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Readers of the New Folger Editions are part of this ongoing process of “taking up Shakespeare,” finding our own thoughts and feelings in language that strikes us as old or unusual and, for that very reason, new. We still struggle to keep up with a writer who could think a mile a minute, whose words paint pictures that shift like clouds. These expertly edited texts are presented to the public as a resource for study, artistic adaptation, and enjoyment. By making the classic texts of the New Folger Editions available in electronic form as The Folger Shakespeare (formerly Folger Digital Texts), we place a trusted resource in the hands of anyone who wants them.
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I want to express my deep thanks to editors Barbara Mowat and Paul Werstine for creating these indispensable editions of Shakespeare’s works, which incorporate the best of textual scholarship with a richness of commentary that is both inspired and engaging. Readers who want to know more about Shakespeare and his plays can follow the paths these distinguished scholars have tread by visiting the Folger either in-person or online, where a range of physical and digital resources exists to supplement the material in these texts. I commend to you these words, and hope that they inspire.
Michael Witmore
Director, Folger Shakespeare Library
Until now, with the release of The Folger Shakespeare (formerly Folger Digital Texts), readers in search of a free online text of Shakespeare’s plays had to be content primarily with using the Moby™ Text, which reproduces a late-nineteenth century version of the plays. What is the difference? Many ordinary readers assume that there is a single text for the plays: what Shakespeare wrote. But Shakespeare’s plays were not published the way modern novels or plays are published today: as a single, authoritative text. In some cases, the plays have come down to us in multiple published versions, represented by various Quartos (Qq) and by the great collection put together by his colleagues in 1623, called the First Folio (F). There are, for example, three very different versions of
Hamlet
, two of
King Lear
,
Henry V
,
Romeo and Juliet
, and others. Editors choose which version to use as their base text, and then amend that text with words, lines or speech prefixes from the other versions that, in their judgment, make for a better or more accurate text.
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, 1.2: “Abhorred slave,/Which any print of goodness wilt not take,/Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee…”). All Shakespeare editors at the time took the speech away from her and gave it to her father, Prospero.
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”), half-square brackets (for example, from
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The English crown changes hands often in
Henry VI, Part 3
. At first, Richard, Duke of York, is allied with Warwick. York invades the throne-room of Henry VI with Warwick’s army, but allows Henry to remain king if he makes York his heir—thus disinheriting Henry’s son, Prince Edward.
Infuriated, Henry’s queen, Margaret, raises an army. York breaks his oath to Henry and fights for the crown. After Margaret and her supporters kill York, Warwick proclaims that York’s son Edward is king. Edward, now Edward IV, captures Henry.
Warwick breaks with King Edward and joins with Margaret to raise a French army. King Edward’s brother Clarence joins with Warwick to capture Edward and free King Henry.
Richard, now Duke of Gloucester, rescues his brother, King Edward, who returns, captures King Henry, and leads an army against Warwick. When Clarence abandons Warwick, Warwick is defeated and killed. King Edward captures Margaret and helps to kill her son, Prince Edward. Richard murders King Henry and begins to plot his way to the crown.
ACT
1
Scene
1
Alarum
.
Enter
Richard
Plantagenet
,
Duke
of
York
;
Edward
;
Richard
;
Norfolk
;
Montague
;
Warwick
;
and
Soldiers
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
I
wonder
how
the
King
escaped
our
hands
.
While
we
pursued
the
horsemen
of
the
north
,
He
slyly
stole
away
and
left
his
men
;
Whereat
the
great
lord
of
Northumberland
,
Whose
warlike
ears
could
never
brook
retreat
,
Cheered
up
the
drooping
army
;
and
himself
,
Lord
Clifford
,
and
Lord
Stafford
,
all
abreast
,
Charged
our
main
battle’s
front
and
,
breaking
in
,
Were
by
the
swords
of
common
soldiers
slain
.
Lord
Stafford’s
father
,
Duke
of
Buckingham
,
Is
either
slain
or
wounded
dangerous
.
I
cleft
his
beaver
with
a
downright
blow
.
That
this
is
true
,
father
,
behold
his
blood
.
He
shows
his
bloody
sword
.
,
to
York
,
showing
his
sword
And
,
brother
,
here’s
the
Earl
of
Wiltshire’s
blood
,
Whom
I
encountered
as
the
battles
joined
.
,
holding
up
a
severed
head
Speak
thou
for
me
,
and
tell
them
what
I
did
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
Richard
hath
best
deserved
of
all
my
sons
.
But
is
your
Grace
dead
,
my
lord
of
Somerset
?
Such
hope
have
all
the
line
of
John
of
Gaunt
!
Thus
do
I
hope
to
shake
King
Henry’s
head
.
And
so
do
I
,
victorious
prince
of
York
.
Before
I
see
thee
seated
in
that
throne
Which
now
the
house
of
Lancaster
usurps
,
I
vow
by
heaven
these
eyes
shall
never
close
.
This
is
the
palace
of
the
fearful
king
,
And
this
the
regal
seat
.
Possess
it
,
York
,
For
this
is
thine
and
not
King
Henry’s
heirs’
.
Assist
me
,
then
,
sweet
Warwick
,
and
I
will
,
For
hither
we
have
broken
in
by
force
.
We’ll
all
assist
you
.
He
that
flies
shall
die
.
Thanks
,
gentle
Norfolk
.
Stay
by
me
,
my
lords
.
—
And
soldiers
,
stay
and
lodge
by
me
this
night
.
They
go
up
onto
a
dais
or
platform
.
And
when
the
King
comes
,
offer
him
no
violence
Unless
he
seek
to
thrust
you
out
perforce
.
Soldiers
exit
or
retire
out
of
sight
.
The
Queen
this
day
here
holds
her
parliament
,
But
little
thinks
we
shall
be
of
her
council
.
By
words
or
blows
,
here
let
us
win
our
right
.
Armed
as
we
are
,
let’s
stay
within
this
house
.
The
Bloody
Parliament
shall
this
be
called
ACT 1. SC. 1
Unless
Plantagenet
,
Duke
of
York
,
be
king
And
bashful
Henry
deposed
,
whose
cowardice
Hath
made
us
bywords
to
our
enemies
.
Then
leave
me
not
,
my
lords
;
be
resolute
.
I
mean
to
take
possession
of
my
right
.
Neither
the
King
nor
he
that
loves
him
best
,
The
proudest
he
that
holds
up
Lancaster
,
Dares
stir
a
wing
if
Warwick
shake
his
bells
.
I’ll
plant
Plantagenet
,
root
him
up
who
dares
.
Resolve
thee
,
Richard
;
claim
the
English
crown
.
York
sits
in
the
chair
of
state
.
Flourish
.
Enter
King
Henry
,
Clifford
,
Northumberland
,
Westmorland
,
Exeter
,
and
the
rest
,
all
wearing
the
red
rose
.
My
lords
,
look
where
the
sturdy
rebel
sits
,
Even
in
the
chair
of
state
!
Belike
he
means
,
Backed
by
the
power
of
Warwick
,
that
false
peer
,
To
aspire
unto
the
crown
and
reign
as
king
.
Earl
of
Northumberland
,
he
slew
thy
father
,
And
thine
,
Lord
Clifford
,
and
you
both
have
vowed
revenge
On
him
,
his
sons
,
his
favorites
,
and
his
friends
.
If
I
be
not
,
heavens
be
revenged
on
me
!
The
hope
thereof
makes
Clifford
mourn
in
steel
.
What
,
shall
we
suffer
this
?
Let’s
pluck
him
down
.
My
heart
for
anger
burns
.
I
cannot
brook
it
.
Be
patient
,
gentle
Earl
of
Westmorland
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
Patience
is
for
poltroons
such
as
he
.
He
durst
not
sit
there
had
your
father
lived
.
My
gracious
lord
,
here
in
the
Parliament
Let
us
assail
the
family
of
York
.
Well
hast
thou
spoken
,
cousin
.
Be
it
so
.
Ah
,
know
you
not
the
city
favors
them
,
And
they
have
troops
of
soldiers
at
their
beck
?
But
when
the
Duke
is
slain
,
they’ll
quickly
fly
.
Far
be
the
thought
of
this
from
Henry’s
heart
,
To
make
a
shambles
of
the
Parliament
House
!
Cousin
of
Exeter
,
frowns
,
words
,
and
threats
Shall
be
the
war
that
Henry
means
to
use
.
—
Thou
factious
Duke
of
York
,
descend
my
throne
And
kneel
for
grace
and
mercy
at
my
feet
.
I
am
thy
sovereign
.
I
am
thine
.
For
shame
,
come
down
.
He
made
thee
Duke
of
York
.
It
was
my
inheritance
,
as
the
earldom
was
.
Thy
father
was
a
traitor
to
the
crown
.
Exeter
,
thou
art
a
traitor
to
the
crown
In
following
this
usurping
Henry
.
Whom
should
he
follow
but
his
natural
king
?
True
,
Clifford
,
that’s
Richard
,
Duke
of
York
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
,
to
York
And
shall
I
stand
,
and
thou
sit
in
my
throne
?
It
must
and
shall
be
so
.
Content
thyself
.
,
to
King
Henry
Be
Duke
of
Lancaster
.
Let
him
be
king
.
He
is
both
king
and
Duke
of
Lancaster
,
And
that
the
lord
of
Westmorland
shall
maintain
.
And
Warwick
shall
disprove
it
.
You
forget
That
we
are
those
which
chased
you
from
the
field
And
slew
your
fathers
and
,
with
colors
spread
,
Marched
through
the
city
to
the
palace
gates
.
Yes
,
Warwick
,
I
remember
it
to
my
grief
;
And
by
his
soul
,
thou
and
thy
house
shall
rue
it
.
Plantagenet
,
of
thee
and
these
thy
sons
,
Thy
kinsmen
,
and
thy
friends
,
I’ll
have
more
lives
Than
drops
of
blood
were
in
my
father’s
veins
.
Urge
it
no
more
,
lest
that
,
instead
of
words
,
I
send
thee
,
Warwick
,
such
a
messenger
As
shall
revenge
his
death
before
I
stir
.
Poor
Clifford
,
how
I
scorn
his
worthless
threats
!
Will
you
we
show
our
title
to
the
crown
?
If
not
,
our
swords
shall
plead
it
in
the
field
.
What
title
hast
thou
,
traitor
,
to
the
crown
?
Thy
father
was
as
thou
art
,
Duke
of
York
;
Thy
grandfather
,
Roger
Mortimer
,
Earl
of
March
.
I
am
the
son
of
Henry
the
Fifth
,
ACT 1. SC. 1
Who
made
the
Dauphin
and
the
French
to
stoop
And
seized
upon
their
towns
and
provinces
.
Talk
not
of
France
,
sith
thou
hast
lost
it
all
.
The
Lord
Protector
lost
it
and
not
I
.
When
I
was
crowned
,
I
was
but
nine
months
old
.
You
are
old
enough
now
,
and
yet
,
methinks
,
you
lose
.
—
Father
,
tear
the
crown
from
the
usurper’s
head
.
Sweet
father
,
do
so
.
Set
it
on
your
head
.
,
to
York
Good
brother
,
as
thou
lov’st
and
honorest
arms
,
Let’s
fight
it
out
and
not
stand
caviling
thus
.
Sound
drums
and
trumpets
,
and
the
King
will
fly
.
Sons
,
peace
!
Peace
thou
,
and
give
King
Henry
leave
to
speak
!
Plantagenet
shall
speak
first
.
Hear
him
,
lords
,
And
be
you
silent
and
attentive
too
,
For
he
that
interrupts
him
shall
not
live
.
Think’st
thou
that
I
will
leave
my
kingly
throne
,
Wherein
my
grandsire
and
my
father
sat
?
No
.
First
shall
war
unpeople
this
my
realm
;
Ay
,
and
their
colors
,
often
borne
in
France
,
And
now
in
England
to
our
heart’s
great
sorrow
,
Shall
be
my
winding-sheet
.
Why
faint
you
,
lords
?
My
title’s
good
,
and
better
far
than
his
.
Prove
it
,
Henry
,
and
thou
shalt
be
king
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
Henry
the
Fourth
by
conquest
got
the
crown
.
’Twas
by
rebellion
against
his
king
.
,
aside
I
know
not
what
to
say
;
my
title’s
weak
.
—
Tell
me
,
may
not
a
king
adopt
an
heir
?
What
then
?
An
if
he
may
,
then
am
I
lawful
king
;
For
Richard
,
in
the
view
of
many
lords
,
Resigned
the
crown
to
Henry
the
Fourth
,
Whose
heir
my
father
was
,
and
I
am
his
.
He
rose
against
him
,
being
his
sovereign
,
And
made
him
to
resign
his
crown
perforce
.
Suppose
,
my
lords
,
he
did
it
unconstrained
,
Think
you
’twere
prejudicial
to
his
crown
?
No
,
for
he
could
not
so
resign
his
crown
But
that
the
next
heir
should
succeed
and
reign
.
Art
thou
against
us
,
Duke
of
Exeter
?
His
is
the
right
,
and
therefore
pardon
me
.
Why
whisper
you
,
my
lords
,
and
answer
not
?
My
conscience
tells
me
he
is
lawful
king
.
,
aside
All
will
revolt
from
me
and
turn
to
him
.
,
to
York
Plantagenet
,
for
all
the
claim
thou
lay’st
,
Think
not
that
Henry
shall
be
so
deposed
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
Deposed
he
shall
be
,
in
despite
of
all
.
Thou
art
deceived
.
’Tis
not
thy
southern
power
Of
Essex
,
Norfolk
,
Suffolk
,
nor
of
Kent
,
Which
makes
thee
thus
presumptuous
and
proud
,
Can
set
the
Duke
up
in
despite
of
me
.
King
Henry
,
be
thy
title
right
or
wrong
,
Lord
Clifford
vows
to
fight
in
thy
defense
.
May
that
ground
gape
and
swallow
me
alive
Where
I
shall
kneel
to
him
that
slew
my
father
.
O
Clifford
,
how
thy
words
revive
my
heart
!
Henry
of
Lancaster
,
resign
thy
crown
.
—
What
mutter
you
,
or
what
conspire
you
,
lords
?
,
to
King
Henry
Do
right
unto
this
princely
Duke
of
York
,
Or
I
will
fill
the
house
with
armèd
men
,
And
over
the
chair
of
state
,
where
now
he
sits
,
Write
up
his
title
with
usurping
blood
.
He
stamps
with
his
foot
,
and
the
Soldiers
show
themselves
.
My
lord
of
Warwick
,
hear
but
one
word
:
Let
me
for
this
my
lifetime
reign
as
king
.
Confirm
the
crown
to
me
and
to
mine
heirs
,
And
thou
shalt
reign
in
quiet
while
thou
liv’st
.
I
am
content
.
Richard
Plantagenet
,
Enjoy
the
kingdom
after
my
decease
.
What
wrong
is
this
unto
the
Prince
your
son
!
ACT 1. SC. 1
What
good
is
this
to
England
and
himself
!
Base
,
fearful
,
and
despairing
Henry
!
How
hast
thou
injured
both
thyself
and
us
!
I
cannot
stay
to
hear
these
articles
.
Nor
I
.
Come
,
cousin
,
let
us
tell
the
Queen
these
news
.
Farewell
,
faint-hearted
and
degenerate
king
,
In
whose
cold
blood
no
spark
of
honor
bides
.
Be
thou
a
prey
unto
the
house
of
York
,
And
die
in
bands
for
this
unmanly
deed
.
In
dreadful
war
mayst
thou
be
overcome
,
Or
live
in
peace
abandoned
and
despised
!
Westmorland
,
Northumberland
,
Clifford
,
and
their
Soldiers
exit
.
Turn
this
way
,
Henry
,
and
regard
them
not
.
They
seek
revenge
and
therefore
will
not
yield
.
Ah
,
Exeter
!
Why
should
you
sigh
,
my
lord
?
Not
for
myself
,
Lord
Warwick
,
but
my
son
,
Whom
I
unnaturally
shall
disinherit
.
But
be
it
as
it
may
.
(
To
York
.
)
I
here
entail
The
crown
to
thee
and
to
thine
heirs
forever
,
Conditionally
,
that
here
thou
take
an
oath
To
cease
this
civil
war
and
,
whilst
I
live
,
ACT 1. SC. 1
To
honor
me
as
thy
king
and
sovereign
,
And
neither
by
treason
nor
hostility
To
seek
to
put
me
down
and
reign
thyself
.
This
oath
I
willingly
take
and
will
perform
.
Long
live
King
Henry
!
Plantagenet
,
embrace
him
.
York
stands
,
and
King
Henry
ascends
the
dais
.
,
to
York
And
long
live
thou
and
these
thy
forward
sons
!
