Complete Plays, The

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Complete Plays, The Page 226

by William Shakespeare


  King Henry VI

  So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf;

  So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece

  And next his throat unto the butcher’s knife.

  What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?

  Gloucester

  Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;

  The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

  King Henry VI

  The bird that hath been limed in a bush,

  With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;

  And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,

  Have now the fatal object in my eye

  Where my poor young was limed, was caught and kill’d.

  Gloucester

  Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,

  That taught his son the office of a fowl!

  An yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown’d.

  King Henry VI

  I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;

  Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;

  The sun that sear’d the wings of my sweet boy

  Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea

  Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.

  Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!

  My breast can better brook thy dagger’s point

  Than can my ears that tragic history.

  But wherefore dost thou come? is’t for my life?

  Gloucester

  Think’st thou I am an executioner?

  King Henry VI

  A persecutor, I am sure, thou art:

  If murdering innocents be executing,

  Why, then thou art an executioner.

  Gloucester

  Thy son I kill’d for his presumption.

  King Henry VI

  Hadst thou been kill’d when first thou didst presume,

  Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine.

  And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand,

  Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,

  And many an old man’s sigh and many a widow’s,

  And many an orphan’s water-standing eye —

  Men for their sons, wives for their husbands,

  And orphans for their parents timeless death —

  Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.

  The owl shriek’d at thy birth,— an evil sign;

  The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;

  Dogs howl’d, and hideous tempest shook down trees;

  The raven rook’d her on the chimney’s top,

  And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.

  Thy mother felt more than a mother’s pain,

  And, yet brought forth less than a mother’s hope,

  To wit, an indigested and deformed lump,

  Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.

  Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,

  To signify thou camest to bite the world:

  And, if the rest be true which I have heard,

  Thou camest —

  Gloucester

  I’ll hear no more: die, prophet in thy speech:

  Stabs him

  For this amongst the rest, was I ordain’d.

  King Henry VI

  Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.

  God forgive my sins, and pardon thee!

  Dies

  Gloucester

  What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster

  Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.

  See how my sword weeps for the poor king’s death!

  O, may such purple tears be alway shed

  From those that wish the downfall of our house!

  If any spark of life be yet remaining,

  Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither:

  Stabs him again

  I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.

  Indeed, ’tis true that Henry told me of;

  For I have often heard my mother say

  I came into the world with my legs forward:

  Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,

  And seek their ruin that usurp’d our right?

  The midwife wonder’d and the women cried

  ‘O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!’

  And so I was; which plainly signified

  That I should snarl and bite and play the dog.

  Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so,

  Let hell make crook’d my mind to answer it.

  I have no brother, I am like no brother;

  And this word ‘love,’ which graybeards call divine,

  Be resident in men like one another

  And not in me: I am myself alone.

  Clarence, beware; thou keep’st me from the light:

  But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;

  For I will buz abroad such prophecies

  That Edward shall be fearful of his life,

  And then, to purge his fear, I’ll be thy death.

  King Henry and the prince his son are gone:

  Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest,

  Counting myself but bad till I be best.

  I’ll throw thy body in another room

  And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.

  Exit, with the body

  SCENE VII. LONDON. THE PALACE.

  Flourish. Enter King Edward IV, Queen Elizabeth, Clarence, Gloucester, Hastings, a Nurse with the young Prince, and Attendants

  King Edward IV

  Once more we sit in England’s royal throne,

  Re-purchased with the blood of enemies.

  What valiant foemen, like to autumn’s corn,

  Have we mow’d down, in tops of all their pride!

  Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown’d

  For hardy and undoubted champions;

  Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,

  And two Northumberlands; two braver men

  Ne’er spurr’d their coursers at the trumpet’s sound;

  With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,

  That in their chains fetter’d the kingly lion

  And made the forest tremble when they roar’d.

  Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat

  And made our footstool of security.

  Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.

  Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself

  Have in our armours watch’d the winter’s night,

  Went all afoot in summer’s scalding heat,

  That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace;

  And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

  Gloucester

  [Aside] I’ll blast his harvest, if your head were laid;

  For yet I am not look’d on in the world.

