And give them leave to fly, that will not stay;
And call them pillars, that will stand to us;
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
As victors wear at the Olympian games:
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts;
For yet is hope of life, and victory.-
Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain.

[exeunt.

SCENE IV. THE SAME. ANOTHER PART OF THE FIELD.

Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. Cliff Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York, And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death, And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and To execute the like upon thyself; [brother, And so, have at thee.

[they fight. Warwick enters; Clifford flies. Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase;

For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.

SCENE V. ANOTHER PART OF THE FIELD.

Alarum. Enter King Henry.

[exe.

K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's

war

When dying clouds contend with growing light;
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
Forc'd with the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea,
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind:
Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind;
Now, one the better; then, another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered :
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here on this mole-hill will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
'Would I were dead! if God's good will were so :
For what is in this world, but grief and woe?
O God! methinks, it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes, how they run:
How many make the hour full complete,
How many hours bring about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times :
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,

Pass'd over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how
lovely!

Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery?
O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.
And to conclude,-the shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,
When care, mistrust, and treason, wait on him.
Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father,
dragging in the dead body.

Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits no-body.-
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
May be possessed with some store of crowns:
And I, that haply take them from him now,
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 unawares 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 receiv'd my life,
Have by my hands of life bereav'd 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,

K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whilst 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'ercharg'd with grief.

Enter a Father who has killed his Son, with the body in his arms.

Fath. Thou that so stoutly bath 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 wounds, 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!

K. Hen. 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, present:
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?
Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my
Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied? [son,
K. Hen. How will the country, for these wo-
ful chances,

Mis-think the king, and not be satisfied?

Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death?
Fath. Was ever father so bemoan'd a son?
K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for sub-
jects' 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.
Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy wind-
ing-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,
Sad 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 murder'd where I should not kill.
[exit, with the body.
K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overcome with
Here sits a king more woful than you are. [care,
Alarums excursions. Enter Queen Margaret,
Prince of Wales, and Exeter.

Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,

And Warwick rages like a chafed bull; Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Ber-
wick 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.
Ere. Away! for vengeance comes along with
them :

Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
Or else come after; I'll away before.

K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Not that I fear to stay, but love to go [Exeter; Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! [ex.

SCENE VI. THE SAME.

A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. Cliff. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies,

Which, while 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, glow'd many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt.
Impairing Henry, strength'ning 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 Phœbus! hadst thou never given consent

That Phaeton should check 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 deserv'd 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 father's bosom, split my breast.

The faints.
Alarum and retreat. Enter Edward, George,
Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers.
Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune
bids us pause,
[looks.-
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful
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 filed with them?
War. 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. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? [parting. Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's deEdw. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd. ['Clifford ;

Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis 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.

War. From off the gates of York fetch down

the head,

Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words,

Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.

Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. Geo. Where's cpatain Margaret, to fence you now?

War. They mock thee, Clifford ! swear as thou wast wont.

Rich. 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 hours' life,
That I in all despite might rail at him, if
This hand should chop it off; and with the
issuing blood

Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy. [head,
War. Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's
And rear it in the place your father's stands.—-

ACT

SCENE I. A CHASE IN THE NORTH OF ENGLAND.

Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands. 1 Keep. 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,

[shoot. 2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may 1 Keep That cannot be, the noise of thy crossWill scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. [bow 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. 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past.

Enter King Henry, disguised, with a prayer-book. K. Hen. 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 Cæsar 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? 1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee:

This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities; For wise men say, it is the wisest course. [him. 2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon 1 Keep. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little [for aid; K. Hen. My queen, and son, are gone to France And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither goue, to crave the French king's sister

more.

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,
The scatter'd foc, that hopes to rise again; [dread
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz, 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.
Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let
For on thy shoulder do I build my seat; [it be;
And never will I undertake the thing,
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.-
Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster :-
And George, of Clarence ;-Warwick, as ourself,
Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best.

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George, of Gloster;

For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.
War. Tut, that's a foolish observation;
Richard, be duke of Gloster: now to London.
To see these honours in possession. [exeunt

III.

To wife for Edward: if this news be truc,
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, while 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 depos'd;
He smiles, and says-his Edward is install'd;
That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no
!. [wrong,
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the
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.

more:

2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings and queens? [was born to: K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I A man at least, for less I should not be : And men may talk of kings, and why not I? 2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. [enough.