They
embrace
.
Now
York
and
Lancaster
are
reconciled
.
Accursed
be
he
that
seeks
to
make
them
foes
.
Sennet
.
Here
they
come
down
.
,
to
King
Henry
Farewell
,
my
gracious
lord
.
I’ll
to
my
castle
.
And
I’ll
keep
London
with
my
soldiers
.
And
I
to
Norfolk
with
my
followers
.
And
I
unto
the
sea
,
from
whence
I
came
.
York
,
Edward
,
Richard
,
Warwick
,
Norfolk
,
Montague
,
and
their
Soldiers
exit
.
And
I
with
grief
and
sorrow
to
the
court
.
Enter
Queen
Margaret
,
with
Prince
Edward
.
Here
comes
the
Queen
,
whose
looks
bewray
her
anger
.
I’ll
steal
away
.
Exeter
,
so
will
I
.
They
begin
to
exit
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
Nay
,
go
not
from
me
.
I
will
follow
thee
.
Be
patient
,
gentle
queen
,
and
I
will
stay
.
Who
can
be
patient
in
such
extremes
?
Ah
,
wretched
man
,
would
I
had
died
a
maid
And
never
seen
thee
,
never
borne
thee
son
,
Seeing
thou
hast
proved
so
unnatural
a
father
.
Hath
he
deserved
to
lose
his
birthright
thus
?
Hadst
thou
but
loved
him
half
so
well
as
I
,
Or
felt
that
pain
which
I
did
for
him
once
,
Or
nourished
him
as
I
did
with
my
blood
,
Thou
wouldst
have
left
thy
dearest
heart-blood
there
,
Rather
than
have
made
that
savage
duke
thine
heir
And
disinherited
thine
only
son
.
Father
,
you
cannot
disinherit
me
.
If
you
be
king
,
why
should
not
I
succeed
?
Pardon
me
,
Margaret
.
—
Pardon
me
,
sweet
son
.
The
Earl
of
Warwick
and
the
Duke
enforced
me
.
Enforced
thee
?
Art
thou
king
and
wilt
be
forced
?
I
shame
to
hear
thee
speak
.
Ah
,
timorous
wretch
,
Thou
hast
undone
thyself
,
thy
son
,
and
me
,
And
giv’n
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
sepulcher
And
creep
into
it
far
before
thy
time
?
Warwick
is
Chancellor
and
the
lord
of
Callice
;
Stern
Falconbridge
commands
the
Narrow
Seas
;
The
Duke
is
made
Protector
of
the
realm
;
And
yet
shalt
thou
be
safe
?
Such
safety
finds
ACT 1. SC. 1
The
trembling
lamb
environèd
with
wolves
.
Had
I
been
there
,
which
am
a
silly
woman
,
The
soldiers
should
have
tossed
me
on
their
pikes
Before
I
would
have
granted
to
that
act
.
But
thou
preferr’st
thy
life
before
thine
honor
.
And
seeing
thou
dost
,
I
here
divorce
myself
Both
from
thy
table
,
Henry
,
and
thy
bed
,
Until
that
act
of
Parliament
be
repealed
Whereby
my
son
is
disinherited
.
The
northern
lords
that
have
forsworn
thy
colors
Will
follow
mine
if
once
they
see
them
spread
;
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
is
ready
.
Come
,
we’ll
after
them
.
Stay
,
gentle
Margaret
,
and
hear
me
speak
.
Thou
hast
spoke
too
much
already
.
Get
thee
gone
.
Gentle
son
Edward
,
thou
wilt
stay
with
me
?
Ay
,
to
be
murdered
by
his
enemies
!
When
I
return
with
victory
from
the
field
,
I’ll
see
your
Grace
.
Till
then
,
I’ll
follow
her
.
Come
,
son
,
away
.
We
may
not
linger
thus
.
Queen
Margaret
and
Prince
Edward
exit
.
Poor
queen
!
How
love
to
me
and
to
her
son
Hath
made
her
break
out
into
terms
of
rage
!
Revenged
may
she
be
on
that
hateful
duke
,
Whose
haughty
spirit
,
wingèd
with
desire
,
Will
cost
my
crown
,
and
like
an
empty
eagle
Tire
on
the
flesh
of
me
and
of
my
son
.
ACT 1. SC. 2
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
.
And
I
,
I
hope
,
shall
reconcile
them
all
.
Flourish
.
They
exit
.
Scene
2
Enter
Richard
,
Edward
,
and
Montague
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Brother
,
though
I
be
youngest
,
give
me
leave
.
No
,
I
can
better
play
the
orator
.
But
I
have
reasons
strong
and
forcible
.
Enter
the
Duke
of
York
.
Why
,
how
now
,
sons
and
brother
,
at
a
strife
?
What
is
your
quarrel
?
How
began
it
first
?
No
quarrel
,
but
a
slight
contention
.
About
what
?
About
that
which
concerns
your
Grace
and
us
:
The
crown
of
England
,
father
,
which
is
yours
.
Mine
,
boy
?
Not
till
King
Henry
be
dead
.
Your
right
depends
not
on
his
life
or
death
.
Now
you
are
heir
;
therefore
enjoy
it
now
.
ACT 1. SC. 2
By
giving
the
house
of
Lancaster
leave
to
breathe
,
It
will
outrun
you
,
father
,
in
the
end
.
I
took
an
oath
that
he
should
quietly
reign
.
But
for
a
kingdom
any
oath
may
be
broken
.
I
would
break
a
thousand
oaths
to
reign
one
year
.
No
,
God
forbid
your
Grace
should
be
forsworn
.
I
shall
be
,
if
I
claim
by
open
war
.
I’ll
prove
the
contrary
,
if
you’ll
hear
me
speak
.
Thou
canst
not
,
son
;
it
is
impossible
.
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
dyed
Even
in
the
lukewarm
blood
of
Henry’s
heart
.
Richard
,
enough
.
I
will
be
king
or
die
.
—
Brother
,
thou
shalt
to
London
presently
,
And
whet
on
Warwick
to
this
enterprise
.
—
Thou
,
Richard
,
shalt
to
the
Duke
of
Norfolk
And
tell
him
privily
of
our
intent
.
—
You
,
Edward
,
shall
unto
my
Lord
Cobham
,
ACT 1. SC. 2
With
whom
the
Kentishmen
will
willingly
rise
;
In
them
I
trust
,
for
they
are
soldiers
Witty
,
courteous
,
liberal
,
full
of
spirit
.
While
you
are
thus
employed
,
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
post
?
The
Queen
with
all
the
northern
earls
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
.
He
exits
.
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
.
Brother
,
I
go
.
I’ll
win
them
,
fear
it
not
.
And
thus
most
humbly
I
do
take
my
leave
.
Montague
exits
.
Enter
Sir
John
Mortimer
,
and
his
brother
,
Sir
Hugh
Mortimer
.
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
.
ACT 1. SC. 3
She
shall
not
need
;
we’ll
meet
her
in
the
field
.
What
,
with
five
thousand
men
?
Ay
,
with
five
hundred
,
father
,
for
a
need
.
A
woman’s
general
;
what
should
we
fear
?
A
march
afar
off
.
I
hear
their
drums
.
Let’s
set
our
men
in
order
,
And
issue
forth
and
bid
them
battle
straight
.
Five
men
to
twenty
:
though
the
odds
be
great
,
I
doubt
not
,
uncle
,
of
our
victory
.
Many
a
battle
have
I
won
in
France
Whenas
the
enemy
hath
been
ten
to
one
.
Why
should
I
not
now
have
the
like
success
?
Alarum
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
Rutland
and
his
Tutor
.
Ah
,
whither
shall
I
fly
to
scape
their
hands
?
Enter
Clifford
with
Soldiers
,
all
wearing
the
red
rose
.
Ah
,
tutor
,
look
where
bloody
Clifford
comes
.
Chaplain
,
away
.
Thy
priesthood
saves
thy
life
.
As
for
the
brat
of
this
accursèd
duke
,
Whose
father
slew
my
father
,
he
shall
die
.
And
I
,
my
lord
,
will
bear
him
company
.
Soldiers
,
away
with
him
.
ACT 1. SC. 3
Ah
,
Clifford
,
murder
not
this
innocent
child
,
Lest
thou
be
hated
both
of
God
and
man
.
He
exits
,
dragged
off
by
Soldiers
.
,
approaching
Rutland
How
now
?
Is
he
dead
already
?
Or
is
it
fear
That
makes
him
close
his
eyes
?
I’ll
open
them
.
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
revenged
on
men
,
and
let
me
live
.
In
vain
thou
speak’st
,
poor
boy
.
My
father’s
blood
Hath
stopped
the
passage
where
thy
words
should
enter
.
Then
let
my
father’s
blood
open
it
again
;
He
is
a
man
and
,
Clifford
,
cope
with
him
.
Had
I
thy
brethren
here
,
their
lives
and
thine
Were
not
revenge
sufficient
for
me
.
No
,
if
I
digged
up
thy
forefathers’
graves
And
hung
their
rotten
coffins
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
accursèd
line
And
leave
not
one
alive
,
I
live
in
hell
.
Therefore
—
He
raises
his
rapier
.
ACT 1. SC. 4
O
,
let
me
pray
before
I
take
my
death
!
To
thee
I
pray
:
sweet
Clifford
,
pity
me
!
Such
pity
as
my
rapier’s
point
affords
.
I
never
did
thee
harm
.
Why
wilt
thou
slay
me
?
Thy
father
hath
.
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
offense
Then
let
me
die
,
for
now
thou
hast
no
cause
.
No
cause
?
Thy
father
slew
my
father
;
therefore
die
.
He
stabs
Rutland
.
Di
faciant
laudis
summa
sit
ista
tuae
!
He
dies
.
Plantagenet
,
I
come
,
Plantagenet
!
And
this
thy
son’s
blood
,
cleaving
to
my
blade
,
Shall
rust
upon
my
weapon
till
thy
blood
,
Congealed
with
this
,
do
make
me
wipe
off
both
.
He
exits
,
with
Soldiers
carrying
off
Rutland’s
body
.
Scene
4
Alarum
.
Enter
Richard
,
Duke
of
York
,
wearing
the
white
rose
.
The
army
of
the
Queen
hath
got
the
field
.
My
uncles
both
are
slain
in
rescuing
me
;
ACT 1. SC. 4
And
all
my
followers
to
the
eager
foe
Turn
back
and
fly
like
ships
before
the
wind
,
Or
lambs
pursued
by
hunger-starvèd
wolves
.
My
sons
,
God
knows
what
hath
bechancèd
them
;
But
this
I
know
:
they
have
demeaned
themselves
Like
men
borne
to
renown
by
life
or
death
.
Three
times
did
Richard
make
a
lane
to
me
And
thrice
cried
Courage
,
father
,
fight
it
out
!
And
full
as
oft
came
Edward
to
my
side
,
With
purple
falchion
painted
to
the
hilt
In
blood
of
those
that
had
encountered
him
;
And
when
the
hardiest
warriors
did
retire
,
Richard
cried
Charge
,
and
give
no
foot
of
ground
!
And
cried
A
crown
or
else
a
glorious
tomb
;
A
scepter
or
an
earthly
sepulcher
!
With
this
we
charged
again
;
but
,
out
alas
,
We
budged
again
,
as
I
have
seen
a
swan
With
bootless
labor
swim
against
the
tide
And
spend
her
strength
with
over-matching
waves
.
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
numbered
that
makes
up
my
life
.
Here
must
I
stay
,
and
here
my
life
must
end
.
Enter
Queen
Margaret
,
Clifford
,
Northumberland
,
the
young
Prince
Edward
,
and
Soldiers
,
all
wearing
the
red
rose
.
Come
,
bloody
Clifford
,
rough
Northumberland
,
I
dare
your
quenchless
fury
to
more
rage
.
I
am
your
butt
,
and
I
abide
your
shot
.
Yield
to
our
mercy
,
proud
Plantagenet
.
Ay
,
to
such
mercy
as
his
ruthless
arm
ACT 1. SC. 4
With
downright
payment
showed
unto
my
father
.
Now
Phaëton
hath
tumbled
from
his
car
And
made
an
evening
at
the
noontide
prick
.
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
?
So
cowards
fight
when
they
can
fly
no
further
;
So
doves
do
peck
the
falcon’s
piercing
talons
;
So
desperate
thieves
,
all
hopeless
of
their
lives
,
Breathe
out
invectives
’gainst
the
officers
.
O
Clifford
,
but
bethink
thee
once
again
And
in
thy
thought
o’errun
my
former
time
;
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
.
I
will
not
bandy
with
thee
word
for
word
,
But
buckler
with
thee
blows
twice
two
for
one
.
Hold
,
valiant
Clifford
,
for
a
thousand
causes
I
would
prolong
a
while
the
traitor’s
life
.
—
Wrath
makes
him
deaf
;
speak
thou
,
Northumberland
.
Hold
,
Clifford
,
do
not
honor
him
so
much
To
prick
thy
finger
,
though
to
wound
his
heart
.
What
valor
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
valor
.
They
attack
York
.
ACT 1. SC. 4
Ay
,
ay
,
so
strives
the
woodcock
with
the
gin
.
So
doth
the
coney
struggle
in
the
net
.
So
triumph
thieves
upon
their
conquered
booty
;
So
true
men
yield
with
robbers
,
so
o’ermatched
.
York
is
overcome
.
,
to
Queen
Margaret
What
would
your
Grace
have
done
unto
him
now
?
Brave
warriors
,
Clifford
and
Northumberland
,
Come
,
make
him
stand
upon
this
molehill
here
That
raught
at
mountains
with
outstretchèd
arms
,
Yet
parted
but
the
shadow
with
his
hand
.
They
place
York
on
a
small
prominence
.
What
,
was
it
you
that
would
be
England’s
king
?
Was
’t
you
that
reveled
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
crookback
prodigy
,
Dickie
,
your
boy
,
that
with
his
grumbling
voice
Was
wont
to
cheer
his
dad
in
mutinies
?
Or
,
with
the
rest
,
where
is
your
darling
Rutland
?
Look
,
York
,
I
stained
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
.
She
gives
him
a
bloody
cloth
.
Alas
,
poor
York
,
but
that
I
hate
thee
deadly
I
should
lament
thy
miserable
state
.
I
prithee
grieve
to
make
me
merry
,
York
.
What
,
hath
thy
fiery
heart
so
parched
thine
entrails
That
not
a
tear
can
fall
for
Rutland’s
death
?
ACT 1. SC. 4
Why
art
thou
patient
,
man
?
Thou
shouldst
be
mad
;
And
I
,
to
make
thee
mad
,
do
mock
thee
thus
.
Stamp
,
rave
,
and
fret
,
that
I
may
sing
and
dance
.
Thou
would’st
be
fee’d
,
I
see
,
to
make
me
sport
.
—
York
cannot
speak
unless
he
wear
a
crown
.
A
crown
for
York
!
She
is
handed
a
paper
crown
.
And
,
lords
,
bow
low
to
him
.
Hold
you
his
hands
whilst
I
do
set
it
on
.
She
puts
the
crown
on
York’s
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
crowned
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
.
That
is
my
office
,
for
my
father’s
sake
.
Nay
,
stay
,
let’s
hear
the
orisons
he
makes
.
She-wolf
of
France
,
but
worse
than
wolves
of
France
,
Whose
tongue
more
poisons
than
the
adder’s
tooth
:
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
vizard-like
,
unchanging
,
Made
impudent
with
use
of
evil
deeds
,
I
would
assay
,
proud
queen
,
to
make
thee
blush
.
ACT 1. SC. 4
To
tell
thee
whence
thou
cam’st
,
of
whom
derived
,
Were
shame
enough
to
shame
thee
,
wert
thou
not
shameless
.
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
verified
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
admired
;
The
contrary
doth
make
thee
wondered
at
.
’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
Or
as
the
south
to
the
Septentrion
.
O
,
tiger’s
heart
wrapped
in
a
woman’s
hide
,
How
couldst
thou
drain
the
lifeblood
of
the
child
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
.
Bidd’st
thou
me
rage
?
Why
,
now
thou
hast
thy
wish
.
Wouldst
have
me
weep
?
Why
,
now
thou
hast
thy
will
;
For
raging
wind
blows
up
incessant
showers
,
And
when
the
rage
allays
,
the
rain
begins
.
These
tears
are
my
sweet
Rutland’s
obsequies
,
And
every
drop
cries
vengeance
for
his
death
’Gainst
thee
,
fell
Clifford
,
and
thee
,
false
Frenchwoman
!
,
aside
Beshrew
me
,
but
his
passions
moves
me
so
That
hardly
can
I
check
my
eyes
from
tears
.