  This shoulder was ordain’d so thick to heave;

  And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:

  Work thou the way,— and thou shalt execute.

  King Edward IV

  Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen;

  And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.

  Clarence

  The duty that I owe unto your majesty

  I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

  Queen Elizabeth

  Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.

  Gloucester

  And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang’st,

  Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.

  Aside

  And cried ‘all hail!’ when as he meant all harm.

  King Edward IV

  Now am I seated as my soul delights,

  Having my country’s peace and brothers’ loves.

  Clarence

  What will your grace have done with Margaret?

  Reignier, her father, to the king of France

  Hath pawn’d the Sicils and Jerusalem,

  And hither have they sent it for her ransom.

 
; King Edward IV

  Away with her, and waft her hence to France.

  And now what rests but that we spend the time

  With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,

  Such as befits the pleasure of the court?

  Sound drums and trumpets! farewell sour annoy!

  For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.

  Exeunt

  The Life of King Henry the Eighth

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY

  PROLOGUE

  ACT I

  SCENE I. LONDON. AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE PALACE.

  SCENE II. THE SAME. THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER.

  SCENE III. AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE PALACE.

  SCENE IV. A HALL IN YORK PLACE.

  ACT II

  SCENE I. WESTMINSTER. A STREET.

  SCENE II. AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE PALACE.

  SCENE III. AN ANTE-CHAMBER OF THE QUEEN’S APARTMENTS.

  SCENE IV. A HALL IN BLACK-FRIARS.

  ACT III

  SCENE I. LONDON. QUEEN KATHARINE’S APARTMENTS.

  SCENE II. ANTE-CHAMBER TO KING HENRY VIII’S APARTMENT.

  ACT IV

  SCENE I. A STREET IN WESTMINSTER.

  SCENE II. KIMBOLTON.

  ACT V

  SCENE I. LONDON. A GALLERY IN THE PALACE.

  SCENE II. BEFORE THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER. PURSUIVANTS, PAGES, & C.

  SCENE III. THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER.

  SCENE IV. THE PALACE YARD.

  SCENE V. THE PALACE.

  EPILOGUE

  CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY

  Abergavenny,

  All,

  Anne,

  Both,

  Boy,

  Brandon,

  Buckingham,

  Capucius,

  Cardinal Campeius,

  Cardinal Wolsey,

  Chamberlain,

  Chancellor,

  Cranmer,

  Crier,

  Cromwell,

  Denny,

  Doctor Butts,

  First Gentleman,

  First Secretary,

  Gardiner,

  Garter,

  Gentleman,

  Griffith,

  Guildford,

  Katharine,

  Keeper,

  King Henry VIII,

  Lincoln,

  Lovell,

  Man,

  Messenger,

  Norfolk,

  Old Lady,

  Patience,

  Porter,

  Queen Katharine,

  Sands,

  Scribe,

  Second Gentleman,

  Sergeant,

  Servant,

  Suffolk,

  Surrey,

  Surveyor,

  Third Gentleman,

  Vaux,

  PROLOGUE

  I come no more to make you laugh: things now,

  That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

  Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,

  Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

  We now present. Those that can pity, here

  May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;

  The subject will deserve it. Such as give

  Their money out of hope they may believe,

  May here find truth too. Those that come to see

  Only a show or two, and so agree

  The play may pass, if they be still and willing,

  I’ll undertake may see away their shilling

  Richly in two short hours. Only they

  That come to hear a merry bawdy play,

  A noise of targets, or to see a fellow

  In a long motley coat guarded with yellow,

  Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know,

  To rank our chosen truth with such a show

  As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting

  Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring,

  To make that only true we now intend,

  Will leave us never an understanding friend.

  Therefore, for goodness’ sake, and as you are known

  The first and happiest hearers of the town,

  Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see

  The very persons of our noble story

  As they were living; think you see them great,

  And follow’d with the general throng and sweat

  Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see

  How soon this mightiness meets misery:

  And, if you can be merry then, I’ll say

  A man may weep upon his wedding-day.

