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HENRY

Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me : If you be king, why should not I succeed?

K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ;-pardon me, sweet son;

The earl of Warwick and the duke enforc'd

me.

Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be forc'd ?

1 shame to hear thee speak. wretch !

Ah! timorous

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

seas;

narrow

The duke is made protector of the realin;
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

nour:

ho

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.
The northern lords, that have forsworn thy
colours,

Will follow mine, if once they see them spread:
And spread they shall be; to thy foul dis-

grace,

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. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me
speak.

Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee gone.

K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

Q. Mur. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. Prince. When I return with victory from the field,

I'll see your grace: till then, I'll follow her. Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger this.

[Exeunt Queen MARGARET and the PRINCE. K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me, and

to her son,

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 cost my crown, and, like an empty eagle,
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.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Room in Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire.

Enter EDWARD, PICHARD, and MONTAGUE. Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.

Edir. No, I can better play the orator.
Mont. But I have reasons strong and for-
cible.

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Rich. About that which concerns your grace and us;

The crown of England, father, which is your's. 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,

It will outrun you, father, in the end.

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
forsworn.

York. I shall be, if I claim by open war.
Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear

me speak.

York. Thou canst 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 de-

pose,

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 dyed
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 enterprise.
Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk,
And tell him privily of our intent.
With whom
You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham,
Kentishien will willingly

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But, stay; What news? Why com'st thou in such post?

Mess. The queen, with all the northern carls and lords,

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,
With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths.
Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it
not:

And thus most humbly I do take my leave.

[Exit.

Enter Sir JOHN and Sir HUGH MORTIMER. York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,

You are come to Sandal in a happy hour:
The army of the queen mean to besiege us.
Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her
in the field.

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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 of, Edw I hear their drums; let's set our men in order;

And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. York. Five men to tweaty !-though the odds be great,

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?
[Alarum. Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Plains near Sandal Castle. Alarums: Excursions. Enter RUTLAND and

his TUTOR.

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Cif. Soldiers, away with him.

Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.

[CLIFFORD stabs kim. Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tua!*

[Dies.
Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
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.
Erit.

SCENE IV.-The same.
Alarum.-Enter 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
But this I know, they have demean'd them-
selves

them:

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And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple faulchion, painted to the bit In blood of those that had encounter'd him: And when the hardiest warriors did retire,

Tat. Ah! Clifford, murder not this innocent Richard cried,-Charge! and give no foot of

child,

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pent-up

lion o'er the

Rut. So looks 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! geatle 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 father's blood

Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.

Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again;

He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and
thine

Were not revenge sufficient for me;
No, if I digg'd up thy forefather's graves,
And hung their rotten coflins up in chains,

It could not slake mine ire, nor ease 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,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore---

[Lifting his hand. Rut. O let me pray before I take my death: To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me!

Cf. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. Kut. I never did thee harm; Why wilt thou

slay ine?

Clif. Thy father bath.

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born.

Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest, in revenge thereof, sith God is just,
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?

• Siace.

ground!

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And, if thou canst for blushing view this

face:

And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice,

Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.

Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for
word;

But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.
[Draws.

Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thou-
sand causes,

I would prolong awhile the traitor's life :Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.

North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so
mach,

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. Cif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. [YORK is taken prisoner. York. So triumphi thieves upon their conquer'a booty;

So true men⚫ yield,, with robbers so o'ermatch'd.

North. What would your grace have done unto him now?

Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and North-
umberland,

Come make him stand upon this molehill here;
That raught at mountains with outstretched

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 cheer his dad in mutinies?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rut-
land?

Look, York; I stain'd this napkin with the
blood

That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
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.
I pr'ythee grieve, to make me merry, York;
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and
dance.

What, bath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine en-
trails,

That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patieut, man? thou should'st be mad;

And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Thou would'st 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.

Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.

[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 Piautagenet

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,
Honest men.

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↑ Reached.

1 Handkerchief.

HENRY VI

pale your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
Oh! 'tis a fault too too unpardonable !-
head;
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his

And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him

dead. +

Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake.
Q. Mar. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he
makes.

