Complete Plays, The
Page 220
May yet ere night yield both my life and them
To some man else, as this dead man doth me.
Who’s this? O God! it is my father’s face,
Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill’d.
O heavy times, begetting such events!
From London by the king was I press’d forth;
My father, being the Earl of Warwick’s man,
Came on the part of York, press’d by his master;
And I, who at his hands received my life, him
Have by my hands of life bereaved him.
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
And no more words till they have flow’d their fill.
King Henry VI
O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
Weep, wretched man, I’ll aid thee tear for tear;
And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,
Be blind with tears, and break o’ercharged with grief.
Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body
Father
Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold:
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
But let me see: is this our foeman’s face?
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise,
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,
Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart!
O, pity, God, this miserable age!
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!
King Henry VI
Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:
The one his purple blood right well resembles;
The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth:
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish;
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Son
How will my mother for a father’s death
Take on with me and ne’er be satisfied!
Father
How will my wife for slaughter of my son
Shed seas of tears and ne’er be satisfied!
King Henry VI
How will the country for these woful chances
Misthink the king and not be satisfied!
Son
Was ever son so rued a father’s death?
Father
Was ever father so bemoan’d his son?
King Henry VI
Was ever king so grieved for subjects’ woe?
Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much.
Son
I’ll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.
Exit with the body
Father
These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,
For from my heart thine image ne’er shall go;
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
Even for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I’ll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
For I have murdered where I should not kill.
Exit with the body
King Henry VI
Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
Here sits a king more woful than you are.
Alarums: excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Exeter
Prince Edward
Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
Queen Margaret
Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain:
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steel grasp’d in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.
Exeter
Away! for vengeance comes along with them:
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
Or else come after: I’ll away before.
King Henry VI
Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter:
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the queen intends. Forward; away!
Exeunt
SCENE VI. ANOTHER PART OF THE FIELD.
A loud alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded
Clifford
Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.
O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow
More than my body’s parting with my soul!
My love and fear glued many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts.
Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies;
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry’s enemies?
O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent
That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch’d the earth!
And, Henry, hadst thou sway’d as kings should do,
Or as thy father and his father did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer flies;
I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
Had left no mourning widows for our death;
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
For at their hands I have deserved no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.
Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;
I stabb’d your fathers’ bosoms, split my breast.
He faints
Alarum and retreat. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers
Edward
Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause,
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen,
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a sail, fill’d with a fretting gust,
Command an argosy to stem the waves.
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
Warwick
No, ’tis impossible he should escape,
For, though before his face I speak the words
Your brother Richard mark’d him for the grave:
And wheresoe’er he is, he’s surely dead.
Clifford groans, and dies
Edward
Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?
Richard
A deadly groan, like life and death’s departing.
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br /> Edward
See who it is: and, now the battle’s ended,
If friend or foe, let him be gently used.
Richard
Revoke that doom of mercy, for ’tis Clifford;
Who not contented that he lopp’d the branch
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
But set his murdering knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
I mean our princely father, Duke of York.
Warwick
From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
Your father’s head, which Clifford placed there;
Instead whereof let this supply the room:
Measure for measure must be answered.
Edward
Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
Warwick
I think his understanding is bereft.
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?
Dark cloudy death o’ershades his beams of life,
And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.
Richard
O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth:
’Tis but his policy to counterfeit,
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
Which in the time of death he gave our father.
George
If so thou think’st, vex him with eager words.
Richard
Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.
Edward
Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
Warwick
Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
George
While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
Richard
Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.
Edward
Thou pitied’st Rutland; I will pity thee.
George
Where’s Captain Margaret, to fence you now?
Warwick
They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont.
Richard
What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.
I know by that he’s dead; and, by my soul,
If this right hand would buy two hour’s life,
That I in all despite might rail at him,
This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood
Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.
Warwick
Ay, but he’s dead: off with the traitor’s head,
And rear it in the place your father’s stands.