ACT 1. SC. 4
That
face
of
his
the
hungry
cannibals
Would
not
have
touched
,
would
not
have
stained
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
dipped’st
in
blood
of
my
sweet
boy
,
And
I
with
tears
do
wash
the
blood
away
.
He
hands
her
the
cloth
.
Keep
thou
the
napkin
and
go
boast
of
this
;
And
if
thou
tell’st
the
heavy
story
right
,
Upon
my
soul
,
the
hearers
will
shed
tears
.
Yea
,
even
my
foes
will
shed
fast-falling
tears
And
say
Alas
,
it
was
a
piteous
deed
.
He
hands
her
the
paper
crown
.
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
.
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
.
What
,
weeping
ripe
,
my
Lord
Northumberland
?
Think
but
upon
the
wrong
he
did
us
all
,
And
that
will
quickly
dry
thy
melting
tears
.
,
stabbing
York
twice
Here’s
for
my
oath
;
here’s
for
my
father’s
death
!
,
stabbing
York
And
here’s
to
right
our
gentle-hearted
king
.
Open
thy
gate
of
mercy
,
gracious
God
.
ACT 1. SC. 4
My
soul
flies
through
these
wounds
to
seek
out
Thee
.
He
dies
.
Off
with
his
head
,
and
set
it
on
York
gates
,
So
York
may
overlook
the
town
of
York
.
Flourish
.
They
exit
,
Soldiers
carrying
York’s
body
.
ACT
2
Scene
1
A
march
.
Enter
Edward
,
Richard
,
and
their
power
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
I
wonder
how
our
princely
father
scaped
,
Or
whether
he
be
scaped
away
or
no
From
Clifford’s
and
Northumberland’s
pursuit
.
Had
he
been
ta’en
,
we
should
have
heard
the
news
;
Had
he
been
slain
,
we
should
have
heard
the
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
?
I
cannot
joy
until
I
be
resolved
Where
our
right
valiant
father
is
become
.
I
saw
him
in
the
battle
range
about
And
watched
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
encompassed
round
with
dogs
,
Who
having
pinched
a
few
and
made
them
cry
,
The
rest
stand
all
aloof
and
bark
at
him
;
So
fared
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
ACT 2. SC. 1
And
takes
her
farewell
of
the
glorious
sun
.
How
well
resembles
it
the
prime
of
youth
,
Trimmed
like
a
younker
,
prancing
to
his
love
!
Dazzle
mine
eyes
,
or
do
I
see
three
suns
?
Three
glorious
suns
,
each
one
a
perfect
sun
,
Not
separated
with
the
racking
clouds
But
severed
in
a
pale
clear-shining
sky
.
See
,
see
,
they
join
,
embrace
,
and
seem
to
kiss
,
As
if
they
vowed
some
league
inviolable
.
Now
are
they
but
one
lamp
,
one
light
,
one
sun
;
In
this
,
the
heaven
figures
some
event
.
’Tis
wondrous
strange
,
the
like
yet
never
heard
of
.
I
think
it
cites
us
,
brother
,
to
the
field
,
That
we
,
the
sons
of
brave
Plantagenet
,
Each
one
already
blazing
by
our
meeds
,
Should
notwithstanding
join
our
lights
together
And
overshine
the
earth
,
as
this
the
world
.
Whate’er
it
bodes
,
henceforward
will
I
bear
Upon
my
target
three
fair
shining
suns
.
Nay
,
bear
three
daughters
:
by
your
leave
I
speak
it
,
You
love
the
breeder
better
than
the
male
.
Enter
a
Messenger
,
blowing
.
But
what
art
thou
whose
heavy
looks
foretell
Some
dreadful
story
hanging
on
thy
tongue
?
Ah
,
one
that
was
a
woeful
looker-on
Whenas
the
noble
Duke
of
York
was
slain
,
Your
princely
father
and
my
loving
lord
.
O
,
speak
no
more
,
for
I
have
heard
too
much
!
Say
how
he
died
,
for
I
will
hear
it
all
.
Environèd
he
was
with
many
foes
,
And
stood
against
them
,
as
the
hope
of
Troy
Against
the
Greeks
that
would
have
entered
Troy
.
But
Hercules
himself
must
yield
to
odds
;
And
many
strokes
,
though
with
a
little
axe
,
Hews
down
and
fells
the
hardest-timbered
oak
.
By
many
hands
your
father
was
subdued
,
But
only
slaughtered
by
the
ireful
arm
Of
unrelenting
Clifford
and
the
Queen
,
Who
crowned
the
gracious
duke
in
high
despite
,
Laughed
in
his
face
;
and
when
with
grief
he
wept
,
The
ruthless
queen
gave
him
to
dry
his
cheeks
A
napkin
steepèd
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
viewed
.
He
exits
.
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
vanquished
him
,
For
hand
to
hand
he
would
have
vanquished
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
closèd
up
in
rest
,
For
never
henceforth
shall
I
joy
again
.
Never
,
O
never
,
shall
I
see
more
joy
!
He
weeps
.
I
cannot
weep
,
for
all
my
body’s
moisture
Scarce
serves
to
quench
my
furnace-burning
heart
;
ACT 2. SC. 1
Nor
can
my
tongue
unload
my
heart’s
great
burden
,
For
selfsame
wind
that
I
should
speak
withal
Is
kindling
coals
that
fires
all
my
breast
And
burns
me
up
with
flames
that
tears
would
quench
.
To
weep
is
to
make
less
the
depth
of
grief
:
Tears
,
then
,
for
babes
;
blows
and
revenge
for
me
.
Richard
,
I
bear
thy
name
.
I’ll
venge
thy
death
Or
die
renownèd
by
attempting
it
.
His
name
that
valiant
duke
hath
left
with
thee
;
His
dukedom
and
his
chair
with
me
is
left
.
Nay
,
if
thou
be
that
princely
eagle’s
bird
,
Show
thy
descent
by
gazing
’gainst
the
sun
;
For
chair
and
dukedom
,
throne
and
kingdom
say
;
Either
that
is
thine
or
else
thou
wert
not
his
.
March
.
Enter
Warwick
,
Marquess
Montague
,
and
their
army
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
How
now
,
fair
lords
?
What
fare
,
what
news
abroad
?
Great
lord
of
Warwick
,
if
we
should
recount
Our
baleful
news
,
and
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
.
O
Warwick
,
Warwick
,
that
Plantagenet
Which
held
thee
dearly
as
his
soul’s
redemption
Is
by
the
stern
Lord
Clifford
done
to
death
.
Ten
days
ago
I
drowned
these
news
in
tears
.
And
now
to
add
more
measure
to
your
woes
,
ACT 2. SC. 1
I
come
to
tell
you
things
sith
then
befall’n
.
After
the
bloody
fray
at
Wakefield
fought
,
Where
your
brave
father
breathed
his
latest
gasp
,
Tidings
,
as
swiftly
as
the
posts
could
run
,
Were
brought
me
of
your
loss
and
his
depart
.
I
,
then
in
London
,
keeper
of
the
King
,
Mustered
my
soldiers
,
gathered
flocks
of
friends
,
Marched
toward
Saint
Albans
to
intercept
the
Queen
,
Bearing
the
King
in
my
behalf
along
;
For
by
my
scouts
I
was
advertisèd
That
she
was
coming
with
a
full
intent
To
dash
our
late
decree
in
Parliament
Touching
King
Henry’s
oath
and
your
succession
.
Short
tale
to
make
,
we
at
Saint
Albans
met
,
Our
battles
joined
,
and
both
sides
fiercely
fought
.
But
whether
’twas
the
coldness
of
the
King
,
Who
looked
full
gently
on
his
warlike
queen
,
That
robbed
my
soldiers
of
their
heated
spleen
,
Or
whether
’twas
report
of
her
success
Or
more
than
common
fear
of
Clifford’s
rigor
,
Who
thunders
to
his
captives
blood
and
death
,
I
cannot
judge
;
but
to
conclude
with
truth
,
Their
weapons
like
to
lightning
came
and
went
;
Our
soldiers’
,
like
the
night
owl’s
lazy
flight
Or
like
an
idle
thresher
with
a
flail
,
Fell
gently
down
,
as
if
they
struck
their
friends
.
I
cheered
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
fled
:
the
King
unto
the
Queen
;
Lord
George
your
brother
,
Norfolk
,
and
myself
In
haste
,
posthaste
,
are
come
to
join
with
you
;
For
in
the
Marches
here
we
heard
you
were
,
Making
another
head
to
fight
again
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
Where
is
the
Duke
of
Norfolk
,
gentle
Warwick
?
And
when
came
George
from
Burgundy
to
England
?
Some
six
miles
off
the
Duke
is
with
the
soldiers
,
And
,
for
your
brother
,
he
was
lately
sent
From
your
kind
aunt
,
Duchess
of
Burgundy
,
With
aid
of
soldiers
to
this
needful
war
.
’Twas
odds
,
belike
,
when
valiant
Warwick
fled
.
Oft
have
I
heard
his
praises
in
pursuit
,
But
ne’er
till
now
his
scandal
of
retire
.
Nor
now
my
scandal
,
Richard
,
dost
thou
hear
?
For
thou
shalt
know
this
strong
right
hand
of
mine
Can
pluck
the
diadem
from
faint
Henry’s
head
And
wring
the
awful
scepter
from
his
fist
,
Were
he
as
famous
and
as
bold
in
war
As
he
is
famed
for
mildness
,
peace
,
and
prayer
.
I
know
it
well
,
Lord
Warwick
;
blame
me
not
.
’Tis
love
I
bear
thy
glories
make
me
speak
.
But
in
this
troublous
time
,
what’s
to
be
done
?
Shall
we
go
throw
away
our
coats
of
steel
And
wrap
our
bodies
in
black
mourning
gowns
,
Numb’ring
our
Ave
Marys
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
.
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
Northumberland
And
of
their
feather
many
more
proud
birds
,
Have
wrought
the
easy-melting
king
like
wax
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
He
swore
consent
to
your
succession
,
His
oath
enrollèd
in
the
Parliament
.
And
now
to
London
all
the
crew
are
gone
To
frustrate
both
his
oath
and
what
beside
May
make
against
the
house
of
Lancaster
.
Their
power
,
I
think
,
is
thirty
thousand
strong
.
Now
,
if
the
help
of
Norfolk
and
myself
,
With
all
the
friends
that
thou
,
brave
Earl
of
March
,
Amongst
the
loving
Welshmen
canst
procure
,
Will
but
amount
to
five
and
twenty
thousand
,
Why
,
via
,
to
London
will
we
march
,
And
once
again
bestride
our
foaming
steeds
,
And
once
again
cry
Charge
!
upon
our
foes
,
But
never
once
again
turn
back
and
fly
.
Ay
,
now
methinks
I
hear
great
Warwick
speak
.
Ne’er
may
he
live
to
see
a
sunshine
day
That
cries
Retire
!
if
Warwick
bid
him
stay
.
Lord
Warwick
,
on
thy
shoulder
will
I
lean
,
And
when
thou
fail’st
—
as
God
forbid
the
hour
!
—
Must
Edward
fall
,
which
peril
heaven
forfend
.
No
longer
Earl
of
March
,
but
Duke
of
York
;
The
next
degree
is
England’s
royal
throne
:
For
King
of
England
shalt
thou
be
proclaimed
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
.
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
.
ACT 2. SC. 2
Then
strike
up
drums
!
God
and
Saint
George
for
us
!
Enter
a
Messenger
.
How
now
,
what
news
?
The
Duke
of
Norfolk
sends
you
word
by
me
,
The
Queen
is
coming
with
a
puissant
host
,
And
craves
your
company
for
speedy
counsel
.
Why
,
then
it
sorts
.
Brave
warriors
,
let’s
away
!
They
all
exit
.
Scene
2
Flourish
.
Enter
King
Henry
,
Queen
Margaret
,
Clifford
,
Northumberland
,
and
young
Prince
Edward
,
all
wearing
the
red
rose
with
Drum
and
Trumpets
,
the
head
of
York
fixed
above
them
.
,
to
King
Henry
Welcome
,
my
lord
,
to
this
brave
town
of
York
.
Yonder’s
the
head
of
that
arch-enemy
That
sought
to
be
encompassed
with
your
crown
.
Doth
not
the
object
cheer
your
heart
,
my
lord
?
Ay
,
as
the
rocks
cheer
them
that
fear
their
wrack
!
To
see
this
sight
,
it
irks
my
very
soul
.
Withhold
revenge
,
dear
God
!
’Tis
not
my
fault
,
Nor
wittingly
have
I
infringed
my
vow
.
My
gracious
liege
,
this
too
much
lenity
And
harmful
pity
must
be
laid
aside
.
To
whom
do
lions
cast
their
gentle
looks
?
Not
to
the
beast
that
would
usurp
their
den
.
Whose
hand
is
that
the
forest
bear
doth
lick
?
ACT 2. SC. 2
Not
his
that
spoils
her
young
before
her
face
.
Who
scapes
the
lurking
serpent’s
mortal
sting
?
Not
he
that
sets
his
foot
upon
her
back
.
The
smallest
worm
will
turn
,
being
trodden
on
,
And
doves
will
peck
in
safeguard
of
their
brood
.
Ambitious
York
did
level
at
thy
crown
,
Thou
smiling
while
he
knit
his
angry
brows
.
He
,
but
a
duke
,
would
have
his
son
a
king
And
raise
his
issue
like
a
loving
sire
;
Thou
being
a
king
,
blest
with
a
goodly
son
,
Didst
yield
consent
to
disinherit
him
,
Which
argued
thee
a
most
unloving
father
.
Unreasonable
creatures
feed
their
young
;
And
though
man’s
face
be
fearful
to
their
eyes
,
Yet
in
protection
of
their
tender
ones
,
Who
hath
not
seen
them
,
even
with
those
wings
Which
sometime
they
have
used
with
fearful
flight
,
Make
war
with
him
that
climbed
unto
their
nest
,
Offering
their
own
lives
in
their
young’s
defense
?
For
shame
,
my
liege
,
make
them
your
precedent
.
Were
it
not
pity
that
this
goodly
boy
Should
lose
his
birthright
by
his
father’s
fault
,
And
long
hereafter
say
unto
his
child
What
my
great-grandfather
and
grandsire
got
,
My
careless
father
fondly
gave
away
?
Ah
,
what
a
shame
were
this
!
Look
on
the
boy
,
And
let
his
manly
face
,
which
promiseth
Successful
fortune
,
steel
thy
melting
heart
To
hold
thine
own
and
leave
thine
own
with
him
.
Full
well
hath
Clifford
played
the
orator
,
Inferring
arguments
of
mighty
force
.
But
,
Clifford
,
tell
me
,
didst
thou
never
hear
That
things
ill
got
had
ever
bad
success
?
And
happy
always
was
it
for
that
son
Whose
father
for
his
hoarding
went
to
hell
?
ACT 2. SC. 2
I’ll
leave
my
son
my
virtuous
deeds
behind
,
And
would
my
father
had
left
me
no
more
;
For
all
the
rest
is
held
at
such
a
rate
As
brings
a
thousandfold
more
care
to
keep
Than
in
possession
any
jot
of
pleasure
.
Ah
,
cousin
York
,
would
thy
best
friends
did
know
How
it
doth
grieve
me
that
thy
head
is
here
.
My
lord
,
cheer
up
your
spirits
;
our
foes
are
nigh
,
And
this
soft
courage
makes
your
followers
faint
.
You
promised
knighthood
to
our
forward
son
.
Unsheathe
your
sword
and
dub
him
presently
.
—
Edward
,
kneel
down
.
He
kneels
.
,
dubbing
him
knight
Edward
Plantagenet
,
arise
a
knight
,
And
learn
this
lesson
:
draw
thy
sword
in
right
.
,
rising
My
gracious
father
,
by
your
kingly
leave
,
I’ll
draw
it
as
apparent
to
the
crown
And
in
that
quarrel
use
it
to
the
death
.
Why
,
that
is
spoken
like
a
toward
prince
.
Enter
a
Messenger
.
Royal
commanders
,
be
in
readiness
,
For
with
a
band
of
thirty
thousand
men
Comes
Warwick
backing
of
the
Duke
of
York
,
And
in
the
towns
as
they
do
march
along
Proclaims
him
king
,
and
many
fly
to
him
.
Deraign
your
battle
,
for
they
are
at
hand
.
He
exits
.
I
would
your
Highness
would
depart
the
field
.
The
Queen
hath
best
success
when
you
are
absent
.
Ay
,
good
my
lord
,
and
leave
us
to
our
fortune
.
ACT 2. SC. 2
Why
,
that’s
my
fortune
too
;
therefore
I’ll
stay
.
Be
it
with
resolution
,
then
,
to
fight
.
