« PreviousContinue »
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible ;
Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, Bidd'st then me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish : || The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: So fard our father with his enemies; For raging wind blows up incessant showers. So fled his enemies my warlike father ; And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ; See, how the morning opes her golden gates, And every drop cries vengeance for his death, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, -and thee, false French-wa- How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker, praneing to his love! North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three subs? That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun ; York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Not separated with the racking clouds, Would not have touch'd, would not have staind with But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. blood :
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, But you are more inhuman, more inexorable -- As if they vow'd some league inviolable : O, ten times more, -than tigers of Hyrcania. Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun, See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears :
In this the heaven figures some event. This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet dever And I with tears do wash the blood away.
heard of. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field; [He gives back the handkerchief. That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Each one already blazing by our needs, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And over
shine the earth, as this the world. And say,-Alas, it was a piteous deed !
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear There, take the crown, and, with the crown. my curse; Upon my target three fair shining suns. And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
Rich. Nay, bear three daughters ;-by your leave! As now I reap at thy too cruel hand !
Enter a Messenger.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks forctel
Some dreaful story hanging on thy tonguç? To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
Mess. Ah, one that was a woeful looker on, l. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northumber
When as the noble duke of York was slain,
Your princely, father, and my loving lord.
Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.
Rich. Say bow he died, for I will hear it all. Clif. Here's for my oath, liere's for my father's
Mcss. Environed he was with many foes; death.
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds : York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
And many strokes, though with a little axe, My soul flies through these wounds to seck out thee.
Hew down and fell the hardest timberd oak.
[Dies. Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates? | But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
By many hands your father was subulud; So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt. Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:
Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite ;
Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he weply ACT II
The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood SCENE 1.-A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Here. fordshire . Drums. Enter Edward and Richard, || And, after any scorns, many foul taunts,
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: with their Forces, marching.
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They set the same; and there it doth remain,
Edw. Swett duke of York, our prop to lean upon ; From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit; Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay! Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news ; O Clifford, boisterous Clifford, thou hast slain Had he been slain, we should have leard the news ; The flower of Europe for his chivalry; Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, Vhe happy tidings of his good escape.
For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee Thw fares iny brother? why is he so sad ?
Now my soul's palace is become a prison: Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolvd
Ah, would she break from bence! that this
my body re our right valiant father is become.
Might in the ground be closed up in rest : SCE. him in the battle range about ;
For never benceforth shall I joy again, Eetch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth. Never, O never, shall I see more joy. Rut. ght, he bore him in the thickest troop,
Ruch. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture, Ah, tuto liop in a herd of neat:
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
Nor ean my tongue imload my heart's great burden ; From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,
Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:
But ne'er till now, his scandal of retire. Tears, then, for babes ; blows, and revenge, for me!
- War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear: Richard, I bear thy name, l'li venge thy death, For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine Or die renowned by attempting it.
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
Were he as famous and as bold in war,
Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick : blame me not ;
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with Forces.
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, War. How dow, fair lords ? What fare? what news | Numb’ring our Ave Maries with our beads ? abroad?
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, If for the last, say-Ay; and to it, lords. Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out;
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
His oath enrolled in the parliament;
And now to London all the crew are gone, After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, . March'd towards Saint Albans to intercept the queen, | Why, Via! to London will we march amain; Bearing the king in my behalf along :
And once again bestride our foaming steeds, For by my scouts I was advertised,
And once again cry-Charge upon our foes ! That she was coming with a full intent,
But never once again turn back, and fly, To dash our late deeree in parliament,
Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession.
speak : Short tale to make,-we at Saint Albans met,
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the hour!) That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen; Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend ! Or whether 'twas report of her success ;
War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York ;
King Edward, -valiant Richard, - Montague -
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
(As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,) And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
I come to pierce it,-or to give thee mine. So that we fled; the king, unto the queen ;
Edw. Then strike up, drums ;-God, and St. George, Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
for us! In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you;
Enter a Messenger.
War. How now? what news? Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle War Mes. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, wick?
The qneen is coming with a puissant host; And when came George from Burgundy to England ? And craves your company for speedy coninsel.
War. Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers : War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors: Let's away. And for your brother,-he was lately sent
l'll draw it as apparent to the erowa,
Enter a Messenger.
Clif. I would, your highness would depart the field; The queen hath best success when you are absent.
l. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our for.
SCENE II.-Before York. Enter King Henry, Queen
Margaret, the Prince of Wales, Clifford, and Northumberland, with Forces. l. Mar. Weleome, my lord, to this brave town of
Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity
K. Hen. Full well bath Clifford play'd the orator,
K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a kniglit;
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
K. Hen. Why, that's my fortunc too; therefore I'll
stay. North. Be it with resolution then to fight.
Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lors, And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint George! March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Warwick,
Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for
grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ?
Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it three to be thus bold in terms, Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king?
Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee;
Clif. And reason too ;
Rich. Are you there, butcher?-0, I cannot speak !
Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee, Or any be the proudest of thy sort. Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Ruland, was it
not? Clif: Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. IPar. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the
crown? 2. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick ?
dare you speak ? When you and I met at Saint Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands.
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thines Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. War. '7'was not your valour, Clifford, drove me
thence. Norih. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you
stay. Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently ;Break off the parle ; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
Clif: I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child ?
Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed. K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear
me speak, 2. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips K. Hein. I priythee, give no limits to my tongue ;
I am a king, and privileg'd to speak.
And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while.
Enter Edward, running.
Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle Cannot be curd by wonls ; therefore be still.
death! Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword:
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. By him that made us all, I am resolvid, That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.
War. How now, my lord? what hap? what hope of
Geo. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair ;
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us :
What counsel give you ? whither shall we fly?
Edw, Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; right,
And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. There is no wrong, but every thing is right.
Enter Richard. Rick. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands ; Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyTor, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.
self? l. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam; Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Buc like a foul misshapen stigmatic,
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance: Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
And, in the very pangs of death, he cried,
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,-
So underneath the belly of their steeds, (As if a channel should be calld the sea)
That staind their fetlocks in his smoaking blood,
War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood :
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
And look upon, as if the tragedy
Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never pause aguin, never stand still,
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thide'; But, when he took a beggar to his bed,
And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
Beseeching thee,-if with thy will it stands,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! Had slipp'd our elaim until another age.
- Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy
Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth. spring,
Rich. Brother, give me thy hand, and, gentle WarAnd that thy summer bred us no increase,
wick, We set the axe to thy usurping root:
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms :-And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, I, that did never weep, now melt with woe, Yet, know thou, since we haye begun to strike, That winter should cut off our spring-time so. We'll never leave, till we bave hewn thee down,
War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell. Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.
Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee; And give them leave to fly that will not stay; Not willing any longer conference,
And call them pillars, that will stand to us ;
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ; 2. Mar. Stay, Edward.
For yet is hope of life, and victory: Edw. No, wrangling woman ; we'll no longer stay: Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain. [Exeunt. These words will cost ten thousand lives today.
SCENE IV.-The same. Another part of the Field.
Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. SCENE III.- A Field of Battle between Towton and
Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone : Sa.rton in Yorkshire. Alarums: Excursions. En
Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York,
And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, This is the land, that stabb'd thy father York ; Have robb'd my strong knit sinews of tbeir strength, And this the hand, that slew thy brother Rutland:
And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death, May yet ere niglit yield both my life and thera
Who's this ?- O God! it is my father's face,
Whom in this conftict I unwares have kill'd. (Thcy fight. Warwick enters ; Clifford flies.
O heavy times. begetting such events!
Caine on the part of York, pressd by his master;
And I, who at his hands received my life,
Have by my bands, of life bereaved him.K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war,
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did !When dying clonds contend with growing light;
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee! What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
K. Hen. Opiteous spectacle ! O bloody times! Fored by the tide to combat with the wind;
Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. Forc'd to retire, by fury of the wind:
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind :
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. Here on this mole-hill will I sit me down.
Fath. Thou, that so stoutly hast resisted me, To whom God will, there be the victory!
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both,
But let me see-Is this our foeman's face? They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son ! 'Would I were dead ! it God's good will were so:
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, For what is in this world, but grief and woe?
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.
0, pity, God, this miserable age!To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
What stratagems, bow fell, how butcherly, Thereby to see the minules how they run:
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, How many make the hour full complete,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! How many hours bring about the day,
O boy, thy father gave the life too soon, How many days will finish up the year,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! How many years a mortal inan may live.
K. Hen. Woe abore woe! grief more than common When this is known then to divide the times :
grief! So many hours inust I tend my flock;
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, So many hours must I sport myself;
The fatal colours of our striving houses : So many days my ewes have been with young ;
The one, his purple blood right well resembles ; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
The other, his pale cheeks, methinks. present. So many years ere I shall shear the fleece;
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish! So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
If you contend. a thousand lives must wither. Pass'd over 19 the end they were created,
Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied?
Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied ?
K. Hen. How will the country, for these woeful
chances, To kings, that ftar their subjects' treachery?
Mis-think the king, and not be satisfied ! O, yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth.
Son. Was ever son, so rued a father's death? And to conclude,- the shepherd's homely curds,
Path. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son ? His cold thin drink out of his leather butlle,
K. Hen. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe: His wonted sleep under a fresh træe's shade,
Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so inneh. All which secure and sweetly he enjoy's,
Son. I'll bear thee henee, where I may weep my fu. Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
[Exit with the body. His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding His body couched in a curious bed,
sheet; When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre ; AlariEnter a Son that has killed his Father, drag. For from my lieart thine image ne'er shall go. ging in the dead Body.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I'll bear thee luence; and let them fight that will,