York. She-wolf of France, but worse than
wolves of France,

tooth,
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's

How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates?
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would assay proud queen, to make thee
blush;

To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom dcriv'd,

not shameless,
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?
queen;
It needs not, nor it, boots thee not, proud

Unless the adage must be verified,
That beggars, mounted, run their
death

horse to

'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:
'Tis government ý that makes them seem di-
vine ;

The want thereof makes thee abominable :
Thou art as opposite to every good,
As the Antipodes are unto us,
Or as the south to the septentrion. ||
O tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide!
How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, [child,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
[wish:
less,
Thou steru, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorse-
Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy
Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast
thy will:

For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
Rutland's
These tears are my sweet

quies; every drop death,

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obse

for his

And
French-woman.
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false

North. Beshrew me, but his passions ¶ move

me so,

That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
York. That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd
with blood

But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
O ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'st in blood of my sweet

boy,

And I with tears do 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 bearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast failing tears;

↑ Kill him.

Impale, encircle with a crown. 1 The distinguishing mark. § Government, in the language the time, signified evenness of temper, and decency of minners. 4 Sufferings. The North.

And say,-Alas, it was piteous deed!-
There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my

curse;

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 slaughterman to all my
kin,

I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northumberland ?

Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. [Stabbing him. Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. [Stabbing him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. [Dies. Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates;

So York may overlook the town of York.

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

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news;

Or, had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard

The happy tidings of his good escape.-
How fares my brother? Why is he so sad?

Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolved
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: t

Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; Who, having pinch'd a few, and made them

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That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds,
Should notwithstanding, join our lights to-
gether,

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,

You love the breeder better than the male.

Enter a MESSENGER.

But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
Mess. 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. O speak no more! for I have heard too

much.

Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.

Mess. Environed he was with many foes; And stood against them, as the hope of Troy + Against the Greeks, that would have euter'd Troy.

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 subdued;
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:
Who crown'd the gracious duke, in high de
spight;

Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief be wept,

The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks,
A napkin steeped 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 remais,
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!

O 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'd

thee!

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.

Rich. I cannot weep: for all my body's mais

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1

March.-Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE,
with Forces.

War. How now, fair lords? What fare?
What news abroad?

Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should
recount

Our baleful news, at each word's deliverance,
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,
The words would add more anguish than the

wounds.

O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.
Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Planta-
genet,

Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemp-
tion,

Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.*
War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in

tears:

And now, to add more measure to your woes,
1 come to tell you things since then befall'n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breathed his latest

gasp,

Tidings, as swiftly as the post could run,
Were brought me of your loss and his depart.
I then in London, keeper of the king,
Master'd my soldiers, gather'd

friends,

And very well appointed, as I thought,

flocks

of

And wring the awful sceptre from his fist;
Were he as famous and as bold in war,

As he is famed for mildness, peace, and
prayer.

Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick; blame
me not:

'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.
But, in this troublous time, what's to be done?
bodies in black mourning
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,

And

wrap our

gowns,
Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?
or shall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
If for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords.

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek
you out:
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford, and the haught Northumber-

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March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the With all the friends that thou, brave earl of

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I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came went;

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Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, Via! To London will we march amain:
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry-Charge upon our foes!
But never once again turn back and fly.
Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great War-
wick speak;

Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,
That cries-Retire, if Warwick bid him stay.
Edu. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I
lean;
forbid the

And when thou fall'st, (as God
aud
hour!)

and

Our soldiers-like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,-
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay and great rewards:
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day,
So that we filed: the king unto the queen ;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and my-
self,

In haste, post-haste, are come to join with

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Must Edward fall, which peril heaven fore-
fend !

War. No longer earl of March, but duke of
York;

The next degree is, England's royal throne;
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along;
And he, that throws not up his cap for joy,
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward,-valiant Richard,-Montague,-
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard
as steel,

(As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,)
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edw. Then strike up, drums;-God aud
Saint George for us!

Enter a MESSENGER.
War. How now? What news?
Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word
by me,

The queen is coming with a puissant host;
And craves your company for speedy counsel.
War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors:
[Exeunt.

Let's away.

SCENE II.-Before York.

Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARET, the
Prince of WALES, CLIFFORD, and NORTH-
UMBERLAND, with Forces.

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave
town of York:-

• Lofty.

Killed.

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