My
royal
father
,
cheer
these
noble
lords
And
hearten
those
that
fight
in
your
defense
.
Unsheathe
your
sword
,
good
father
;
cry
Saint
George
!
March
.
Enter
Edward
,
Warwick
,
Richard
,
George
,
Norfolk
,
Montague
,
and
Soldiers
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Now
,
perjured
Henry
,
wilt
thou
kneel
for
grace
And
set
thy
diadem
upon
my
head
,
Or
bide
the
mortal
fortune
of
the
field
?
Go
rate
thy
minions
,
proud
insulting
boy
.
Becomes
it
thee
to
be
thus
bold
in
terms
Before
thy
sovereign
and
thy
lawful
king
?
I
am
his
king
,
and
he
should
bow
his
knee
.
I
was
adopted
heir
by
his
consent
.
Since
when
,
his
oath
is
broke
;
for
,
as
I
hear
,
You
that
are
king
,
though
he
do
wear
the
crown
,
Have
caused
him
,
by
new
act
of
Parliament
,
To
blot
out
me
and
put
his
own
son
in
.
And
reason
too
:
Who
should
succeed
the
father
but
the
son
?
Are
you
there
,
butcher
?
O
,
I
cannot
speak
!
Ay
,
crookback
,
here
I
stand
to
answer
thee
,
Or
any
he
,
the
proudest
of
thy
sort
.
ACT 2. SC. 2
’Twas
you
that
killed
young
Rutland
,
was
it
not
?
Ay
,
and
old
York
,
and
yet
not
satisfied
.
For
God’s
sake
,
lords
,
give
signal
to
the
fight
!
What
sayst
thou
,
Henry
?
Wilt
thou
yield
the
crown
?
Why
,
how
now
,
long-tongued
Warwick
,
dare
you
speak
?
When
you
and
I
met
at
Saint
Albans
last
,
Your
legs
did
better
service
than
your
hands
.
Then
’twas
my
turn
to
fly
,
and
now
’tis
thine
.
You
said
so
much
before
,
and
yet
you
fled
.
’Twas
not
your
valor
,
Clifford
,
drove
me
thence
.
No
,
nor
your
manhood
that
durst
make
you
stay
.
Northumberland
,
I
hold
thee
reverently
.
—
Break
off
the
parley
,
for
scarce
I
can
refrain
The
execution
of
my
big-swoll’n
heart
Upon
that
Clifford
,
that
cruel
child-killer
.
I
slew
thy
father
;
call’st
thou
him
a
child
?
Ay
,
like
a
dastard
and
a
treacherous
coward
,
As
thou
didst
kill
our
tender
brother
Rutland
.
But
ere
sunset
I’ll
make
thee
curse
the
deed
.
Have
done
with
words
,
my
lords
,
and
hear
me
speak
.
ACT 2. SC. 2
Defy
them
,
then
,
or
else
hold
close
thy
lips
.
I
prithee
,
give
no
limits
to
my
tongue
.
I
am
a
king
and
privileged
to
speak
.
My
liege
,
the
wound
that
bred
this
meeting
here
Cannot
be
cured
by
words
;
therefore
,
be
still
.
Then
,
executioner
,
unsheathe
thy
sword
.
By
Him
that
made
us
all
,
I
am
resolved
That
Clifford’s
manhood
lies
upon
his
tongue
.
Say
,
Henry
,
shall
I
have
my
right
or
no
?
A
thousand
men
have
broke
their
fasts
today
That
ne’er
shall
dine
unless
thou
yield
the
crown
.
If
thou
deny
,
their
blood
upon
thy
head
,
For
York
in
justice
puts
his
armor
on
.
If
that
be
right
which
Warwick
says
is
right
,
There
is
no
wrong
,
but
everything
is
right
.
Whoever
got
thee
,
there
thy
mother
stands
,
For
well
I
wot
thou
hast
thy
mother’s
tongue
.
But
thou
art
neither
like
thy
sire
nor
dam
,
But
like
a
foul
misshapen
stigmatic
,
Marked
by
the
Destinies
to
be
avoided
,
As
venom
toads
or
lizards’
dreadful
stings
.
Iron
of
Naples
,
hid
with
English
gilt
,
Whose
father
bears
the
title
of
a
king
,
As
if
a
channel
should
be
called
the
sea
,
ACT 2. SC. 2
Sham’st
thou
not
,
knowing
whence
thou
art
extraught
,
To
let
thy
tongue
detect
thy
baseborn
heart
?
A
wisp
of
straw
were
worth
a
thousand
crowns
To
make
this
shameless
callet
know
herself
.
—
Helen
of
Greece
was
fairer
far
than
thou
,
Although
thy
husband
may
be
Menelaus
;
And
ne’er
was
Agamemnon’s
brother
wronged
By
that
false
woman
as
this
king
by
thee
.
His
father
reveled
in
the
heart
of
France
,
And
tamed
the
King
,
and
made
the
Dauphin
stoop
;
And
had
he
matched
according
to
his
state
,
He
might
have
kept
that
glory
to
this
day
.
But
when
he
took
a
beggar
to
his
bed
And
graced
thy
poor
sire
with
his
bridal
day
,
Even
then
that
sunshine
brewed
a
shower
for
him
That
washed
his
father’s
fortunes
forth
of
France
And
heaped
sedition
on
his
crown
at
home
.
For
what
hath
broached
this
tumult
but
thy
pride
?
Hadst
thou
been
meek
,
our
title
still
had
slept
,
And
we
,
in
pity
of
the
gentle
king
,
Had
slipped
our
claim
until
another
age
.
But
when
we
saw
our
sunshine
made
thy
spring
,
And
that
thy
summer
bred
us
no
increase
,
We
set
the
axe
to
thy
usurping
root
;
And
though
the
edge
hath
something
hit
ourselves
,
Yet
know
thou
,
since
we
have
begun
to
strike
,
We’ll
never
leave
till
we
have
hewn
thee
down
Or
bathed
thy
growing
with
our
heated
bloods
.
And
in
this
resolution
,
I
defy
thee
,
Not
willing
any
longer
conference
,
Since
thou
denied’st
the
gentle
king
to
speak
.
—
ACT 2. SC. 3
Sound
,
trumpets
!
Let
our
bloody
colors
wave
;
And
either
victory
or
else
a
grave
!
Stay
,
Edward
!
No
,
wrangling
woman
,
we’ll
no
longer
stay
.
These
words
will
cost
ten
thousand
lives
this
day
.
They
all
exit
.
Scene
3
Alarum
.
Excursions
.
Enter
Warwick
,
wearing
the
white
rose
.
,
lying
down
Forspent
with
toil
,
as
runners
with
a
race
,
I
lay
me
down
a
little
while
to
breathe
,
For
strokes
received
and
many
blows
repaid
Have
robbed
my
strong-knit
sinews
of
their
strength
;
And
spite
of
spite
,
needs
must
I
rest
awhile
.
Enter
Edward
,
wearing
the
white
rose
,
running
.
Smile
,
gentle
heaven
,
or
strike
,
ungentle
death
,
For
this
world
frowns
and
Edward’s
sun
is
clouded
.
Enter
George
,
wearing
the
white
rose
.
,
standing
How
now
,
my
lord
,
what
hap
?
What
hope
of
good
?
Our
hap
is
loss
,
our
hope
but
sad
despair
;
Our
ranks
are
broke
,
and
ruin
follows
us
.
What
counsel
give
you
?
Whither
shall
we
fly
?
Bootless
is
flight
;
they
follow
us
with
wings
,
And
weak
we
are
and
cannot
shun
pursuit
.
ACT 2. SC. 3
Enter
Richard
,
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Ah
,
Warwick
,
why
hast
thou
withdrawn
thyself
?
Thy
brother’s
blood
the
thirsty
earth
hath
drunk
,
Broached
with
the
steely
point
of
Clifford’s
lance
,
And
in
the
very
pangs
of
death
he
cried
,
Like
to
a
dismal
clangor
heard
from
far
,
Warwick
,
revenge
!
Brother
,
revenge
my
death
!
So
,
underneath
the
belly
of
their
steeds
,
That
stained
their
fetlocks
in
his
smoking
blood
,
The
noble
gentleman
gave
up
the
ghost
.
Then
let
the
earth
be
drunken
with
our
blood
!
I’ll
kill
my
horse
because
I
will
not
fly
.
Why
stand
we
like
soft-hearted
women
here
,
Wailing
our
losses
whiles
the
foe
doth
rage
,
And
look
upon
,
as
if
the
tragedy
Were
played
in
jest
by
counterfeiting
actors
?
He
kneels
.
Here
on
my
knee
I
vow
to
God
above
I’ll
never
pause
again
,
never
stand
still
,
Till
either
death
hath
closed
these
eyes
of
mine
Or
Fortune
given
me
measure
of
revenge
.
O
Warwick
,
I
do
bend
my
knee
with
thine
,
And
in
this
vow
do
chain
my
soul
to
thine
He
kneels
.
And
,
ere
my
knee
rise
from
the
Earth’s
earth’s
cold
face
,
I
throw
my
hands
,
mine
eyes
,
my
heart
to
Thee
,
Thou
setter
up
and
plucker
down
of
kings
,
Beseeching
Thee
,
if
with
Thy
will
it
stands
That
to
my
foes
this
body
must
be
prey
,
Yet
that
Thy
brazen
gates
of
heaven
may
ope
And
give
sweet
passage
to
my
sinful
soul
.
Edward
and
Warwick
stand
.
ACT 2. SC. 4
Now
,
lords
,
take
leave
until
we
meet
again
,
Where’er
it
be
,
in
heaven
or
in
Earth
earth
.
Brother
,
give
me
thy
hand
.
—
And
,
gentle
Warwick
,
Let
me
embrace
thee
in
my
weary
arms
.
I
that
did
never
weep
now
melt
with
woe
That
winter
should
cut
off
our
springtime
so
.
Away
,
away
!
Once
more
,
sweet
lords
,
farewell
.
Yet
let
us
all
together
to
our
troops
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
.
Forslow
no
longer
;
make
we
hence
amain
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Excursions
.
Enter
,
at
separate
doors
,
Richard
wearing
the
white
rose
,
and
Clifford
,
wearing
the
red
rose
.
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
environed
with
a
brazen
wall
.
Now
,
Richard
,
I
am
with
thee
here
alone
.
This
is
the
hand
that
stabbed
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
brother
ACT 2. SC. 5
To
execute
the
like
upon
thyself
.
And
so
,
have
at
thee
!
They
fight
;
Warwick
comes
;
Clifford
flies
.
Nay
,
Warwick
,
single
out
some
other
chase
,
For
I
myself
will
hunt
this
wolf
to
death
.
They
exit
.
Scene
5
Alarum
.
Enter
King
Henry
alone
,
wearing
the
red
rose
.
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
Forced
by
the
tide
to
combat
with
the
wind
;
Now
sways
it
that
way
,
like
the
selfsame
sea
Forced
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
conquerèd
.
So
is
the
equal
poise
of
this
fell
war
.
Here
on
this
molehill
will
I
sit
me
down
.
He
sits
on
a
small
prominence
.
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
ACT 2. SC. 5
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
makes
the
hour
full
complete
,
How
many
hours
brings
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
ean
,
So
many
years
ere
I
shall
shear
the
fleece
;
So
minutes
,
hours
,
days
,
months
,
and
years
,
Passed
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
embroidered
canopy
To
kings
that
fear
their
subjects’
treachery
?
O
yes
,
it
doth
,
a
thousandfold
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
couchèd
in
a
curious
bed
—
When
care
,
mistrust
,
and
treason
waits
on
him
.
Alarum
.
Enter
at
one
door
a
Son
that
hath
killed
his
Father
,
carrying
the
body
.
ACT 2. SC. 5
Ill
blows
the
wind
that
profits
nobody
.
This
man
,
whom
hand
to
hand
I
slew
in
fight
,
May
be
possessèd
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
unwares
have
killed
.
O
heavy
times
,
begetting
such
events
!
From
London
by
the
King
was
I
pressed
forth
.
My
father
,
being
the
Earl
of
Warwick’s
man
,
Came
on
the
part
of
York
,
pressed
by
his
master
.
And
I
,
who
at
his
hands
received
my
life
,
Have
by
my
hands
of
life
bereavèd
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
flowed
their
fill
.
He
weeps
.
O
piteous
spectacle
!
O
bloody
times
!
Whiles
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’ercharged
with
grief
.
Enter
at
another
door
a
Father
that
hath
killed
his
Son
,
bearing
of
his
Son’s
body
.
Thou
that
so
stoutly
hath
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
!
ACT 2. SC. 5
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
kills
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
!
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
colors
of
our
striving
houses
;
The
one
his
purple
blood
right
well
resembles
,
The
other
his
pale
cheeks
methinks
presenteth
.
Wither
one
rose
and
let
the
other
flourish
;
If
you
contend
,
a
thousand
lives
must
wither
.
How
will
my
mother
for
a
father’s
death
Take
on
with
me
and
ne’er
be
satisfied
!
How
will
my
wife
for
slaughter
of
my
son
Shed
seas
of
tears
and
ne’er
be
satisfied
!
How
will
the
country
for
these
woeful
chances
Misthink
the
King
and
not
be
satisfied
!
Was
ever
son
so
rued
a
father’s
death
?
Was
ever
father
so
bemoaned
his
son
?
Was
ever
king
so
grieved
for
subjects’
woe
?
Much
is
your
sorrow
,
mine
ten
times
so
much
.
ACT 2. SC. 5
I’ll
bear
thee
hence
,
where
I
may
weep
my
fill
.
He
exits
,
bearing
the
body
.
These
arms
of
mine
shall
be
thy
winding-sheet
;
My
heart
,
sweet
boy
,
shall
be
thy
sepulcher
,
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
E’en
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
murdered
where
I
should
not
kill
.
He
exits
,
bearing
the
body
.
Sad-hearted
men
,
much
overgone
with
care
,
Here
sits
a
king
more
woeful
than
you
are
.
Alarums
.
Excursions
.
Enter
Queen
Margaret
,
Prince
Edward
,
and
Exeter
,
all
wearing
the
red
rose
.
Fly
,
father
,
fly
,
for
all
your
friends
are
fled
,
And
Warwick
rages
like
a
chafèd
bull
.
Away
,
for
Death
doth
hold
us
in
pursuit
.
Mount
you
,
my
lord
;
towards
Berwick
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
grasped
in
their
ireful
hands
,
Are
at
our
backs
,
and
therefore
hence
amain
.
Away
,
for
Vengeance
comes
along
with
them
.
Nay
,
stay
not
to
expostulate
,
make
speed
;
Or
else
come
after
;
I’ll
away
before
.
ACT 2. SC. 6
Nay
,
take
me
with
thee
,
good
sweet
Exeter
;
Not
that
I
fear
to
stay
,
but
love
to
go
Whither
the
Queen
intends
.
Forward
,
away
!
They
exit
.
Scene
6
A
loud
alarum
.
Enter
Clifford
,
wearing
the
red
rose
,
wounded
.
Here
burns
my
candle
out
;
ay
,
here
it
dies
,
Which
whiles
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
glued
many
friends
to
thee
;
And
now
I
fall
,
thy
tough
commixtures
melts
,
Impairing
Henry
,
strength’ning
misproud
York
;
And
whither
fly
the
gnats
but
to
the
sun
?
And
who
shines
now
but
Henry’s
enemies
?
O
Phoebus
,
hadst
thou
never
given
consent
That
Phaëton
should
check
thy
fiery
steeds
,
Thy
burning
car
never
had
scorched
the
Earth
earth
!
And
Henry
,
hadst
thou
swayed
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
,
no
strength
to
hold
out
flight
.
The
foe
is
merciless
and
will
not
pity
,
ACT 2. SC. 6
For
at
their
hands
I
have
deserved
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
stabbed
your
fathers’
bosoms
;
split
my
breast
.
He
faints
.
Alarum
and
retreat
.
Enter
Edward
,
Warwick
,
Richard
,
and
Soldiers
,
Montague
,
and
George
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Now
breathe
we
,
lords
.
Good
fortune
bids
us
pause
And
smooth
the
frowns
of
war
with
peaceful
looks
.
Some
troops
pursue
the
bloody-minded
queen
That
led
calm
Henry
,
though
he
were
a
king
,
As
doth
a
sail
filled
with
a
fretting
gust
Command
an
argosy
to
stem
the
waves
.
But
think
you
,
lords
,
that
Clifford
fled
with
them
?
No
,
’tis
impossible
he
should
escape
,
For
,
though
before
his
face
I
speak
the
words
,
Your
brother
Richard
marked
him
for
the
grave
,
And
wheresoe’er
he
is
,
he’s
surely
dead
.
