Plays, The

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Complete Plays, The Page 215

by William Shakespeare


  Or why thou, being a subject as I am,

  Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,

  Should raise so great a power without his leave,

  Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.

  York

  [Aside] Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great:

  O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint,

  I am so angry at these abject terms;

  And now, like Ajax Telamonius,

  On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury.

  I am far better born than is the king,

  More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts:

  But I must make fair weather yet a while,

  Till Henry be more weak and I more strong,—

  Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me,

  That I have given no answer all this while;

  My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.

  The cause why I have brought this army hither

  Is to remove proud Somerset from the king,

  Seditious to his grace and to the state.

  Buckingham

  That is too much presumption on thy part:

  But if thy arms be to no other end,

  The king hath yielded unto thy demand:

  The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.

  York

  Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?

  Buckingham

  Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.

  York

  Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers.

  Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;

  Meet me to-morrow in St. George’s field,

  You shall have pay and every thing you wish.

  And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,

  Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons,

  As pledges of my fealty and love;

  I’ll send them all as willing as I live:

  Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have,

  Is his to use, so Somerset may die.

  Buckingham

  York, I commend this kind submission:

  We twain will go into his highness’ tent.

  Enter King Henry VI and Attendants

  King Henry VI

  Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us,

  That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?

  York

  In all submission and humility

  York doth present himself unto your highness.

  King Henry VI

  Then what intends these forces thou dost bring?

  York

  To heave the traitor Somerset from hence,

  And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade,

  Who since I heard to be discomfited.

  Enter Iden, with Cade’s head

  Iden

  If one so rude and of so mean condition

  May pass into the presence of a king,

  Lo, I present your grace a traitor’s head,

  The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.

  King Henry VI

  The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou!

  O, let me view his visage, being dead,

  That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.

  Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?

  Iden

  I was, an’t like your majesty.

  King Henry VI

  How art thou call’d? and what is thy degree?

  Iden

  Alexander Iden, that’s my name;

  A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.

  Buckingham

  So please it you, my lord, ’twere not amiss

  He were created knight for his good service.

  King Henry VI

  Iden, kneel down.

  He kneels

  Rise up a knight.

  We give thee for reward a thousand marks,

  And will that thou henceforth attend on us.

  Iden

  May Iden live to merit such a bounty.

  And never live but true unto his liege!

  Rises

  Enter Queen Margaret and Somerset

  King Henry VI

  See, Buckingham, Somerset comes with the queen:

  Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.

  Queen Margaret

  For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head,

  But boldly stand and front him to his face.

  York

  How now! is Somerset at liberty?

  Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison’d thoughts,

  And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.

  Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?

  False king! why hast thou broken faith with me,

  Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?

  King did I call thee? no, thou art not king,

  Not fit to govern and rule multitudes,

  Which darest not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.

  That head of thine doth not become a crown;

  Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer’s staff,

  And not to grace an awful princely sceptre.

  That gold must round engirt these brows of mine,

  Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles’ spear,

  Is able with the change to kill and cure.

  Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up

  And with the same to act controlling laws.

  Give place: by heaven, thou shalt rule no more

  O’er him whom heaven created for thy ruler.

  Somerset

  O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York,

  Of capital treason ’gainst the king and crown;

  Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.

  York

  Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of these,

  If they can brook I bow a knee to man.

  Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail;

  Exit Attendant

  I know, ere they will have me go to ward,

  They’ll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.

  Queen Margaret

  Call hither Clifford! bid him come amain,

  To say if that the bastard boys of York

  Shall be the surety for their traitor father.

  Exit Buckingham

  York

  O blood-besotted Neapolitan,

  Outcast of Naples, England’s bloody scourge!

  The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,

  Shall be their father’s bail; and bane to those

  That for my surety will refuse the boys!

  Enter Edward and Richard

  See where they come: I’ll warrant they’ll make it good.

  Enter Clifford and Young Clifford

  Queen Margaret

  And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.

  Clifford

  Health and all happiness to my lord the king!

  Kneels

  York

  I thank thee, Clifford: say, what news with thee?

  Nay, do not fright us with an angry look;

  We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again;

  For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.

  Clifford

  This is my king, York, I do not mistake;

  But thou mistakest me much to think I do:

  To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?

  King Henry VI

  Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour

  Makes him oppose himself against his king.

  Clifford

  He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,

  And chop away that factious pate of his.

  Queen Margaret

  He is arrested, but will not obey;

  His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.

  York

  Will you not, sons?

  Edward

  Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.

  Richard

  And if words will not, then our weapons shall.

  Clifford

  Why, what a brood of traitors
have we here!

  York

  Look in a glass, and call thy image so:

  I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.

  Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,

  That with the very shaking of their chains

  They may astonish these fell-lurking curs:

  Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.

  Enter the Warwick and Salisbury

  Clifford

  Are these thy bears? we’ll bait thy bears to death.

  And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,

  If thou darest bring them to the baiting place.

  Richard

  Oft have I seen a hot o’erweening cur

  Run back and bite, because he was withheld;

  Who, being suffer’d with the bear’s fell paw,

  Hath clapp’d his tail between his legs and cried:

  And such a piece of service will you do,

  If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.

  Clifford

  Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump,

  As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!

  York

  Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.

  Clifford

  Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.

  King Henry VI

  Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow?

  Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair,

  Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son!

  What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian,

  And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?

  O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty?

  If it be banish’d from the frosty head,

  Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?

  Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war,

  And shame thine honourable age with blood?

  Why art thou old, and want’st experience?

  Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?

  For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me

  That bows unto the grave with mickle age.

  Salisbury

  My lord, I have consider’d with myself

  The title of this most renowned duke;

  And in my conscience do repute his grace

  The rightful heir to England’s royal seat.

  King Henry VI

  Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?

  Salisbury

  I have.

  King Henry VI

  Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?

  Salisbury

  It is great sin to swear unto a sin,

  But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.

  Who can be bound by any solemn vow

  To do a murderous deed, to rob a man,

  To force a spotless virgin’s chastity,

  To reave the orphan of his patrimony,

  To wring the widow from her custom’d right,

  And have no other reason for this wrong

  But that he was bound by a solemn oath?

  Queen Margaret

  A subtle traitor needs no sophister.

  King Henry VI

  Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.

  York

  Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,

  I am resolved for death or dignity.

  Clifford

  The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.

  Warwick

  You were best to go to bed and dream again,

  To keep thee from the tempest of the field.

  Clifford

  I am resolved to bear a greater storm

  Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;

  And that I’ll write upon thy burgonet,

  Might I but know thee by thy household badge.

  Warwick

  Now, by my father’s badge, old Nevil’s crest,

  The rampant bear chain’d to the ragged staff,

  This day I’ll wear aloft my burgonet,

  As on a mountain top the cedar shows

  That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,

  Even to affright thee with the view thereof.

  Clifford

  And from thy burgonet I’ll rend thy bear

  And tread it under foot with all contempt,

  Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear.

  Young Clifford

  And so to arms, victorious father,

  To quell the rebels and their complices.

  Richard

  Fie! charity, for shame! speak not in spite,

  For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.

  Young Clifford

  Foul stigmatic, that’s more than thou canst tell.

  Richard

  If not in heaven, you’ll surely sup in hell.

  Exeunt severally

  SCENE II. SAINT ALBAN’S.

  Alarums to the battle. Enter Warwick

  Warwick

  Clifford of Cumberland, ’tis Warwick calls:

  And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,

  Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum

  And dead men’s cries do fill the empty air,

  Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me:

  Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,

  Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.

  Enter York

  How now, my noble lord? what, all afoot?

  York

  The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed,

  But match to match I have encounter’d him

  And made a prey for carrion kites and crows

  Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.

  Enter Clifford

  Warwick

  Of one or both of us the time is come.

  York

  Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,

  For I myself must hunt this deer to death.

  Warwick

  Then, nobly, York; ’tis for a crown thou fight’st.

  As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,

  It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail’d.

  Exit

  Clifford

  What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou pause?

  York

  With thy brave bearing should I be in love,

  But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

  Clifford

  Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,

  But that ’tis shown ignobly and in treason.

  York

  So let it help me now against thy sword

  As I in justice and true right express it.

  Clifford

  My soul and body on the action both!

  York

  A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.

  They fight, and Clifford falls

  Clifford

  La fin couronne les oeuvres.

  Dies

  York

  Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.

  Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!

  Exit

  Enter Young Clifford

  Young Clifford

  Shame and confusion! all is on the rout;

  Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds

  Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,

  Whom angry heavens do make their minister

  Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part

  Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.

  He that is truly dedicate to war

  Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself

  Hath not essentially but by circumstance

  The name of valour.

  Seeing his dead father

  O, let the vile world end,

  And the premised flames of the last day

  Knit earth and heaven together!

  Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,

  Particularities and petty sounds

  To cease! Wast thou ordain’d, dear father,

  To lose thy youth in
peace, and to achieve

  The silver livery of advised age,

  And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus

  To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight

  My heart is turn’d to stone: and while ’tis mine,

  It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;

  No more will I their babes: tears virginal

  Shall be to me even as the dew to fire,

  And beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims

  Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.

  Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:

  Meet I an infant of the house of York,

  Into as many gobbets will I cut it

  As wild Medea young Absyrtus did:

  In cruelty will I seek out my fame.

  Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford’s house:

  As did Aeneas old Anchises bear,

  So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;

  But then Aeneas bare a living load,

  Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.

  Exit, bearing off his father

  Enter Richard and Somerset to fight. Somerset is killed

  Richard

  So, lie thou there;

  For underneath an alehouse’ paltry sign,

  The Castle in Saint Alban’s, Somerset

  Hath made the wizard famous in his death.

  Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:

  Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.

  Exit

  Fight: excursions. Enter King Henry VI, Queen Margaret, and others

  Queen Margaret

  Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame, away!

  King Henry VI

  Can we outrun the heavens? good Margaret, stay.

  Queen Margaret

  What are you made of? you’ll nor fight nor fly:

  Now is it manhood, wisdom and defence,

  To give the enemy way, and to secure us

  By what we can, which can no more but fly.

  Alarum afar off

  If you be ta’en, we then should see the bottom

  Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape,

  As well we may, if not through your neglect,

  We shall to London get, where you are loved

  And where this breach now in our fortunes made

  May readily be stopp’d.

  Re-enter Young Clifford

  Young Clifford

  But that my heart’s on future mischief set,

  I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly:

  But fly you must; uncurable discomfit

  Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.

  Away, for your relief! and we will live

  To see their day and them our fortune give:

  Away, my lord, away!

  Exeunt

  SCENE III. FIELDS NEAR ST. ALBAN’S.

  Alarum. Retreat. Enter York, Richard, Warwick, and Soldiers, with drum and colours

  York

  Of Salisbury, who can report of him,

  That winter lion, who in rage forgets

  Aged contusions and all brush of time,

  And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,

 

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