Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  Made glorious summer by this sun of York;

  And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house

  In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

  Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;

  Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;

  Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,

  Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

  Grim-visaged war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front;

  And now, instead of mounting barded steeds

  To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,

  He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber

  To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

  But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,

  Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;

  I, that am rudely stamp’d, and want love’s majesty

  To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;

  I, that am curtail’d of this fair proportion,

  Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,

  Deformed, unfinish’d, sent before my time

  Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,

  And that so lamely and unfashionable

  That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;

  Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,

  Have no delight to pass away the time,

  Unless to spy my shadow in the sun

  And descant on mine own deformity:

  And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,

  To entertain these fair well-spoken days,

  I am determined to prove a villain

  And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

  Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,

  By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,

  To set my brother Clarence and the king

  In deadly hate the one against the other:

  And if King Edward be as true and just

  As I am subtle, false and treacherous,

  This day should Clarence closely be mew’d up,

  About a prophecy, which says that ‘G’

  Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be.

  Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here

  Clarence comes.

  Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury

  Brother, good day; what means this armed guard

  That waits upon your grace?

  Clarence

  His majesty

  Tendering my person’s safety, hath appointed

  This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

  Gloucester

  Upon what cause?

  Clarence

  Because my name is George.

  Gloucester

  Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;

  He should, for that, commit your godfathers:

  O, belike his majesty hath some intent

  That you shall be new-christen’d in the Tower.

  But what’s the matter, Clarence? may I know?

  Clarence

  Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest

  As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,

  He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;

  And from the cross-row plucks the letter G.

  And says a wizard told him that by G

  His issue disinherited should be;

  And, for my name of George begins with G,

  It follows in his thought that I am he.

  These, as I learn, and such like toys as these

  Have moved his highness to commit me now.

  Gloucester

  Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women:

  ’Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower:

  My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, ’tis she

  That tempers him to this extremity.

  Was it not she and that good man of worship,

  Anthony Woodville, her brother there,

  That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,

  From whence this present day he is deliver’d?

  We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

  Clarence

  By heaven, I think there’s no man is secure

  But the queen’s kindred and night-walking heralds

  That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore.

  Heard ye not what an humble suppliant

  Lord hastings was to her for his delivery?

  Gloucester

  Humbly complaining to her deity

  Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.

  I’ll tell you what; I think it is our way,

  If we will keep in favour with the king,

  To be her men and wear her livery:

  The jealous o’erworn widow and herself,

  Since that our brother dubb’d them gentlewomen.

  Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

  Brakenbury

  I beseech your graces both to pardon me;

  His majesty hath straitly given in charge

  That no man shall have private conference,

  Of what degree soever, with his brother.

  Gloucester

  Even so; an’t please your worship, Brakenbury,

  You may partake of any thing we say:

  We speak no treason, man: we say the king

  Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen

  Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;

  We say that Shore’s wife hath a pretty foot,

  A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;

  And that the queen’s kindred are made gentle-folks:

  How say you sir? Can you deny all this?

  Brakenbury

  With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

  Gloucester

  Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,

  He that doth naught with her, excepting one,

  Were best he do it secretly, alone.

  Brakenbury

  What one, my lord?

  Gloucester

  Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me?

  Brakenbury

  I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal

  Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

  Clarence

  We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

  Gloucester

  We are the queen’s abjects, and must obey.

  Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;

  And whatsoever you will employ me in,

  Were it to call King Edward’s widow sister,

  I will perform it to enfranchise you.

  Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood

  Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

  Clarence

  I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

  Gloucester

  Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;

  Meantime, have patience.

  Clarence

  I must perforce. Farewell.

  Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard

  Gloucester

  Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne’er return.

  Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so,

  That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,

  If heaven will take the present at our hands.

  But who comes here? the new-deliver’d Hastings?

  Enter Hastings

  Hastings

  Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

  Gloucester

  As much unto my good lord chamberlain!

  Well are you welcome to the open air.

  How hath your lordship brook’d imprisonment?

  Hastings

  With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:

  But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks

  That were the cause of my imprisonment.

  Gloucester

  No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;

  For they that were your enemies are his,

  And have prevail’d as much on him as you.

  Hastingsr />
  More pity that the eagle should be mew’d,

  While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

  Gloucester

  What news abroad?

  Hastings

  No news so bad abroad as this at home;

  The King is sickly, weak and melancholy,

  And his physicians fear him mightily.

  Gloucester

  Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.

  O, he hath kept an evil diet long,

  And overmuch consumed his royal person:

  ’Tis very grievous to be thought upon.

  What, is he in his bed?

  Hastings

  He is.

  Gloucester

  Go you before, and I will follow you.

  Exit Hastings

  He cannot live, I hope; and must not die

  Till George be pack’d with post-horse up to heaven.

  I’ll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,

  With lies well steel’d with weighty arguments;

  And, if I fall not in my deep intent,

  Clarence hath not another day to live:

  Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,

  And leave the world for me to bustle in!