Clifford
groans
,
and
dies
.
Whose
soul
is
that
which
takes
her
heavy
leave
?
A
deadly
groan
,
like
life
and
death’s
departing
.
See
who
it
is
;
and
,
now
the
battle’s
ended
,
If
friend
or
foe
,
let
him
be
gently
used
.
Revoke
that
doom
of
mercy
,
for
’tis
Clifford
,
Who
not
contented
that
he
lopped
the
branch
In
hewing
Rutland
when
his
leaves
put
forth
,
But
set
his
murd’ring
knife
unto
the
root
ACT 2. SC. 6
From
whence
that
tender
spray
did
sweetly
spring
,
I
mean
our
princely
father
,
Duke
of
York
.
From
off
the
gates
of
York
fetch
down
the
head
,
Your
father’s
head
,
which
Clifford
placèd
there
;
Instead
whereof
let
this
supply
the
room
.
Measure
for
measure
must
be
answerèd
.
Bring
forth
that
fatal
screech
owl
to
our
house
That
nothing
sung
but
death
to
us
and
ours
;
Now
death
shall
stop
his
dismal
threat’ning
sound
,
And
his
ill-boding
tongue
no
more
shall
speak
.
I
think
his
understanding
is
bereft
.
—
Speak
,
Clifford
,
dost
thou
know
who
speaks
to
thee
?
—
Dark
cloudy
death
o’ershades
his
beams
of
life
,
And
he
nor
sees
nor
hears
us
what
we
say
.
O
,
would
he
did
—
and
so
,
perhaps
,
he
doth
!
’Tis
but
his
policy
to
counterfeit
,
Because
he
would
avoid
such
bitter
taunts
Which
in
the
time
of
death
he
gave
our
father
.
If
so
thou
think’st
,
vex
him
with
eager
words
.
Clifford
,
ask
mercy
and
obtain
no
grace
.
Clifford
,
repent
in
bootless
penitence
.
Clifford
,
devise
excuses
for
thy
faults
.
While
we
devise
fell
tortures
for
thy
faults
.
Thou
didst
love
York
,
and
I
am
son
to
York
.
ACT 2. SC. 6
Thou
pitied’st
Rutland
;
I
will
pity
thee
.
Where’s
Captain
Margaret
to
fence
you
now
?
They
mock
thee
,
Clifford
;
swear
as
thou
wast
wont
.
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
but
two
hours’
life
That
I
in
all
despite
might
rail
at
him
,
This
hand
should
chop
it
off
,
and
with
the
issuing
blood
Stifle
the
villain
whose
unstaunchèd
thirst
York
and
young
Rutland
could
not
satisfy
.
Ay
,
but
he’s
dead
.
Off
with
the
traitor’s
head
,
And
rear
it
in
the
place
your
father’s
stands
.
And
now
to
London
with
triumphant
march
,
There
to
be
crownèd
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
dread
The
scattered
foe
that
hopes
to
rise
again
;
For
though
they
cannot
greatly
sting
to
hurt
,
Yet
look
to
have
them
buzz
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
.
Even
as
thou
wilt
,
sweet
Warwick
,
let
it
be
;
For
in
thy
shoulder
do
I
build
my
seat
,
And
never
will
I
undertake
the
thing
Wherein
thy
counsel
and
consent
is
wanting
.
—
ACT 2. SC. 6
Richard
,
I
will
create
thee
Duke
of
Gloucester
,
And
George
,
of
Clarence
.
Warwick
as
ourself
Shall
do
and
undo
as
him
pleaseth
best
.
Let
me
be
Duke
of
Clarence
,
George
of
Gloucester
,
For
Gloucester’s
dukedom
is
too
ominous
.
Tut
,
that’s
a
foolish
observation
.
Richard
,
be
Duke
of
Gloucester
.
Now
to
London
,
To
see
these
honors
in
possession
.
They
exit
,
with
Clifford’s
body
.
ACT
3
Scene
1
Enter
two
Gamekeepers
,
with
crossbows
in
their
hands
.
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
.
I’ll
stay
above
the
hill
,
so
both
may
shoot
.
That
cannot
be
.
The
noise
of
thy
crossbow
Will
scare
the
herd
,
and
so
my
shoot
is
lost
.
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
.
Here
comes
a
man
;
let’s
stay
till
he
be
past
.
Enter
King
Henry
,
in
disguise
,
with
a
prayer
book
.
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
filled
,
thy
scepter
wrung
from
thee
,
ACT 3. SC. 1
Thy
balm
washed
off
wherewith
thou
wast
anointed
.
No
bending
knee
will
call
thee
Caesar
now
,
No
humble
suitors
press
to
speak
for
right
,
No
,
not
a
man
comes
for
redress
of
thee
;
For
how
can
I
help
them
an
not
myself
?
,
aside
to
Second
Gamekeeper
Ay
,
here’s
a
deer
whose
skin’s
a
keeper’s
fee
.
This
is
the
quondam
king
.
Let’s
seize
upon
him
.
Let
me
embrace
the
sour
adversaries
,
For
wise
men
say
it
is
the
wisest
course
.
,
aside
to
First
Gamekeeper
Why
linger
we
?
Let
us
lay
hands
upon
him
.
,
aside
to
Second
Gamekeeper
Forbear
awhile
;
we’ll
hear
a
little
more
.
My
queen
and
son
are
gone
to
France
for
aid
,
And
,
as
I
hear
,
the
great
commanding
Warwick
Is
thither
gone
to
crave
the
French
king’s
sister
To
wife
for
Edward
.
If
this
news
be
true
,
Poor
queen
and
son
,
your
labor
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
batt’ry
in
his
breast
,
Her
tears
will
pierce
into
a
marble
heart
.
The
tiger
will
be
mild
whiles
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
deposed
;
He
smiles
and
says
his
Edward
is
installed
;
That
she
,
poor
wretch
,
for
grief
can
speak
no
more
,
ACT 3. SC. 1
Whiles
Warwick
tells
his
title
,
smooths
the
wrong
,
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
.
Say
,
what
art
thou
that
talk’st
of
kings
and
queens
?
More
than
I
seem
,
and
less
than
I
was
born
to
:
A
man
at
least
,
for
less
I
should
not
be
;
And
men
may
talk
of
kings
,
and
why
not
I
?
Ay
,
but
thou
talk’st
as
if
thou
wert
a
king
.
Why
,
so
I
am
in
mind
,
and
that’s
enough
.
But
if
thou
be
a
king
,
where
is
thy
crown
?
My
crown
is
in
my
heart
,
not
on
my
head
;
Not
decked
with
diamonds
and
Indian
stones
,
Nor
to
be
seen
.
My
crown
is
called
content
;
A
crown
it
is
that
seldom
kings
enjoy
.
Well
,
if
you
be
a
king
crowned
with
content
,
Your
crown
content
and
you
must
be
contented
To
go
along
with
us
.
For
,
as
we
think
,
You
are
the
king
King
Edward
hath
deposed
;
And
we
his
subjects
sworn
in
all
allegiance
Will
apprehend
you
as
his
enemy
.
But
did
you
never
swear
and
break
an
oath
?
No
,
never
such
an
oath
,
nor
will
not
now
.
ACT 3. SC. 1
Where
did
you
dwell
when
I
was
King
of
England
?
Here
in
this
country
,
where
we
now
remain
.
I
was
anointed
king
at
nine
months
old
.
My
father
and
my
grandfather
were
kings
,
And
you
were
sworn
true
subjects
unto
me
.
And
tell
me
,
then
,
have
you
not
broke
your
oaths
?
No
,
for
we
were
subjects
but
while
you
were
king
.
Why
,
am
I
dead
?
Do
I
not
breathe
a
man
?
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
.
We
are
true
subjects
to
the
King
,
King
Edward
.
So
would
you
be
again
to
Henry
If
he
were
seated
as
King
Edward
is
.
We
charge
you
in
God’s
name
and
the
King’s
To
go
with
us
unto
the
officers
.
In
God’s
name
,
lead
.
Your
king’s
name
be
obeyed
,
And
what
God
will
,
that
let
your
king
perform
.
And
what
he
will
,
I
humbly
yield
unto
.
They
exit
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
Scene
2
Enter
King
Edward
,
Richard
,
Duke
of
Gloucester
,
George
,
Duke
of
Clarence
,
Lady
Grey
,
and
Attendants
.
Brother
of
Gloucester
,
at
Saint
Albans
field
This
lady’s
husband
,
Sir
Richard
Grey
,
was
slain
,
His
land
then
seized
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
.
Your
Highness
shall
do
well
to
grant
her
suit
;
It
were
dishonor
to
deny
it
her
.
It
were
no
less
,
but
yet
I’ll
make
a
pause
.
,
aside
to
Clarence
Yea
,
is
it
so
?
I
see
the
lady
hath
a
thing
to
grant
Before
the
King
will
grant
her
humble
suit
.
,
formerly
GEORGE
,
aside
to
Richard
He
knows
the
game
;
how
true
he
keeps
the
wind
!
,
aside
to
Clarence
Silence
!
Widow
,
we
will
consider
of
your
suit
,
And
come
some
other
time
to
know
our
mind
.
Right
gracious
lord
,
I
cannot
brook
delay
.
May
it
please
your
Highness
to
resolve
me
now
,
And
what
your
pleasure
is
shall
satisfy
me
.
,
aside
to
Clarence
Ay
,
widow
?
Then
I’ll
warrant
you
all
your
lands
,
An
if
what
pleases
him
shall
pleasure
you
.
Fight
closer
,
or
,
good
faith
,
you’ll
catch
a
blow
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
,
aside
to
Richard
I
fear
her
not
,
unless
she
chance
to
fall
.
,
aside
to
Clarence
God
forbid
that
,
for
he’ll
take
vantages
.
How
many
children
hast
thou
,
widow
?
Tell
me
.
,
aside
to
Richard
I
think
he
means
to
beg
a
child
of
her
.
,
aside
to
Clarence
Nay
,
then
,
whip
me
;
he’ll
rather
give
her
two
.
Three
,
my
most
gracious
lord
.
,
aside
to
Clarence
You
shall
have
four
if
you’ll
be
ruled
by
him
.
’Twere
pity
they
should
lose
their
father’s
lands
.
Be
pitiful
,
dread
lord
,
and
grant
it
then
.
Lords
,
give
us
leave
.
I’ll
try
this
widow’s
wit
.
Richard
and
Clarence
stand
aside
.
,
aside
to
Clarence
Ay
,
good
leave
have
you
,
for
you
will
have
leave
Till
youth
take
leave
and
leave
you
to
the
crutch
.
Now
tell
me
,
madam
,
do
you
love
your
children
?
Ay
,
full
as
dearly
as
I
love
myself
.
And
would
you
not
do
much
to
do
them
good
?
To
do
them
good
I
would
sustain
some
harm
.
Then
get
your
husband’s
lands
to
do
them
good
.
Therefore
I
came
unto
your
Majesty
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
I’ll
tell
you
how
these
lands
are
to
be
got
.
So
shall
you
bind
me
to
your
Highness’
service
.
What
service
wilt
thou
do
me
if
I
give
them
?
What
you
command
that
rests
in
me
to
do
.
But
you
will
take
exceptions
to
my
boon
.
No
,
gracious
lord
,
except
I
cannot
do
it
.
Ay
,
but
thou
canst
do
what
I
mean
to
ask
.
Why
,
then
,
I
will
do
what
your
Grace
commands
.
,
aside
to
Clarence
He
plies
her
hard
,
and
much
rain
wears
the
marble
.
,
aside
to
Richard
As
red
as
fire
!
Nay
,
then
,
her
wax
must
melt
.
Why
stops
my
lord
?
Shall
I
not
hear
my
task
?
An
easy
task
;
’tis
but
to
love
a
king
.
That’s
soon
performed
because
I
am
a
subject
.
Why
,
then
,
thy
husband’s
lands
I
freely
give
thee
.
I
take
my
leave
with
many
thousand
thanks
.
She
curtsies
and
begins
to
exit
.
,
aside
to
Clarence
The
match
is
made
;
she
seals
it
with
a
cursy
.
But
stay
thee
;
’tis
the
fruits
of
love
I
mean
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
The
fruits
of
love
I
mean
,
my
loving
liege
.
Ay
,
but
,
I
fear
me
,
in
another
sense
.
What
love
,
think’st
thou
,
I
sue
so
much
to
get
?
My
love
till
death
,
my
humble
thanks
,
my
prayers
,
That
love
which
virtue
begs
and
virtue
grants
.
No
,
by
my
troth
,
I
did
not
mean
such
love
.
Why
,
then
,
you
mean
not
as
I
thought
you
did
.
But
now
you
partly
may
perceive
my
mind
.
My
mind
will
never
grant
what
I
perceive
Your
Highness
aims
at
,
if
I
aim
aright
.
To
tell
thee
plain
,
I
aim
to
lie
with
thee
.
To
tell
you
plain
,
I
had
rather
lie
in
prison
.
Why
,
then
,
thou
shalt
not
have
thy
husband’s
lands
.
Why
,
then
,
mine
honesty
shall
be
my
dower
,
For
by
that
loss
I
will
not
purchase
them
.
Therein
thou
wrong’st
thy
children
mightily
.
Herein
your
Highness
wrongs
both
them
and
me
.
But
,
mighty
lord
,
this
merry
inclination
Accords
not
with
the
sadness
of
my
suit
.
Please
you
dismiss
me
either
with
ay
or
no
.
Ay
,
if
thou
wilt
say
ay
to
my
request
;
No
,
if
thou
dost
say
no
to
my
demand
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
Then
no
,
my
lord
;
my
suit
is
at
an
end
.
,
aside
to
Clarence
The
widow
likes
him
not
;
she
knits
her
brows
.
,
aside
to
Richard
He
is
the
bluntest
wooer
in
Christendom
.
,
aside
Her
looks
doth
argue
her
replete
with
modesty
;
Her
words
doth
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
?
’Tis
better
said
than
done
,
my
gracious
lord
.
I
am
a
subject
fit
to
jest
withal
,
But
far
unfit
to
be
a
sovereign
.
Sweet
widow
,
by
my
state
I
swear
to
thee
I
speak
no
more
than
what
my
soul
intends
,
And
that
is
,
to
enjoy
thee
for
my
love
.
And
that
is
more
than
I
will
yield
unto
.
I
know
I
am
too
mean
to
be
your
queen
And
yet
too
good
to
be
your
concubine
.
You
cavil
,
widow
;
I
did
mean
my
queen
.
’Twill
grieve
your
Grace
my
sons
should
call
you
father
.
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
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
,
aside
to
Clarence
The
ghostly
father
now
hath
done
his
shrift
.
,
aside
to
Richard
When
he
was
made
a
shriver
,
’twas
for
shift
.
Brothers
,
you
muse
what
chat
we
two
have
had
.
The
widow
likes
it
not
,
for
she
looks
very
sad
.
You’d
think
it
strange
if
I
should
marry
her
.
To
who
,
my
lord
?
Why
,
Clarence
,
to
myself
.
That
would
be
ten
days’
wonder
at
the
least
.
That’s
a
day
longer
than
a
wonder
lasts
.
By
so
much
is
the
wonder
in
extremes
.
Well
,
jest
on
,
brothers
.
I
can
tell
you
both
Her
suit
is
granted
for
her
husband’s
lands
.
Enter
a
Nobleman
.
My
gracious
lord
,
Henry
,
your
foe
,
is
taken
And
brought
your
prisoner
to
your
palace
gate
.
See
that
he
be
conveyed
unto
the
Tower
.
Nobleman
exits
.
And
go
we
,
brothers
,
to
the
man
that
took
him
,
To
question
of
his
apprehension
.
—
Widow
,
go
you
along
.
—
Lords
,
use
her
honorably
.
They
exit
.
Richard
remains
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
Ay
,
Edward
will
use
women
honorably
!
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
burièd
,
Is
Clarence
,
Henry
,
and
his
son
,
young
Edward
,
And
all
the
unlooked-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
keeps
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
withered
shrub
;
To
make
an
envious
mountain
on
my
back
,
ACT 3. SC. 2
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
unlicked
bear-whelp
,
That
carries
no
impression
like
the
dam
.
And
am
I
then
a
man
to
be
beloved
?
O
monstrous
fault
to
harbor
such
a
thought
!
Then
,
since
this
Earth
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
,
t’
account
this
world
but
hell
Until
my
misshaped
trunk
that
bears
this
head
Be
round
impalèd
with
a
glorious
crown
.
