Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  York

  This oath I willingly take and will perform.

  Warwick

  Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him.

  King Henry VI

  And long live thou and these thy forward sons!

  York

  Now York and Lancaster are reconciled.

  Exeter

  Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes!

  Sennet. Here they come down

  York

  Farewell, my gracious lord; I’ll to my castle.

  Warwick

  And I’ll keep London with my soldiers.

  Norfolk

  And I to Norfolk with my followers.

  Montague

  And I unto the sea from whence I came.

  Exeunt York, Edward, Edmund, George, Richard, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague, their Soldiers, and Attendants

  King Henry VI

  And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court.

  Enter Queen Margaret and Prince Edward

  Exeter

  Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger:

  I’ll steal away.

  King Henry VI

  Exeter, so will I.

  Queen Margaret

  Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee.

  King Henry VI

  Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.

  Queen Margaret

  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 proved so unnatural a father

  Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus?

  Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I,

  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 have that savage duke thine heir

  And disinherited thine only son.

  Prince Edward

  Father, you cannot disinherit me:

  If you be king, why should not I succeed?

  King Henry VI

  Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son:

  The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me.

  Queen Margaret

  Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced?

  I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!

  Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me;

  And given unto the house of York such head

  As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.

  To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,

  What is it, but to make thy sepulchre

  And creep into it far before thy time?

  Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais;

  Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas;

  The duke is made protector of the realm;

  And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds

  The trembling lamb environed with wolves.

  Had I been there, which am a silly woman,

  The soldiers should have toss’d me on their pikes

  Before I would have granted to that act.

  But thou preferr’st thy life before thine honour:

  And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself

  Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,

  Until that act of parliament be repeal’d

  Whereby my son is disinherited.

  The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours

  Will follow mine, if once they see them spread;

  And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace

  And utter ruin of the house of York.

  Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let’s away;

  Our army is ready; come, we’ll after them.

  King Henry VI

  Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

  Queen Margaret

  Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone.

  King Henry VI

  Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

  Queen Margaret

  Ay, to be murder’d by his enemies.

  Prince Edward

  When I return with victory from the field

  I’ll see your grace: till then I’ll follow her.

  Queen Margaret

  Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.

  Exeunt Queen Margaret and Prince Edward

  King Henry VI

  Poor queen! how love to me and to her son

  Hath made her break out into terms of rage!

  Revenged 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.

  Exeter

  And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.

  Exeunt

  SCENE II. SANDAL CASTLE.

  Enter Richard, Edward, and Montague

  Richard

  Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.

  Edward

  No, I can better play the orator.

  Montague

  But I have reasons strong and forcible.

  Enter York

  York

  Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife?

  What is your quarrel? how began it first?

  Edward

  No quarrel, but a slight contention.

  York

  About what?

  Richard

  About that which concerns your grace and us;

  The crown of England, father, which is yours.

  York

  Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead.

  Richard

  Your right depends not on his life or death.

  Edward

  Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now:

  By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,

  It will outrun you, father, in the end.

  York

  I took an oath that he should quietly reign.

  Edward

  But for a kingdom any oath may be broken:

  I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.

  Richard

  No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn.

  York

  I shall be, if I claim by open war.

  Richard

  I’ll prove the contrary, if you’ll hear me speak.

  York

  Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.

  Richard

  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 depose,

  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 finger 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 to the Duke of Norfolk,

  And tell him privily of our intent.

  You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham,

  With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise:

  In them I trust; for they are soldiers,

  Witty, 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 comest thou in such post?

  Messenger

  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.

  Montague

  Brother, I go; I’ll win them, fear it not:

  And thus most humbly I do take my leave.

  Exit

  Enter John Mortimer and Hugh Mortimer

  Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,

  You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;

  The army of the queen mean to besiege us.

  John Mortimer

  She shall not need; we’ll meet her in the field.

  York

  What, with five thousand men?

  Richard

  Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need:

  A woman’s general; what should we fear?

  A march afar off

  Edward

  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. FIELD OF BATTLE BETWIXT SANDAL CASTLE AND WAKEFIELD.

  Alarums. Enter Rutland and his Tutor

  Rutland

  Ah, whither shall I fly to ’scape their hands?

  Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!

  Enter Clifford and Soldiers

  Clifford

  Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.

  As for the brat of this accursed duke,

  Whose father slew my father, he shall die.

  Tutor

  And I, my lord, will bear him company.

  Clifford

  Soldiers, away with him!

  Tutor

  Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,

  Lest thou be hated both of God and man!

  Exit, dragged off by Soldiers

  Clifford

  How now! is he dead already? or is it fear

  That makes him close his eyes? I’ll open them.

  Rutland

  So looks the pent-up lion o’er 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, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,

  And not with such a cruel threatening look.

  Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.

  I am too mean a subject for thy wrath:

  Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.

  Clifford

  In vain thou speak’st, poor boy; my father’s blood

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

  Rutland

  Then let my father’s blood open it again:

  He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

  Clifford

  Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine

  Were not revenge sufficient for me;

  No, if I digg’d up thy forefathers’ 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

  Rutland

  O, let me pray before I take my death!

  To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!

  Clifford

  Such pity as my rapier’s point affords.

  Rutland

  I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me?

  Clifford

  Thy father hath.

  Rutland

  But ’twas ere I was born.

  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 hast no cause.

  Clifford

  No cause!

  Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.

  Stabs him

  Rutland

  Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae!

  Dies

  Clifford

  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. ANOTHER PART OF THE FIELD.

  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 pursued by hunger-starved wolves.

  My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them:

  But this I know, they have demean’d themselves

  Like men born to renown by life or death.

  Three times did Richard make a lane to me.

  And thrice cried ‘Courage, father! fight it out!’

  And full as oft came Edward to my side,

  With purple falchion, painted to the hilt

  In blood of those that had encounter’d him:

  And when the hardiest warriors did retire,

  Richard cried ‘Charge! and give no foot of ground!’

  And cried ‘A crown, or else a glorious tomb!

  A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!’

  With this, we charged again: but, out, alas!

  We bodged again; as I have seen a swan

  With bootless labour swim against the tide

  And spend her strength with over-matching waves.

  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, Prince Edward, and Soldiers

  Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,

  I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:

  I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

  Northumberland

  Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

  Clifford

  Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm,

  With downright payment, show’d unto my father.

  Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,

  And made an evening at the noontide prick.

  York

  My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth

  A bird that will revenge upon you all:

  And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,

  Scorning whate’er you can afflict me with.
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  Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?

  Clifford

  So cowards fight when they can fly no further;

  So doves do peck the falcon’s piercing talons;

  So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,

  Breathe out invectives ’gainst the officers.

  York

  O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,

  And in thy thought o’er-run my former time;

  And, if though canst for blushing, view this face,

  And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice

  Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this!

  Clifford

  I will not bandy with thee word for word,

  But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

  Queen Margaret

  Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes

  I would prolong awhile the traitor’s life.

  Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.

  Northumberland

  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

  Clifford

  Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

  Northumberland

  So doth the cony struggle in the net.

  York

  So triumph thieves upon their conquer’d booty;

  So true men yield, with robbers so o’ermatch’d.

  Northumberland

  What would your grace have done unto him now?

  Queen Margaret

  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

  Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?

  Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?

  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 prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.

  What, hath thy fiery heart so parch’d thine entrails