  For then I’ll marry Warwick’s youngest daughter.

  What though I kill’d her husband and her father?

  The readiest way to make the wench amends

  Is to become her husband and her father:

  The which will I; not all so much for love

  As for another secret close intent,

  By marrying her which I must reach unto.

  But yet I run before my horse to market:

  Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns:

  When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

  Exit

  SCENE II. THE SAME. ANOTHER STREET.

  Enter the corpse of King Henry the Sixth, Gentlemen with halberds to guard it; Lady Anne being the mourner

  Lady Anne

  Set down, set down your honourable load,

  If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,

  Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament

  The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.

  Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!

  Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!

  Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!

  Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,

  To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne,

  Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter’d son,

  Stabb’d by the selfsame hand that made these wounds!

  Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,

  I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.

  Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!

  Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!

  Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!

  More direful hap betide that hated wretch,

  That makes us wretched by the death of thee,

  Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,

  Or any creeping venom’d thing that lives!

  If ever he have child, abortive be it,

  Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,

  Whose ugly and unnatural aspect

  May fright the hopeful mother at the view;

  And that be heir to his unhappiness!

  If ever he have wife, let her he made

  A miserable by the death of him

  As I am made by my poor lord and thee!

  Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,

  Taken from Paul’s to be interred there;

  And still, as you are weary of the weight,

  Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry’s corse.

  Enter Gloucester

  Gloucester

  Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

  Lady Anne

  What black magician conjures up this fiend,

  To stop devoted charitable deeds?

  Gloucester

  Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,

  I’ll make a corse of him that disobeys.

  Gentleman

  My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

  Gloucester

  Unmanner’d dog! stand thou, when I command:

  Advance thy halbert higher than my breast,

  Or, by Saint Paul, I’ll strike thee to my foot,

  And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

  Lady Anne

  What, do you tremble? are you all afraid?

  Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal,

  And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.

  Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!

  Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,

  His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.

  Gloucester

  Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

  Lady Anne

  Foul devil, for God’s sake, hence, and trouble us not;

  For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,

  Fill’d it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.

  If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,

  Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.

  O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry’s wounds

  Open their congeal’d mouths and bleed afresh!

  Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity;

  For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood

  From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells;

  Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,

  Provokes this deluge most unnatural.

  O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death!

  O earth, which this blood drink’st revenge his death!

  Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead,

  Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,

  As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood

  Which his hell-govern’d arm hath butchered!

  Gloucester

  Lady, you know no rules of charity,

  Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

  Lady Anne

  Villain, thou know’st no law of God nor man:

  No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

  Gloucester

  But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

  Lady Anne

  O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

  Gloucester

  More wonderful, when angels are so angry.

  Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,

  Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave,

  By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

  Lady Anne

  Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man,

  For these known evils, but to give me leave,

  By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

  Gloucester

  Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have

  Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

  Lady Anne

  Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make

  No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

  Gloucester

  By such despair, I should accuse myself.

  Lady Anne

  And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused;

  For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,

  Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

  Gloucester

  Say that I slew them not?

  Lady Anne

  Why, then they are not dead:

  But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee.

  Gloucester

  I did not kill your husband.

  Lady Anne

  Why, then he is alive.

  Gloucester

  Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward’s hand.

  Lady Anne

  In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw

  Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood;

  The whic
h thou once didst bend against her breast,

  But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

  Gloucester

  I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

  Lady Anne

  Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind.

  Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries:

  Didst thou not kill this king?

  Gloucester

  I grant ye.

  Lady Anne

  Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too

  Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!

  O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!

  Gloucester

  The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.

  Lady Anne

  He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

  Gloucester

  Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither;

  For he was fitter for that place than earth.

  Lady Anne

  And thou unfit for any place but hell.

  Gloucester

  Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

  Lady Anne

  Some dungeon.

  Gloucester

  Your bed-chamber.

  Lady Anne

  I’ll rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

  Gloucester

  So will it, madam till I lie with you.

  Lady Anne

  I hope so.

  Gloucester

  I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,

  To leave this keen encounter of our wits,

  And fall somewhat into a slower method,

  Is not the causer of the timeless deaths

  Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,

  As blameful as the executioner?

  Lady Anne

  Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect.

  Gloucester

  Your beauty was the cause of that effect;

  Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep

  To undertake the death of all the world,

  So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

  Lady Anne

  If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,

  These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

  Gloucester

  These eyes could never endure sweet beauty’s wreck;

  You should not blemish it, if I stood by:

  As all the world is cheered by the sun,

  So I by that; it is my day, my life.

  Lady Anne

  Black night o’ershade thy day, and death thy life!

  Gloucester

  Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both.

  Lady Anne

  I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

  Gloucester

  It is a quarrel most unnatural,

  To be revenged on him that loveth you.

  Lady Anne

  It is a quarrel just and reasonable,

  To be revenged on him that slew my husband.

  Gloucester

  He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,

  Did it to help thee to a better husband.