And
yet
I
know
not
how
to
get
the
crown
,
For
many
lives
stand
between
me
and
home
;
And
I
,
like
one
lost
in
a
thorny
wood
,
That
rents
the
thorns
and
is
rent
with
the
thorns
,
Seeking
a
way
and
straying
from
the
way
,
Not
knowing
how
to
find
the
open
air
,
But
toiling
desperately
to
find
it
out
,
Torment
myself
to
catch
the
English
crown
.
And
from
that
torment
I
will
free
myself
Or
hew
my
way
out
with
a
bloody
axe
.
Why
,
I
can
smile
,
and
murder
whiles
I
smile
,
And
cry
Content
to
that
which
grieves
my
heart
,
And
wet
my
cheeks
with
artificial
tears
,
And
frame
my
face
to
all
occasions
.
I’ll
drown
more
sailors
than
the
mermaid
shall
;
I’ll
slay
more
gazers
than
the
basilisk
;
I’ll
play
the
orator
as
well
as
Nestor
,
Deceive
more
slyly
than
Ulysses
could
,
And
,
like
a
Sinon
,
take
another
Troy
.
I
can
add
colors
to
the
chameleon
,
Change
shapes
with
Proteus
for
advantages
,
ACT 3. SC. 3
And
set
the
murderous
Machiavel
to
school
.
Can
I
do
this
and
cannot
get
a
crown
?
Tut
,
were
it
farther
off
,
I’ll
pluck
it
down
.
He
exits
.
Scene
3
Flourish
.
Enter
Lewis
the
French
king
,
his
sister
the
Lady
Bona
,
his
Admiral
called
Bourbon
,
Prince
Edward
,
Queen
Margaret
,
and
the
Earl
of
Oxford
,
the
last
three
wearing
the
red
rose
.
Lewis
sits
,
and
riseth
up
again
.
Fair
Queen
of
England
,
worthy
Margaret
,
Sit
down
with
us
.
It
ill
befits
thy
state
And
birth
that
thou
shouldst
stand
while
Lewis
doth
sit
.
No
,
mighty
King
of
France
.
Now
Margaret
Must
strike
her
sail
and
learn
awhile
to
serve
Where
kings
command
.
I
was
,
I
must
confess
,
Great
Albion’s
queen
in
former
golden
days
,
But
now
mischance
hath
trod
my
title
down
And
with
dishonor
laid
me
on
the
ground
,
Where
I
must
take
like
seat
unto
my
fortune
And
to
my
humble
seat
conform
myself
.
Why
,
say
,
fair
queen
,
whence
springs
this
deep
despair
?
From
such
a
cause
as
fills
mine
eyes
with
tears
And
stops
my
tongue
,
while
heart
is
drowned
in
cares
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
Whate’er
it
be
,
be
thou
still
like
thyself
,
And
sit
thee
by
our
side
.
Seats
her
by
him
.
Yield
not
thy
neck
To
Fortune’s
yoke
,
but
let
thy
dauntless
mind
Still
ride
in
triumph
over
all
mischance
.
Be
plain
,
Queen
Margaret
,
and
tell
thy
grief
.
It
shall
be
eased
if
France
can
yield
relief
.
Those
gracious
words
revive
my
drooping
thoughts
And
give
my
tongue-tied
sorrows
leave
to
speak
.
Now
therefore
be
it
known
to
noble
Lewis
That
Henry
,
sole
possessor
of
my
love
,
Is
,
of
a
king
,
become
a
banished
man
And
forced
to
live
in
Scotland
a
forlorn
;
While
proud
ambitious
Edward
,
Duke
of
York
,
Usurps
the
regal
title
and
the
seat
Of
England’s
true-anointed
lawful
king
.
This
is
the
cause
that
I
,
poor
Margaret
,
With
this
my
son
,
Prince
Edward
,
Henry’s
heir
,
Am
come
to
crave
thy
just
and
lawful
aid
;
And
if
thou
fail
us
,
all
our
hope
is
done
.
Scotland
hath
will
to
help
but
cannot
help
;
Our
people
and
our
peers
are
both
misled
,
Our
treasure
seized
,
our
soldiers
put
to
flight
,
And
,
as
thou
seest
,
ourselves
in
heavy
plight
.
Renownèd
queen
,
with
patience
calm
the
storm
While
we
bethink
a
means
to
break
it
off
.
The
more
we
stay
,
the
stronger
grows
our
foe
.
The
more
I
stay
,
the
more
I’ll
succor
thee
.
O
,
but
impatience
waiteth
on
true
sorrow
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
Enter
Warwick
,
wearing
the
white
rose
.
And
see
where
comes
the
breeder
of
my
sorrow
.
What’s
he
approacheth
boldly
to
our
presence
?
Our
Earl
of
Warwick
,
Edward’s
greatest
friend
.
,
standing
Welcome
,
brave
Warwick
.
What
brings
thee
to
France
?
He
descends
.
She
ariseth
.
,
aside
Ay
,
now
begins
a
second
storm
to
rise
,
For
this
is
he
that
moves
both
wind
and
tide
.
From
worthy
Edward
,
King
of
Albion
,
My
lord
and
sovereign
and
thy
vowèd
friend
,
I
come
in
kindness
and
unfeignèd
love
,
First
,
to
do
greetings
to
thy
royal
person
,
And
then
to
crave
a
league
of
amity
,
And
,
lastly
,
to
confirm
that
amity
With
nuptial
knot
,
if
thou
vouchsafe
to
grant
That
virtuous
Lady
Bona
,
thy
fair
sister
,
To
England’s
king
in
lawful
marriage
.
,
aside
If
that
go
forward
,
Henry’s
hope
is
done
.
,
speaking
to
Lady
Bona
And
,
gracious
madam
,
in
our
king’s
behalf
,
I
am
commanded
,
with
your
leave
and
favor
,
Humbly
to
kiss
your
hand
,
and
with
my
tongue
To
tell
the
passion
of
my
sovereign’s
heart
,
Where
fame
,
late
ent’ring
at
his
heedful
ears
,
Hath
placed
thy
beauty’s
image
and
thy
virtue
.
King
Lewis
and
Lady
Bona
,
hear
me
speak
Before
you
answer
Warwick
.
His
demand
Springs
not
from
Edward’s
well-meant
honest
love
,
ACT 3. SC. 3
But
from
deceit
,
bred
by
necessity
;
For
how
can
tyrants
safely
govern
home
Unless
abroad
they
purchase
great
alliance
?
To
prove
him
tyrant
,
this
reason
may
suffice
:
That
Henry
liveth
still
;
but
were
he
dead
,
Yet
here
Prince
Edward
stands
,
King
Henry’s
son
.
Look
,
therefore
,
Lewis
,
that
by
this
league
and
marriage
Thou
draw
not
on
thy
danger
and
dishonor
;
For
though
usurpers
sway
the
rule
awhile
,
Yet
heav’ns
are
just
,
and
time
suppresseth
wrongs
.
Injurious
Margaret
!
And
why
not
Queen
?
Because
thy
father
Henry
did
usurp
,
And
thou
no
more
art
prince
than
she
is
queen
.
Then
Warwick
disannuls
great
John
of
Gaunt
,
Which
did
subdue
the
greatest
part
of
Spain
;
And
after
John
of
Gaunt
,
Henry
the
Fourth
,
Whose
wisdom
was
a
mirror
to
the
wisest
;
And
after
that
wise
prince
,
Henry
the
Fifth
,
Who
by
his
prowess
conquerèd
all
France
.
From
these
our
Henry
lineally
descends
.
Oxford
,
how
haps
it
in
this
smooth
discourse
You
told
not
how
Henry
the
Sixth
hath
lost
All
that
which
Henry
the
Fifth
had
gotten
.
Methinks
these
peers
of
France
should
smile
at
that
.
But
,
for
the
rest
:
you
tell
a
pedigree
Of
threescore
and
two
years
,
a
silly
time
To
make
prescription
for
a
kingdom’s
worth
.
Why
,
Warwick
,
canst
thou
speak
against
thy
liege
,
Whom
thou
obeyed’st
thirty
and
six
years
,
And
not
bewray
thy
treason
with
a
blush
?
ACT 3. SC. 3
Can
Oxford
,
that
did
ever
fence
the
right
,
Now
buckler
falsehood
with
a
pedigree
?
For
shame
,
leave
Henry
,
and
call
Edward
king
.
Call
him
my
king
,
by
whose
injurious
doom
My
elder
brother
,
the
Lord
Aubrey
Vere
,
Was
done
to
death
?
And
more
than
so
,
my
father
,
Even
in
the
downfall
of
his
mellowed
years
,
When
nature
brought
him
to
the
door
of
death
?
No
,
Warwick
,
no
.
While
life
upholds
this
arm
,
This
arm
upholds
the
house
of
Lancaster
.
And
I
the
house
of
York
.
Queen
Margaret
,
Prince
Edward
,
and
Oxford
,
Vouchsafe
,
at
our
request
,
to
stand
aside
While
I
use
further
conference
with
Warwick
.
They
stand
aloof
.
,
aside
Heavens
grant
that
Warwick’s
words
bewitch
him
not
.
Now
,
Warwick
,
tell
me
,
even
upon
thy
conscience
,
Is
Edward
your
true
king
?
For
I
were
loath
To
link
with
him
that
were
not
lawful
chosen
.
Thereon
I
pawn
my
credit
and
mine
honor
.
But
is
he
gracious
in
the
people’s
eye
?
The
more
that
Henry
was
unfortunate
.
Then
further
,
all
dissembling
set
aside
,
Tell
me
for
truth
the
measure
of
his
love
Unto
our
sister
Bona
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
Such
it
seems
As
may
beseem
a
monarch
like
himself
.
Myself
have
often
heard
him
say
and
swear
That
this
his
love
was
an
eternal
plant
,
Whereof
the
root
was
fixed
in
virtue’s
ground
,
The
leaves
and
fruit
maintained
with
beauty’s
sun
,
Exempt
from
envy
but
not
from
disdain
,
Unless
the
Lady
Bona
quit
his
pain
.
Now
,
sister
,
let
us
hear
your
firm
resolve
.
Your
grant
or
your
denial
shall
be
mine
.
(
Speaks
to
Warwick
.
)
Yet
I
confess
that
often
ere
this
day
,
When
I
have
heard
your
king’s
desert
recounted
,
Mine
ear
hath
tempted
judgment
to
desire
.
Then
,
Warwick
,
thus
:
our
sister
shall
be
Edward’s
.
And
now
forthwith
shall
articles
be
drawn
Touching
the
jointure
that
your
king
must
make
,
Which
with
her
dowry
shall
be
counterpoised
.
—
Draw
near
,
Queen
Margaret
,
and
be
a
witness
That
Bona
shall
be
wife
to
the
English
king
.
To
Edward
,
but
not
to
the
English
king
.
Deceitful
Warwick
,
it
was
thy
device
By
this
alliance
to
make
void
my
suit
.
Before
thy
coming
,
Lewis
was
Henry’s
friend
.
And
still
is
friend
to
him
and
Margaret
.
But
if
your
title
to
the
crown
be
weak
,
As
may
appear
by
Edward’s
good
success
,
Then
’tis
but
reason
that
I
be
released
From
giving
aid
which
late
I
promisèd
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
Yet
shall
you
have
all
kindness
at
my
hand
That
your
estate
requires
and
mine
can
yield
.
Henry
now
lives
in
Scotland
at
his
ease
,
Where
,
having
nothing
,
nothing
can
he
lose
.
—
And
as
for
you
yourself
,
our
quondam
queen
,
You
have
a
father
able
to
maintain
you
,
And
better
’twere
you
troubled
him
than
France
.
Peace
,
impudent
and
shameless
Warwick
,
Proud
setter-up
and
puller-down
of
kings
!
I
will
not
hence
till
with
my
talk
and
tears
,
Both
full
of
truth
,
I
make
King
Lewis
behold
Thy
sly
conveyance
and
thy
lord’s
false
love
,
For
both
of
you
are
birds
of
selfsame
feather
.
Post
blowing
a
horn
within
.
Warwick
,
this
is
some
post
to
us
or
thee
.
Enter
the
Post
.
speaks
to
Warwick
.
My
lord
ambassador
,
these
letters
are
for
you
,
Sent
from
your
brother
,
Marquess
Montague
.
(
To
Lewis
.
)
These
from
our
king
unto
your
Majesty
.
(
To
Margaret
.
)
And
,
madam
,
these
for
you
—
from
whom
,
I
know
not
.
They
all
read
their
letters
.
,
aside
I
like
it
well
that
our
fair
queen
and
mistress
Smiles
at
her
news
,
while
Warwick
frowns
at
his
.
,
aside
Nay
,
mark
how
Lewis
stamps
as
he
were
nettled
.
I
hope
all’s
for
the
best
.
Warwick
,
what
are
thy
news
?
And
yours
,
fair
queen
?
Mine
,
such
as
fill
my
heart
with
unhoped
joys
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
Mine
,
full
of
sorrow
and
heart’s
discontent
.
What
,
has
your
king
married
the
Lady
Grey
,
And
now
,
to
soothe
your
forgery
and
his
,
Sends
me
a
paper
to
persuade
me
patience
?
Is
this
th’
alliance
that
he
seeks
with
France
?
Dare
he
presume
to
scorn
us
in
this
manner
?
I
told
your
Majesty
as
much
before
.
This
proveth
Edward’s
love
and
Warwick’s
honesty
.
King
Lewis
,
I
here
protest
in
sight
of
heaven
And
by
the
hope
I
have
of
heavenly
bliss
,
That
I
am
clear
from
this
misdeed
of
Edward’s
—
No
more
my
king
,
for
he
dishonors
me
,
But
most
himself
,
if
he
could
see
his
shame
.
Did
I
forget
that
by
the
house
of
York
My
father
came
untimely
to
his
death
?
Did
I
let
pass
th’
abuse
done
to
my
niece
?
Did
I
impale
him
with
the
regal
crown
?
Did
I
put
Henry
from
his
native
right
?
And
am
I
guerdoned
at
the
last
with
shame
?
Shame
on
himself
,
for
my
desert
is
honor
!
And
to
repair
my
honor
lost
for
him
,
I
here
renounce
him
and
return
to
Henry
.
He
removes
the
white
rose
.
My
noble
queen
,
let
former
grudges
pass
,
And
henceforth
I
am
thy
true
servitor
.
I
will
revenge
his
wrong
to
Lady
Bona
And
replant
Henry
in
his
former
state
.
Warwick
,
these
words
have
turned
my
hate
to
love
,
And
I
forgive
and
quite
forget
old
faults
,
And
joy
that
thou
becom’st
King
Henry’s
friend
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
So
much
his
friend
,
ay
,
his
unfeignèd
friend
,
That
if
King
Lewis
vouchsafe
to
furnish
us
With
some
few
bands
of
chosen
soldiers
,
I’ll
undertake
to
land
them
on
our
coast
And
force
the
tyrant
from
his
seat
by
war
.
’Tis
not
his
new-made
bride
shall
succor
him
.
And
as
for
Clarence
,
as
my
letters
tell
me
,
He’s
very
likely
now
to
fall
from
him
For
matching
more
for
wanton
lust
than
honor
,
Or
than
for
strength
and
safety
of
our
country
.
Dear
brother
,
how
shall
Bona
be
revenged
But
by
thy
help
to
this
distressèd
queen
?
Renownèd
prince
,
how
shall
poor
Henry
live
Unless
thou
rescue
him
from
foul
despair
?
My
quarrel
and
this
English
queen’s
are
one
.
And
mine
,
fair
Lady
Bona
,
joins
with
yours
.
And
mine
with
hers
and
thine
and
Margaret’s
.
Therefore
at
last
I
firmly
am
resolved
You
shall
have
aid
.
Let
me
give
humble
thanks
for
all
,
at
once
.
Then
,
England’s
messenger
,
return
in
post
,
And
tell
false
Edward
,
thy
supposèd
king
,
That
Lewis
of
France
is
sending
over
maskers
To
revel
it
with
him
and
his
new
bride
.
Thou
seest
what’s
passed
;
go
fear
thy
king
withal
.
Tell
him
,
in
hope
he’ll
prove
a
widower
shortly
,
I
wear
the
willow
garland
for
his
sake
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
Tell
him
my
mourning
weeds
are
laid
aside
And
I
am
ready
to
put
armor
on
.
Tell
him
from
me
that
he
hath
done
me
wrong
,
And
therefore
I’ll
uncrown
him
ere
’t
be
long
.
There’s
thy
reward
.
Gives
money
.
Be
gone
.
Post
exits
.
But
,
Warwick
,
Thou
and
Oxford
with
five
thousand
men
Shall
cross
the
seas
and
bid
false
Edward
battle
;
And
as
occasion
serves
,
this
noble
queen
And
prince
shall
follow
with
a
fresh
supply
.