K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's 2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy [head;

crown?

K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is call'd, content; A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy.

content,

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.
1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king,
king Edward.

K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry,
If he were seated as king Edward is.

Keep. We charge you, in God's name, and in To go with us unto the officers. [the king's,

K. Hen. In God's name, lead; your king's

name be obey'd:

And what God will, then let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [ereunt.

SCENE II. LONDON. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

Enter King Edward, Gloster, Clarence, & Lady Grey. [field

K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at St. Albans This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain, His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror : Her suit is now, to repossess those lands; Which we in justice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his life. Glo. Your highness shall do well to grant her It were dishonour, to deny it her.

I

[suit; [pause.

K. Edw. It were no less; but yet I'll make a Glo. Yea, is it so? [aside to Clar.

see, the lady bath a thing to grant, Before the king will grant her humble suit. Clar. He knows the game; how true he keeps the wind. [aside. [aside.

Glo. Silence!

K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time, to know our mind. L. Grey. Right gracious Lord, I cannot brook

delay:

[aside. [then.

K. Edw. 'Twere pity, they should lose their father's land.

L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it K. Edw. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit. [have leave, Glo. Ay, good leave have you; for you will Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. [Gloster and Clarence retire to the other side. K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?

L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. K. Edw. And would you not do much, to do them good? [some harm. L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain K. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.

L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. K. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. [ness' service. L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highK. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give them?

L. Grey. What you command, that rests in [boon.

me to do.

K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. [to ask.

K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace commands.

Glo. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. [aside.

Clar. As red as fire! nay, then her wax must [aside.

melt.

L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear, my task?

K. Edw. An easy task; 'tis but to love a king, L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.

K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's land I freely give thee. [thanks. L. Grey. I take my leave, with many thousand Glo. The match is made; she seals it with a (I mean.

curt'sy.

K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving llege.

K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants. K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. [you did. L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I thought K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my mind. [perceive L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.

K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.

[prison. L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in K. Edw. Why then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands. [dower; L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be my For by that loss I will not purchase them. K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. [them and me. L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both But, mighty lord. this merry inclination Accords not with the sadness of my suit; Please you dismiss me, either with ay, or no. K. Edw. Ay; if thou wilt say ay, to my reNo; if thou dost say no, to my demand. [quest: L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at

an end.

Glo. The widow likes him not, she knits her
brows.
[aside.
Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.
[aside.

K. Edw. [aside.] Her looks do argue her re-
plete with modesty;

Her words do show her wit incomparable ;*
All her perfections challenge sovereignty:
One way, or other, she is for a king;
And she shall be my love, or else my queen.—
Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen?
L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my gra-
I am a subject fit to jest withal, [cious lord:
But far unfit to be a sovereign.
[thee,
K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state, I swear to
I speak no more than what my soul intends;
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. [unto.
L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield
I know, I am too mean to be your queen:
And yet too good to be your concubine. [queen.
K. Edw. You cavil, widow; I did mean, my
L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace, my sons
should call you-father.

K. Edw. No more, than when my daughters
call thee mother.

Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;
And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor,
Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing
To be the father unto many sons.
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.
Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his
shrift.

[aside. Clar. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift. [aside. K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.

Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad.

K. Edw. You'd think it strange, if I should
Clar. To whom, my lord?

[marry her. K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. [least. Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes. K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both,

Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.
Enter a Nobleman.

Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. K. Elw. See, that he be convey'd unto the Tower :

And go we, brothers, to the man that took hi
To question of his apprehension.- [ab
Widow, go you along;-Lords, use her honour-

[exeunt K. Edw. L. Grey, Clar. and Lord. Glo. Ay, Edward will use women honourably. 'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for! And yet, between my soul's desire, and me, (The lustful Edward's title buried,)

Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: A cold premeditation for my purpose! Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore, where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye; And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,. Saying-he'll lade it dry to have his way: So do I wish the crown, being so far off; And so I chide the means that keep me from it; And so I say I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities.My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely, Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub ; To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp, That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be belov'd? O, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, But to command, to check, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven-to dream upon the crown; And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head, Be round impaled with a glorious crown