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England’s royal king:
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen:
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatter’d foe that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.
First will I see the coronation;
And then to Brittany I’ll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
Edward
Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;
For in thy shoulder do I build my seat,
And never will I undertake the thing
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,
And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself,
Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.
Richard
Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester;
For Gloucester’s dukedom is too ominous.
Warwick
Tut, that’s a foolish observation:
Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London,
To see these honours in possession.
Exeunt
ACT III
SCENE I. A FOREST IN THE NORTH OF ENGLAND.
Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands
First Keeper
Under this thick-grown brake we’ll shroud ourselves;
For through this laund anon the deer will come;
And in this covert will we make our stand,
Culling the principal of all the deer.
Second Keeper
I’ll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.
First Keeper
That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best:
And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
I’ll tell thee what befell me on a day
In this self-place where now we mean to stand.
Second Keeper
Here comes a man; let’s stay till he be past.
Enter King Henry VI, disguised, with a prayerbook
King Henry VI
From Scotland am I stol’n, even of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No, Harry, Harry, ’tis no land of thine;
Thy place is fill’d, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
Thy balm wash’d off wherewith thou wast anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,
No humble suitors press to speak for right,
No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
For how can I help them, and not myself?
First Keeper
Ay, here’s a deer whose skin’s a keeper’s fee:
This is the quondam king; let’s seize upon him.
King Henry VI
Let me embrace thee, sour adversity,
For wise men say it is the wisest course.
Second Keeper
Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.
First Keeper
Forbear awhile; we’ll hear a little more.
King Henry VI
My queen and son are gone to France for aid;
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone, to crave the French king’s sister
To wife for Edward: if this news be true,
Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost;
For Warwick is a subtle orator,
And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.
By this account then Margaret may win him;
For she’s a woman to be pitied much:
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn;
And Nero will be tainted with remorse,
To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears.
Ay, but she’s come to beg, Warwick to give;
She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry,
He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed;
He smiles, and says his Edward is install’d;
That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more;
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,
And in conclusion wins the king from her,
With promise of his sister, and what else,
To strengthen and support King Edward’s place.
O Margaret, thus ’twill be; and thou, poor soul,
Art then forsaken, as thou went’st forlorn!
Second Keeper
Say, what art thou that talk’st of kings and queens?
King Henry VI
Mo
re than I seem, and less than I was born to:
A man at least, for less I should not be;
And men may talk of kings, and why not I?
Second Keeper
Ay, but thou talk’st as if thou wert a king.
King Henry VI
Why, so I am, in mind; and that’s enough.
Second Keeper
But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?
King Henry VI
My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,
Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
Second Keeper
Well, if you be a king crown’d with content,
Your crown content and you must be contented
To go along with us; for as we think,
You are the king King Edward hath deposed;
And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance
Will apprehend you as his enemy.
King Henry VI
But did you never swear, and break an oath?
Second Keeper
No, never such an oath; nor will not now.
King Henry VI
Where did you dwell when I was King of England?
Second Keeper
Here in this country, where we now remain.
King Henry VI
I was anointed king at nine months old;
My father and my grandfather were kings,
And you were sworn true subjects unto me:
And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?
First Keeper
No;
For we were subjects but while you were king.
King Henry VI
Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man?
Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear!
Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
And as the air blows it to me again,
Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
And yielding to another when it blows,
Commanded always by the greater gust;
Such is the lightness of you common men.
But do not break your oaths; for of that sin
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
Go where you will, the king shall be commanded;
And be you kings, command, and I’ll obey.
First Keeper
We are true subjects to the king, King Edward.
King Henry VI
So would you be again to Henry,
If he were seated as King Edward is.
First Keeper
We charge you, in God’s name, and the king’s,
To go with us unto the officers.
King Henry VI
In God’s name, lead; your king’s name be obey’d:
And what God will, that let your king perform;
And what he will, I humbly yield unto.
Exeunt
SCENE II. LONDON. THE PALACE.