Yet
ere
thou
go
,
but
answer
me
one
doubt
:
What
pledge
have
we
of
thy
firm
loyalty
?
This
shall
assure
my
constant
loyalty
:
That
if
our
queen
and
this
young
prince
agree
,
I’ll
join
mine
eldest
daughter
,
and
my
joy
,
To
him
forthwith
in
holy
wedlock
bands
.
Yes
,
I
agree
,
and
thank
you
for
your
motion
.
Son
Edward
,
she
is
fair
and
virtuous
.
Therefore
,
delay
not
;
give
thy
hand
to
Warwick
,
And
with
thy
hand
,
thy
faith
irrevocable
,
That
only
Warwick’s
daughter
shall
be
thine
.
Yes
,
I
accept
her
,
for
she
well
deserves
it
,
And
here
,
to
pledge
my
vow
,
I
give
my
hand
.
He
gives
his
hand
to
Warwick
.
Why
stay
we
now
?
These
soldiers
shall
be
levied
,
And
thou
,
Lord
Bourbon
,
our
High
Admiral
,
Shall
waft
them
over
with
our
royal
fleet
.
I
long
till
Edward
fall
by
war’s
mischance
For
mocking
marriage
with
a
dame
of
France
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
All
but
Warwick
exit
.
I
came
from
Edward
as
ambassador
,
But
I
return
his
sworn
and
mortal
foe
.
Matter
of
marriage
was
the
charge
he
gave
me
,
But
dreadful
war
shall
answer
his
demand
.
Had
he
none
else
to
make
a
stale
but
me
?
Then
none
but
I
shall
turn
his
jest
to
sorrow
.
I
was
the
chief
that
raised
him
to
the
crown
,
And
I’ll
be
chief
to
bring
him
down
again
:
Not
that
I
pity
Henry’s
misery
,
But
seek
revenge
on
Edward’s
mockery
.
He
exits
.
ACT
4
Scene
1
Enter
Richard
of
Gloucester
,
Clarence
,
Somerset
,
and
Montague
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Now
tell
me
,
brother
Clarence
,
what
think
you
Of
this
new
marriage
with
the
Lady
Grey
?
Hath
not
our
brother
made
a
worthy
choice
?
Alas
,
you
know
’tis
far
from
hence
to
France
.
How
could
he
stay
till
Warwick
made
return
?
Flourish
.
My
lords
,
forbear
this
talk
.
Here
comes
the
King
.
And
his
well-chosen
bride
.
I
mind
to
tell
him
plainly
what
I
think
.
Enter
King
Edward
,
with
Attendants
,
Lady
Grey
,
now
Queen
Elizabeth
,
Pembroke
,
Stafford
,
Hastings
,
and
others
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Four
stand
on
one
side
,
and
four
on
the
other
.
Now
,
brother
of
Clarence
,
how
like
you
our
choice
,
That
you
stand
pensive
,
as
half
malcontent
?
As
well
as
Lewis
of
France
or
the
Earl
of
Warwick
,
ACT 4. SC. 1
Which
are
so
weak
of
courage
and
in
judgment
That
they’ll
take
no
offense
at
our
abuse
.
Suppose
they
take
offense
without
a
cause
,
They
are
but
Lewis
and
Warwick
;
I
am
Edward
,
Your
king
and
Warwick’s
,
and
must
have
my
will
.
And
shall
have
your
will
because
our
king
.
Yet
hasty
marriage
seldom
proveth
well
.
Yea
,
brother
Richard
,
are
you
offended
too
?
Not
I
.
No
,
God
forbid
that
I
should
wish
them
severed
Whom
God
hath
joined
together
.
Ay
,
and
’twere
pity
To
sunder
them
that
yoke
so
well
together
.
Setting
your
scorns
and
your
mislike
aside
,
Tell
me
some
reason
why
the
Lady
Grey
Should
not
become
my
wife
and
England’s
queen
?
And
you
too
,
Somerset
and
Montague
,
Speak
freely
what
you
think
.
Then
this
is
mine
opinion
:
that
King
Lewis
Becomes
your
enemy
for
mocking
him
About
the
marriage
of
the
Lady
Bona
.
And
Warwick
,
doing
what
you
gave
in
charge
,
Is
now
dishonorèd
by
this
new
marriage
.
What
if
both
Lewis
and
Warwick
be
appeased
By
such
invention
as
I
can
devise
?
Yet
to
have
joined
with
France
in
such
alliance
Would
more
have
strengthened
this
our
commonwealth
’Gainst
foreign
storms
than
any
home-bred
marriage
.
ACT 4. SC. 1
Why
,
knows
not
Montague
that
of
itself
England
is
safe
,
if
true
within
itself
?
But
the
safer
when
’tis
backed
with
France
.
’Tis
better
using
France
than
trusting
France
.
Let
us
be
backed
with
God
and
with
the
seas
Which
He
hath
giv’n
for
fence
impregnable
,
And
with
their
helps
only
defend
ourselves
.
In
them
and
in
ourselves
our
safety
lies
.
For
this
one
speech
,
Lord
Hastings
well
deserves
To
have
the
heir
of
the
Lord
Hungerford
.
Ay
,
what
of
that
?
It
was
my
will
and
grant
,
And
for
this
once
my
will
shall
stand
for
law
.
And
yet
methinks
your
Grace
hath
not
done
well
To
give
the
heir
and
daughter
of
Lord
Scales
Unto
the
brother
of
your
loving
bride
.
She
better
would
have
fitted
me
or
Clarence
;
But
in
your
bride
you
bury
brotherhood
.
Or
else
you
would
not
have
bestowed
the
heir
Of
the
Lord
Bonville
on
your
new
wife’s
son
,
And
leave
your
brothers
to
go
speed
elsewhere
.
Alas
,
poor
Clarence
,
is
it
for
a
wife
That
thou
art
malcontent
?
I
will
provide
thee
.
In
choosing
for
yourself
you
showed
your
judgment
,
Which
,
being
shallow
,
you
shall
give
me
leave
To
play
the
broker
in
mine
own
behalf
.
And
to
that
end
,
I
shortly
mind
to
leave
you
.
ACT 4. SC. 1
Leave
me
or
tarry
,
Edward
will
be
king
And
not
be
tied
unto
his
brother’s
will
.
My
lords
,
before
it
pleased
his
Majesty
To
raise
my
state
to
title
of
a
queen
,
Do
me
but
right
and
you
must
all
confess
That
I
was
not
ignoble
of
descent
,
And
meaner
than
myself
have
had
like
fortune
.
But
as
this
title
honors
me
and
mine
,
So
your
dislikes
,
to
whom
I
would
be
pleasing
,
Doth
cloud
my
joys
with
danger
and
with
sorrow
.
My
love
,
forbear
to
fawn
upon
their
frowns
.
What
danger
or
what
sorrow
can
befall
thee
So
long
as
Edward
is
thy
constant
friend
And
their
true
sovereign
,
whom
they
must
obey
?
Nay
,
whom
they
shall
obey
,
and
love
thee
too
,
Unless
they
seek
for
hatred
at
my
hands
;
Which
if
they
do
,
yet
will
I
keep
thee
safe
,
And
they
shall
feel
the
vengeance
of
my
wrath
.
,
aside
I
hear
,
yet
say
not
much
,
but
think
the
more
.
Enter
a
Post
.
Now
,
messenger
,
what
letters
or
what
news
from
France
?
My
sovereign
liege
,
no
letters
and
few
words
But
such
as
I
without
your
special
pardon
Dare
not
relate
.
Go
to
,
we
pardon
thee
.
Therefore
,
in
brief
,
Tell
me
their
words
as
near
as
thou
canst
guess
them
.
What
answer
makes
King
Lewis
unto
our
letters
?
ACT 4. SC. 1
At
my
depart
,
these
were
his
very
words
:
Go
tell
false
Edward
,
the
supposèd
king
,
That
Lewis
of
France
is
sending
over
maskers
To
revel
it
with
him
and
his
new
bride
.
Is
Lewis
so
brave
?
Belike
he
thinks
me
Henry
.
But
what
said
Lady
Bona
to
my
marriage
?
These
were
her
words
,
uttered
with
mild
disdain
:
Tell
him
,
in
hope
he’ll
prove
a
widower
shortly
,
I’ll
wear
the
willow
garland
for
his
sake
.
I
blame
not
her
;
she
could
say
little
less
;
She
had
the
wrong
.
But
what
said
Henry’s
queen
?
For
I
have
heard
that
she
was
there
in
place
.
Tell
him
,
quoth
she
,
my
mourning
weeds
are
done
,
And
I
am
ready
to
put
armor
on
.
Belike
she
minds
to
play
the
Amazon
.
But
what
said
Warwick
to
these
injuries
?
He
,
more
incensed
against
your
Majesty
Than
all
the
rest
,
discharged
me
with
these
words
:
Tell
him
from
me
that
he
hath
done
me
wrong
,
And
therefore
I’ll
uncrown
him
ere
’t
be
long
.
Ha
!
Durst
the
traitor
breathe
out
so
proud
words
?
Well
,
I
will
arm
me
,
being
thus
forewarned
.
They
shall
have
wars
and
pay
for
their
presumption
.
But
say
,
is
Warwick
friends
with
Margaret
?
Ay
,
gracious
sovereign
,
they
are
so
linked
in
friendship
ACT 4. SC. 1
That
young
Prince
Edward
marries
Warwick’s
daughter
.
,
aside
Belike
the
elder
;
Clarence
will
have
the
younger
.
—
Now
,
brother
king
,
farewell
,
and
sit
you
fast
,
For
I
will
hence
to
Warwick’s
other
daughter
,
That
,
though
I
want
a
kingdom
,
yet
in
marriage
I
may
not
prove
inferior
to
yourself
.
You
that
love
me
and
Warwick
,
follow
me
.
Clarence
exits
,
and
Somerset
follows
.
,
aside
Not
I
.
My
thoughts
aim
at
a
further
matter
:
I
stay
not
for
the
love
of
Edward
,
but
the
crown
.
Clarence
and
Somerset
both
gone
to
Warwick
?
Yet
am
I
armed
against
the
worst
can
happen
,
And
haste
is
needful
in
this
desp’rate
case
.
Pembroke
and
Stafford
,
you
in
our
behalf
Go
levy
men
and
make
prepare
for
war
.
They
are
already
,
or
quickly
will
be
,
landed
.
Myself
in
person
will
straight
follow
you
.
Pembroke
and
Stafford
exit
.
But
ere
I
go
,
Hastings
and
Montague
,
Resolve
my
doubt
:
you
twain
,
of
all
the
rest
,
Are
near
to
Warwick
by
blood
and
by
alliance
.
Tell
me
if
you
love
Warwick
more
than
me
.
If
it
be
so
,
then
both
depart
to
him
.
I
rather
wish
you
foes
than
hollow
friends
.
But
if
you
mind
to
hold
your
true
obedience
,
Give
me
assurance
with
some
friendly
vow
,
That
I
may
never
have
you
in
suspect
.
So
God
help
Montague
as
he
proves
true
!
And
Hastings
as
he
favors
Edward’s
cause
!
ACT 4. SC. 2
Now
,
brother
Richard
,
will
you
stand
by
us
?
Ay
,
in
despite
of
all
that
shall
withstand
you
.
Why
,
so
.
Then
am
I
sure
of
victory
.
Now
therefore
let
us
hence
and
lose
no
hour
Till
we
meet
Warwick
with
his
foreign
power
.
They
exit
.
Scene
2
Enter
Warwick
and
Oxford
in
England
,
wearing
the
red
rose
,
with
French
Soldiers
.
Trust
me
,
my
lord
,
all
hitherto
goes
well
.
The
common
people
by
numbers
swarm
to
us
.
Enter
Clarence
and
Somerset
.
But
see
where
Somerset
and
Clarence
comes
.
—
Speak
suddenly
,
my
lords
:
are
we
all
friends
?
Fear
not
that
,
my
lord
.
Then
,
gentle
Clarence
,
welcome
unto
Warwick
,
And
welcome
,
Somerset
.
I
hold
it
cowardice
To
rest
mistrustful
where
a
noble
heart
Hath
pawned
an
open
hand
in
sign
of
love
;
Else
might
I
think
that
Clarence
,
Edward’s
brother
,
Were
but
a
feignèd
friend
to
our
proceedings
.
But
welcome
,
sweet
Clarence
;
my
daughter
shall
be
thine
.
And
now
,
what
rests
but
,
in
night’s
coverture
Thy
brother
being
carelessly
encamped
,
His
soldiers
lurking
in
the
town
about
,
And
but
attended
by
a
simple
guard
,
ACT 4. SC. 3
We
may
surprise
and
take
him
at
our
pleasure
?
Our
scouts
have
found
the
adventure
very
easy
;
That
,
as
Ulysses
and
stout
Diomed
With
sleight
and
manhood
stole
to
Rhesus’
tents
And
brought
from
thence
the
Thracian
fatal
steeds
,
So
we
,
well
covered
with
the
night’s
black
mantle
,
At
unawares
may
beat
down
Edward’s
guard
And
seize
himself
.
I
say
not
slaughter
him
,
For
I
intend
but
only
to
surprise
him
.
You
that
will
follow
me
to
this
attempt
,
Applaud
the
name
of
Henry
with
your
leader
.
They
all
cry
Henry
!
Why
then
,
let’s
on
our
way
in
silent
sort
.
For
Warwick
and
his
friends
,
God
and
Saint
George
!
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
three
Watchmen
to
guard
King
Edward’s
tent
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Come
on
,
my
masters
,
each
man
take
his
stand
.
The
King
by
this
is
set
him
down
to
sleep
.
What
,
will
he
not
to
bed
?
Why
,
no
,
for
he
hath
made
a
solemn
vow
Never
to
lie
and
take
his
natural
rest
Till
Warwick
or
himself
be
quite
suppressed
.
Tomorrow
,
then
,
belike
shall
be
the
day
,
If
Warwick
be
so
near
as
men
report
.
But
say
,
I
pray
,
what
nobleman
is
that
That
with
the
King
here
resteth
in
his
tent
?
ACT 4. SC. 3
’Tis
the
Lord
Hastings
,
the
King’s
chiefest
friend
.
O
,
is
it
so
?
But
why
commands
the
King
That
his
chief
followers
lodge
in
towns
about
him
,
While
he
himself
keeps
in
the
cold
field
?
’Tis
the
more
honor
,
because
more
dangerous
.
Ay
,
but
give
me
worship
and
quietness
;
I
like
it
better
than
a
dangerous
honor
.
If
Warwick
knew
in
what
estate
he
stands
,
’Tis
to
be
doubted
he
would
waken
him
.
Unless
our
halberds
did
shut
up
his
passage
.
Ay
,
wherefore
else
guard
we
his
royal
tent
But
to
defend
his
person
from
night
foes
?
Enter
Warwick
,
Clarence
,
Oxford
,
Somerset
,
all
wearing
the
red
rose
,
and
French
Soldiers
,
silent
all
.
This
is
his
tent
,
and
see
where
stand
his
guard
.
Courage
,
my
masters
.
Honor
,
now
or
never
!
But
follow
me
,
and
Edward
shall
be
ours
.
Who
goes
there
?
Stay
,
or
thou
diest
!
Warwick
and
the
rest
cry
all
Warwick
,
Warwick
!
and
set
upon
the
guard
,
who
fly
,
crying
Arm
,
Arm
!
Warwick
and
the
rest
following
them
.
The
drum
playing
and
trumpet
sounding
,
enter
Warwick
,
Somerset
,
and
the
rest
,
bringing
King
Edward
out
in
his
gown
,
sitting
in
a
chair
.
Richard
and
Hastings
flies
over
the
stage
.
ACT 4. SC. 3
What
are
they
that
fly
there
?
Richard
and
Hastings
.
Let
them
go
.
Here
is
the
Duke
.
The
Duke
?
Why
,
Warwick
,
when
we
parted
,
thou
call’dst
me
king
.
Ay
,
but
the
case
is
altered
.
When
you
disgraced
me
in
my
embassade
,
Then
I
degraded
you
from
being
king
And
come
now
to
create
you
Duke
of
York
.
Alas
,
how
should
you
govern
any
kingdom
That
know
not
how
to
use
ambassadors
,
Nor
how
to
be
contented
with
one
wife
,
Nor
how
to
use
your
brothers
brotherly
,
Nor
how
to
study
for
the
people’s
welfare
,
Nor
how
to
shroud
yourself
from
enemies
?
Yea
,
brother
of
Clarence
,
art
thou
here
too
?
Nay
,
then
,
I
see
that
Edward
needs
must
down
.
Yet
,
Warwick
,
in
despite
of
all
mischance
,
Of
thee
thyself
and
all
thy
complices
,
Edward
will
always
bear
himself
as
king
.