  ACT I

  SCENE I. LONDON. AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE PALACE.

  Enter Norfolk at one door; at the other, Buckingham and Abergavenny

  Buckingham

  Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done

  Since last we saw in France?

  Norfolk

  I thank your grace,

  Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer

  Of what I saw there.

  Buckingham

  An untimely ague

  Stay’d me a prisoner in my chamber when

  Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,

  Met in the vale of Andren.

  Norfolk

  ’Twixt Guynes and Arde:

  I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;

  Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung

  In their embracement, as they grew together;

  Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh’d

  Such a compounded one?

  Buckingham

  All the whole time

  I was my chamber’s prisoner.

  Norfolk

  Then you lost

  The view of earthly glory: men might say,

  Till this time pomp was single, but now married

  To one above itself. Each following day

  Became the next day’s master, till the last

  Made former wonders its. To-day the French,

  All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,

  Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they

  Made Britain India: every man that stood

  Show’d like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were

  As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too,

  Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear

  The pride upon them, that their very labour

  Was to them as a painting: now this masque

  Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night

  Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,

  Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,

  As presence did present them; him in eye,

  Still him in praise: and, being present both

  ’Twas said they saw but one; and no discerner

  Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns —

  For so they phrase ’em — by their heralds challenged

  The noble spirits to arms, they did perform

  Beyond thought’s compass; that former fabulous story,

  Being now seen possible enough, got credit,

  That Bevis was believed.

  Buckingham

  O, you go far.

  Norfolk

  As I belong to worship and affect

  In honour honesty, the tract of every thing

  Would by a good discourser lose some life,

  Which action’s self was tongue to. All was royal;

  To the disposing of it nought rebell’d.

  Order gave each thing view; the office did

  Distinctly his full function.

  Buckingham

  Who did guide,

  I mean, who set the body and the limbs

  Of this great sport together, as you guess?

  Norfolk

  One, certes, that promises no element

  In such a business.

  Buckingham

  I pray you, who, my lord?

  Norfolk

  All this was order’d by the go
od discretion

  Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.

  Buckingham

  The devil speed him! no man’s pie is freed

  From his ambitious finger. What had he

  To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder

  That such a keech can with his very bulk

  Take up the rays o’ the beneficial sun

  And keep it from the earth.

  Norfolk

  Surely, sir,

  There’s in him stuff that puts him to these ends;

  For, being not propp’d by ancestry, whose grace

  Chalks successors their way, nor call’d upon

  For high feats done to the crown; neither allied

  For eminent assistants; but, spider-like,

  Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note,

  The force of his own merit makes his way

  A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys

  A place next to the king.

  Abergavenny

  I cannot tell

  What heaven hath given him,— let some graver eye

  Pierce into that; but I can see his pride

  Peep through each part of him: whence has he that,

  If not from hell? the devil is a niggard,

  Or has given all before, and he begins

  A new hell in himself.

  Buckingham

  Why the devil,

  Upon this French going out, took he upon him,

  Without the privity o’ the king, to appoint

  Who should attend on him? He makes up the file

  Of all the gentry; for the most part such

  To whom as great a charge as little honour

  He meant to lay upon: and his own letter,

  The honourable board of council out,

  Must fetch him in the papers.

  Abergavenny

  I do know

  Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have

  By this so sickened their estates, that never

  They shall abound as formerly.

  Buckingham

  O, many

  Have broke their backs with laying manors on ’em

  For this great journey. What did this vanity

  But minister communication of

  A most poor issue?

  Norfolk

  Grievingly I think,

  The peace between the French and us not values

  The cost that did conclude it.

  Buckingham

  Every man,

  After the hideous storm that follow’d, was

  A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke

  Into a general prophecy; That this tempest,

  Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded

  The sudden breach on’t.

  Norfolk

  Which is budded out;

  For France hath flaw’d the league, and hath attach’d

  Our merchants’ goods at Bourdeaux.

  Abergavenny

  Is it therefore

 

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