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The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd me.
Queen. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt
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 Faulconbridge 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."
What is your quarrel? how began it first?
Edw. No quarrel, but a sweet contention.
York. About what?
Rich. About that which concerns your grace 5 The crown of England, father, which is yours. York. Mine, boy? not till king Henry be dead. Rich. Your right depends not on his life or death. Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, 10It will out-run you, father, in the end.
The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours,
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread: 25
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's ready; come, we'll after them.
K. Henry. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me 30
Queen. Thou hast spoke too much already; get
K. Henry. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay
Queen. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.
Prince. When I return with victory fromthefield,
I'll see your grace: 'till then, I'll follow her.
Queen. Come, son, away; we may not linger
thus. [Exeunt Queen and Prince.
K. Henry. Poor queen! how love to me, and to 40
Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke;
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
Will coast my crown', and, like an empty eagle, 45
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.
Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.
Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire.
Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague.
Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me
Edw. No, I can better play the orator.
Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible.
Enter the Duke of York.
York. Why, how now, sons, and brother, at a
York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign. Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be broken:
I'd break a thousand oaths to reign one year.
Rich. No; God forbid, your grace should be
York. I shall be, if I claim by open war.
Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me
York. Thou can'st not, son; it is impossible.
Rich. 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 linger thus? I cannot rest,
Until the white rose, that I wear, be dy'd
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 enterprize.-
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 Kentish men will willingly rise:
In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
Witty, and 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 com'st thou in such
Gab. The queen, with all the northern earls and
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,
60 With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths,
Mont, Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not:
1 i. e. hover over or range about my crown. 2 To tire may either mean to fasten, to fix the talons, from the French tirer; or to peck. 'viz. Northumberland, Westmoreland, and Clifford, Meaning, that the argument of their dispute was upon a grateful topic, viz. the question of their Witty would here seem to incan, of sound judgement.
father's immediate right to the crown.
And thus most humbly I do take my leave.
Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer.
York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
The army of the queen means to besiege us.
Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her
in the field.
York. What, with five thousand men?
Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.
A woman's general; What should we fear?
[A march afar off
Edw. I hear their drums; let's set our men in
And issue forth, and bid them battle straight.
York. Five men to twenty !—though the odds
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?
It could not slake mine ire, nor case 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,
5 And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death:-
To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!
Clif Such pity as my rapier's point affords. [me?
Rut. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay
Clif. Thy father hath.
Rut. But 'twas ere I was born.
Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest, in revenge thereof,-sith God is just,--
15 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.
Clif. No cause!
20 Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
[Clifford stabs him.
Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ !
Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
25 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.
Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy
As for the brat of this accursed duke,- [lite.
Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
Tutor. And I, my lord, will bear him company. 35
Clif. Soldiers, away, and drag him hence per-
Tutor. Ah, Clifford ! murder not this innocent
Lest thou be hated both of God and man.
Alarum. Enter Richard Duke of 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 pursu'd 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 cry'd-Courage, father! fight it out!
And full as oft came Edward to my side,
With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt
In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
45 And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richardcry'd-Charge! and give no foot of ground!
And cry'd-A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre !
[Exit, dragg'd of 40
Clif. How now! is he dead already? Or, is it
That makes him close his eyes?-I'll open them.
Rut. 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 threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die ;—
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath,
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.
Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my fa-
With this, we charg'd again: but, out, alas!
50 We bodg'd' again; as I have seen a swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide,
And spend her strength with over-matching
[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 the Queen, Clifford, Northumberland,
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should 55
Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again;|
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. [thine,
Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and
Were not revenge sufficient for me:
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
Come,bloody Clifford,-rough Northumberland,
This line is in Ovid's Epistle from Phillis to Demophoon. 2 These were two bastard uncles by the mother's side, Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer. ? i, e. we failed or miscarried again.
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
I am your butt, and I abide your shot.
North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
Chif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm,
With downright payment, shew'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noon-tide 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.
Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?
Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no
So doves do peck the faulcon'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 thou can'st for blushing, view this face;
And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cow-
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere
Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word;
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.
Queen. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life:-[causes,
Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northum-
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.
pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
What hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails,
That not a tear could fall for Rutland's death?
Why art thou patient,man? thou should'st be mad;
10 And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport;
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
A crown for York;-and, lords, bow low to him.-
15 Hold up his hands, whilst I do set it on.—
North. Hold, Clifford ! do not honour him so
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.
Clif.Ay,ay,so strives the woodcock with the gin.
[Putting a paper crown on his head.
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir.-
But how is it, that great Plantagenet
Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ?
As I bethink me, you should not be king,
Till our king Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable !—
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head;
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.
Clif. That is my office, for my father's death.
Queen.Nay,stay; let's hear the orisons he makes.
York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's
35 How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,
To triumph, like an Amazonían trull,
Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates!
But that thy face is, vizor-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. 40I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush:
[York is taken prisoner.
York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd
So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. North. What would your grace have done unto 45 [berland,
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd,
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou
Thy father bears the type of king of Naples,
Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem;
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;
Unless the adage must be verify'd,-
That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death.
'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud;
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:
"Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at;
55 "Tis government', that makes them seem divine;
The want thereof makes thee abominable:
Thou art as opposite to every good,
As the Antipodes are unto us,
Queen. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northum-
Come make him stand upon this mole-hill here;}
That raught at mountains with out-stretched 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 chcer his dad in mutinies?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland:
Look, York; I stain'd this napkin 3 with the blood 60
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Or as the south to the septentrion.
Oh, tyger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child,
1 Or, noon-tide point on the dial. participle passive of reach. 3A napkin is a handkerchief. of temper, and decency of manners.
2 i. e. that reach'd, raught being the ancient preterite and Government here signifies evenness To
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bidst thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish:
Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy
For raging wind blows up incessant showers, [will.
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ;
And every drop cries vengeance for his death.-10
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford,—and thee, false French-
North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so,
That hardly can I check mine eyes from tears.
York. That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,-
O, ten times more,-than tygers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'st in blood of my sweet boy,
And lo! with tears I wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
He gives back the handkerchief.
And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foe will shed fast-falling tears,
And say,-Alas, it was a piteous deed! [curse;
There, take the crown, and with the crown, my
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!-
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
Queen. What, weeping ripe, my lord Northum-
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
15 And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's
death. [Stabbing him. Queen. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king.
[Stabs him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. [Dies. Queen. Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York.
Near Mortimer's Cross in Wales.
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect
Not separated by the racking clouds', [sun;
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vow'd some league inviolable:
In this the heaven figures some event. [heard of.
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds3,
45 Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair shining suns.
Rich. Nay, bear three daughters;-by your
leave I speak it,
A march. Enter Edward, Richard, and their power.
Edw. Wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd;
Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no,
From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit:
Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; 40
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.-
How fares our brother? why is he so sad?
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become.
I saw him in the battle range about;
And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought he bore him in the thickest troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of neat ;
Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs;
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies;
So fled his enemies my warlike father;
Methinks, 'tis prize' enough to be his son.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a yonker, prancing to his love!
1i.e. honour enough.
Belg. a track.
of our great exploits.
You love the breeder better than the male.
Enter a Messenger.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
Mes. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on,
When as the noble duke of York was slain,
Your princely father, and my loving lord.
Edw. Oh, speak no more! for I have heard too
Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.
Meaning, the clouds as they are driven by the winds; from racke,
i. e. illustrious and shining by the armorial ensigns granted us as meeds or rewards
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
By many hands your father was subdu'd;
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:
Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despight; 10
Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept,
The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks,
A napkin, steep'd in the harmless blood
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain
And, after many scorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They set the same; and there it doth remain,
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.
Edw.Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon;
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!-
Oh Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
For,hand to hand, he would have vanquish'dthee!--
Now my soul's palace is become a prison :
Ah,would she break from hence! that this my body
Might in the ground be closed up in rest:
For never henceforth shall I joy again,
Never, O never, shall I see more joy.
I then in London, keeper
5 Muster'd my soldiers, gat
And very well appointed,
March'd towards Saint A
Bearing the king in my be
For by my scouts I was a
That she was coming with
lo dash our late decree in
Touching king Henry's oat
Short tale to make,-we a
Our battles join'd, and bot
15But, whether 'twas the col
Who look'd full gently on
That robb'd my soldiers of
Or whether 'twas report of
Or more than common fea
20 Who thunders to his capti
I cannot judge: but, to co
Their weapons like to light
Our soldiers'-like the nigl
Or like an idle thresher wi
25 Fell gently down, as if they
I cheer'd them up with jus
With promise of high pay,
But all in vain; they had n
And we, in them, no hope
So that we fled; the king,
Lord George your brother,
In haste, post-haste, are con
For in the marches here, w
Making another head to fig
35|||| Edw. Where is the duke o
And when came George fr
Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture 30
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
Norcan my tongue unload my heart'sgreatburden;
For self-same wind, that I should speak withal,
Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, [quench.
And burn me up with flames, that tears would
To weep, is to make less the depth of grief:
Tears, then, for babes; blows and revenge, for
War. Some six miles of And for your brother,-he From your kind aunt, dute With aid of soldiers to this
Rich.'Twas odds, belike,
Oft have I heard his praise
But ne'er, till now, his scar
War. Nor now my scand
For thou shalt know, this stro
Can pluck the diadem fron
And wring the awful sceptr
Were he as famous and as
[count 50 As he is fam'd for mildness
Rich. I know it well, l
War. How now, fair lords? What fare? what
Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should re-
Our baneful news, and, at each word's deliverance,
Stab poniards in our flesh, 'till all were told,
The wordswould add moreanguishthanthewounds.
O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.
Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet,
Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption,
Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death1.
War.Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears:
And now, to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things since then befall'n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
'Tis love, I bear thy glories But, in this troublous time, 55 Shall we go throw away o And wrap our bodies in bla Numb'ring our Ave-Maries Or shall we on the helmets: Tell our devotion with reve 60 If for the last, say-Ay, and
War. Why, therefore W And therefore comes my b
1 Dɔne to death for killed, was a common expression long