Though
Fortune’s
malice
overthrow
my
state
,
My
mind
exceeds
the
compass
of
her
wheel
.
Then
for
his
mind
be
Edward
England’s
king
,
Takes
off
his
crown
.
But
Henry
now
shall
wear
the
English
crown
And
be
true
king
indeed
,
thou
but
the
shadow
.
—
My
lord
of
Somerset
,
at
my
request
,
See
that
forthwith
Duke
Edward
be
conveyed
Unto
my
brother
,
Archbishop
of
York
.
When
I
have
fought
with
Pembroke
and
his
fellows
,
I’ll
follow
you
and
tell
what
answer
Lewis
and
the
Lady
Bona
send
to
him
.
—
Now
for
awhile
farewell
,
good
Duke
of
York
.
ACT 4. SC. 4
They
begin
to
lead
him
out
forcibly
.
What
Fates
impose
,
that
men
must
needs
abide
;
It
boots
not
to
resist
both
wind
and
tide
.
Somerset
and
Soldiers
exit
,
guarding
King
Edward
.
What
now
remains
,
my
lords
,
for
us
to
do
But
march
to
London
with
our
soldiers
?
Ay
,
that’s
the
first
thing
that
we
have
to
do
,
To
free
King
Henry
from
imprisonment
And
see
him
seated
in
the
regal
throne
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Enter
Rivers
and
Queen
Elizabeth
,
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Madam
,
what
makes
you
in
this
sudden
change
?
Why
,
brother
Rivers
,
are
you
yet
to
learn
What
late
misfortune
is
befall’n
King
Edward
?
What
,
loss
of
some
pitched
battle
against
Warwick
?
No
,
but
the
loss
of
his
own
royal
person
.
Then
is
my
sovereign
slain
?
Ay
,
almost
slain
,
for
he
is
taken
prisoner
,
Either
betrayed
by
falsehood
of
his
guard
Or
by
his
foe
surprised
at
unawares
;
And
,
as
I
further
have
to
understand
,
Is
new
committed
to
the
Bishop
of
York
,
Fell
Warwick’s
brother
and
by
that
our
foe
.
ACT 4. SC. 4
These
news
I
must
confess
are
full
of
grief
;
Yet
,
gracious
madam
,
bear
it
as
you
may
.
Warwick
may
lose
that
now
hath
won
the
day
.
Till
then
fair
hope
must
hinder
life’s
decay
;
And
I
the
rather
wean
me
from
despair
For
love
of
Edward’s
offspring
in
my
womb
.
This
is
it
that
makes
me
bridle
passion
And
bear
with
mildness
my
misfortune’s
cross
.
Ay
,
ay
,
for
this
I
draw
in
many
a
tear
And
stop
the
rising
of
blood-sucking
sighs
,
Lest
with
my
sighs
or
tears
I
blast
or
drown
King
Edward’s
fruit
,
true
heir
to
th’
English
crown
.
But
,
madam
,
where
is
Warwick
then
become
?
I
am
informèd
that
he
comes
towards
London
To
set
the
crown
once
more
on
Henry’s
head
.
Guess
thou
the
rest
:
King
Edward’s
friends
must
down
.
But
to
prevent
the
tyrant’s
violence
—
For
trust
not
him
that
hath
once
broken
faith
—
I’ll
hence
forthwith
unto
the
sanctuary
To
save
at
least
the
heir
of
Edward’s
right
.
There
shall
I
rest
secure
from
force
and
fraud
.
Come
,
therefore
,
let
us
fly
while
we
may
fly
.
If
Warwick
take
us
,
we
are
sure
to
die
.
They
exit
.
ACT 4. SC. 5
Scene
5
Enter
Richard
of
Gloucester
,
Lord
Hastings
,
and
Sir
William
Stanley
,
with
Soldiers
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Now
,
my
Lord
Hastings
and
Sir
William
Stanley
,
Leave
off
to
wonder
why
I
drew
you
hither
Into
this
chiefest
thicket
of
the
park
.
Thus
stands
the
case
:
you
know
our
king
,
my
brother
,
Is
prisoner
to
the
Bishop
here
,
at
whose
hands
He
hath
good
usage
and
great
liberty
,
And
,
often
but
attended
with
weak
guard
,
Comes
hunting
this
way
to
disport
himself
.
I
have
advertised
him
by
secret
means
That
,
if
about
this
hour
he
make
this
way
Under
the
color
of
his
usual
game
,
He
shall
here
find
his
friends
with
horse
and
men
To
set
him
free
from
his
captivity
.
Enter
King
Edward
,
wearing
the
white
rose
,
and
a
Huntsman
with
him
.
This
way
,
my
lord
,
for
this
way
lies
the
game
.
Nay
,
this
way
,
man
.
See
where
the
huntsmen
stand
.
—
Now
,
brother
of
Gloucester
,
Lord
Hastings
,
and
the
rest
,
Stand
you
thus
close
to
steal
the
Bishop’s
deer
?
Brother
,
the
time
and
case
requireth
haste
.
Your
horse
stands
ready
at
the
park
corner
.
But
whither
shall
we
then
?
To
Lynn
,
my
lord
,
and
shipped
from
thence
to
Flanders
.
ACT 4. SC. 6
Well
guessed
,
believe
me
,
for
that
was
my
meaning
.
Stanley
,
I
will
requite
thy
forwardness
.
But
wherefore
stay
we
?
’Tis
no
time
to
talk
.
Huntsman
,
what
sayst
thou
?
Wilt
thou
go
along
?
Better
do
so
than
tarry
and
be
hanged
.
Come
then
,
away
!
Let’s
ha’
no
more
ado
.
Bishop
,
farewell
;
shield
thee
from
Warwick’s
frown
,
And
pray
that
I
may
repossess
the
crown
.
They
exit
.
Scene
6
Flourish
.
Enter
King
Henry
the
Sixth
,
Clarence
,
Warwick
,
Somerset
,
young
Henry
Earl
of
Richmond
,
Oxford
,
Montague
,
all
wearing
the
red
rose
,
and
Lieutenant
of
the
Tower
.
Master
lieutenant
,
now
that
God
and
friends
Have
shaken
Edward
from
the
regal
seat
And
turned
my
captive
state
to
liberty
,
My
fear
to
hope
,
my
sorrows
unto
joys
,
At
our
enlargement
what
are
thy
due
fees
?
Subjects
may
challenge
nothing
of
their
sov’reigns
,
But
,
if
an
humble
prayer
may
prevail
,
I
then
crave
pardon
of
your
Majesty
.
For
what
,
lieutenant
?
For
well
using
me
?
ACT 4. SC. 6
Nay
,
be
thou
sure
I’ll
well
requite
thy
kindness
,
For
that
it
made
my
imprisonment
a
pleasure
,
Ay
,
such
a
pleasure
as
encagèd
birds
Conceive
when
,
after
many
moody
thoughts
,
At
last
by
notes
of
household
harmony
They
quite
forget
their
loss
of
liberty
.
—
But
,
Warwick
,
after
God
thou
sett’st
me
free
,
And
chiefly
,
therefore
,
I
thank
God
and
thee
.
He
was
the
author
,
thou
the
instrument
.
Therefore
,
that
I
may
conquer
Fortune’s
spite
By
living
low
where
Fortune
cannot
hurt
me
,
And
that
the
people
of
this
blessèd
land
May
not
be
punished
with
my
thwarting
stars
,
Warwick
,
although
my
head
still
wear
the
crown
,
I
here
resign
my
government
to
thee
,
For
thou
art
fortunate
in
all
thy
deeds
.
Your
Grace
hath
still
been
famed
for
virtuous
And
now
may
seem
as
wise
as
virtuous
By
spying
and
avoiding
Fortune’s
malice
,
For
few
men
rightly
temper
with
the
stars
.
Yet
,
in
this
one
thing
let
me
blame
your
Grace
:
For
choosing
me
when
Clarence
is
in
place
.
No
,
Warwick
,
thou
art
worthy
of
the
sway
,
To
whom
the
heav’ns
in
thy
nativity
Adjudged
an
olive
branch
and
laurel
crown
As
likely
to
be
blest
in
peace
and
war
;
And
therefore
I
yield
thee
my
free
consent
.
And
I
choose
Clarence
only
for
Protector
.
Warwick
and
Clarence
,
give
me
both
your
hands
.
Now
join
your
hands
,
and
with
your
hands
your
hearts
,
That
no
dissension
hinder
government
.
ACT 4. SC. 6
He
joins
their
hands
.
I
make
you
both
Protectors
of
this
land
,
While
I
myself
will
lead
a
private
life
And
in
devotion
spend
my
latter
days
,
To
sin’s
rebuke
and
my
Creator’s
praise
.
What
answers
Clarence
to
his
sovereign’s
will
?
That
he
consents
,
if
Warwick
yield
consent
,
For
on
thy
fortune
I
repose
myself
.
Why
,
then
,
though
loath
,
yet
must
I
be
content
.
We’ll
yoke
together
like
a
double
shadow
To
Henry’s
body
,
and
supply
his
place
—
I
mean
,
in
bearing
weight
of
government
—
While
he
enjoys
the
honor
and
his
ease
.
And
,
Clarence
,
now
then
it
is
more
than
needful
Forthwith
that
Edward
be
pronounced
a
traitor
And
all
his
lands
and
goods
be
confiscate
.
What
else
?
And
that
succession
be
determinèd
.
Ay
,
therein
Clarence
shall
not
want
his
part
.
But
with
the
first
of
all
your
chief
affairs
Let
me
entreat
—
for
I
command
no
more
—
That
Margaret
your
queen
and
my
son
Edward
Be
sent
for
,
to
return
from
France
with
speed
,
For
till
I
see
them
here
,
by
doubtful
fear
My
joy
of
liberty
is
half
eclipsed
.
It
shall
be
done
,
my
sovereign
,
with
all
speed
.
My
lord
of
Somerset
,
what
youth
is
that
Of
whom
you
seem
to
have
so
tender
care
?
ACT 4. SC. 6
My
liege
,
it
is
young
Henry
,
Earl
of
Richmond
.
,
to
Richmond
Come
hither
,
England’s
hope
.
Lays
his
hand
on
Richmond’s
head
.
If
secret
powers
Suggest
but
truth
to
my
divining
thoughts
,
This
pretty
lad
will
prove
our
country’s
bliss
.
His
looks
are
full
of
peaceful
majesty
,
His
head
by
nature
framed
to
wear
a
crown
,
His
hand
to
wield
a
scepter
,
and
himself
Likely
in
time
to
bless
a
regal
throne
.
Make
much
of
him
,
my
lords
,
for
this
is
he
Must
help
you
more
than
you
are
hurt
by
me
.
Enter
a
Post
.
What
news
,
my
friend
?
That
Edward
is
escapèd
from
your
brother
And
fled
,
as
he
hears
since
,
to
Burgundy
.
Unsavory
news
!
But
how
made
he
escape
?
He
was
conveyed
by
Richard
,
Duke
of
Gloucester
,
And
the
Lord
Hastings
,
who
attended
him
In
secret
ambush
on
the
forest
side
And
from
the
Bishop’s
huntsmen
rescued
him
,
For
hunting
was
his
daily
exercise
.
My
brother
was
too
careless
of
his
charge
.
But
let
us
hence
,
my
sovereign
,
to
provide
A
salve
for
any
sore
that
may
betide
.
All
but
Somerset
,
Richmond
,
and
Oxford
exit
.
,
to
Oxford
My
lord
,
I
like
not
of
this
flight
of
Edward’s
,
For
doubtless
Burgundy
will
yield
him
help
,
ACT 4. SC. 7
And
we
shall
have
more
wars
before
’t
be
long
.
As
Henry’s
late
presaging
prophecy
Did
glad
my
heart
with
hope
of
this
young
Richmond
,
So
doth
my
heart
misgive
me
in
these
conflicts
What
may
befall
him
,
to
his
harm
and
ours
.
Therefore
,
Lord
Oxford
,
to
prevent
the
worst
,
Forthwith
we’ll
send
him
hence
to
Brittany
Till
storms
be
past
of
civil
enmity
.
Ay
,
for
if
Edward
repossess
the
crown
,
’Tis
like
that
Richmond
,
with
the
rest
,
shall
down
.
It
shall
be
so
.
He
shall
to
Brittany
.
Come
,
therefore
,
let’s
about
it
speedily
.
They
exit
.
Scene
7
Flourish
.
Enter
King
Edward
,
Richard
,
Hastings
,
and
Soldiers
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Now
,
brother
Richard
,
Lord
Hastings
,
and
the
rest
:
Yet
thus
far
Fortune
maketh
us
amends
,
And
says
that
once
more
I
shall
interchange
My
wanèd
state
for
Henry’s
regal
crown
.
Well
have
we
passed
,
and
now
re-passed
,
the
seas
,
And
brought
desirèd
help
from
Burgundy
.
What
then
remains
,
we
being
thus
arrived
From
Ravenspurgh
Haven
before
the
gates
of
York
,
But
that
we
enter
as
into
our
dukedom
?
Hastings
knocks
at
the
gate
.
The
gates
made
fast
?
Brother
,
I
like
not
this
.
ACT 4. SC. 7
For
many
men
that
stumble
at
the
threshold
Are
well
foretold
that
danger
lurks
within
.
Tush
,
man
,
abodements
must
not
now
affright
us
.
By
fair
or
foul
means
we
must
enter
in
,
For
hither
will
our
friends
repair
to
us
.
My
liege
,
I’ll
knock
once
more
to
summon
them
.
He
knocks
.
Enter
on
the
walls
the
Mayor
of
York
and
his
brethren
,
the
Aldermen
.
My
lords
,
we
were
forewarnèd
of
your
coming
,
And
shut
the
gates
for
safety
of
ourselves
,
For
now
we
owe
allegiance
unto
Henry
.
But
,
master
mayor
,
if
Henry
be
your
king
,
Yet
Edward
,
at
the
least
,
is
Duke
of
York
.
True
,
my
good
lord
,
I
know
you
for
no
less
.
Why
,
and
I
challenge
nothing
but
my
dukedom
,
As
being
well
content
with
that
alone
.
,
aside
But
when
the
fox
hath
once
got
in
his
nose
,
He’ll
soon
find
means
to
make
the
body
follow
.
Why
,
master
mayor
,
why
stand
you
in
a
doubt
?
Open
the
gates
.
We
are
King
Henry’s
friends
.
Ay
,
say
you
so
?
The
gates
shall
then
be
opened
.
He
descends
with
the
Aldermen
.
A
wise
stout
captain
,
and
soon
persuaded
.
ACT 4. SC. 7
The
good
old
man
would
fain
that
all
were
well
,
So
’twere
not
long
of
him
;
but
being
entered
,
I
doubt
not
,
I
,
but
we
shall
soon
persuade
Both
him
and
all
his
brothers
unto
reason
.
Enter
the
Mayor
and
two
Aldermen
.
So
,
master
mayor
,
these
gates
must
not
be
shut
But
in
the
night
or
in
the
time
of
war
.
What
,
fear
not
,
man
,
but
yield
me
up
the
keys
.
Takes
his
keys
.
For
Edward
will
defend
the
town
and
thee
And
all
those
friends
that
deign
to
follow
me
.
March
.
Enter
Montgomery
,
with
Drum
and
Soldiers
.
Brother
,
this
is
Sir
John
Montgomery
,
Our
trusty
friend
,
unless
I
be
deceived
.
Welcome
,
Sir
John
.
But
why
come
you
in
arms
?
To
help
King
Edward
in
his
time
of
storm
,
As
every
loyal
subject
ought
to
do
.
Thanks
,
good
Montgomery
.
But
we
now
forget
Our
title
to
the
crown
,
and
only
claim
Our
dukedom
,
till
God
please
to
send
the
rest
.
Then
fare
you
well
,
for
I
will
hence
again
.
I
came
to
serve
a
king
and
not
a
duke
.
—
Drummer
,
strike
up
,
and
let
us
march
away
.
The
Drum
begins
to
march
.
Nay
,
stay
,
Sir
John
,
a
while
,
and
we’ll
debate
By
what
safe
means
the
crown
may
be
recovered
.
ACT 4. SC. 7
What
talk
you
of
debating
?
In
few
words
,
If
you’ll
not
here
proclaim
yourself
our
king
,
I’ll
leave
you
to
your
fortune
and
be
gone
To
keep
them
back
that
come
to
succor
you
.
Why
shall
we
fight
if
you
pretend
no
title
?
Why
,
brother
,
wherefore
stand
you
on
nice
points
?
When
we
grow
stronger
,
then
we’ll
make
our
claim
.
Till
then
’tis
wisdom
to
conceal
our
meaning
.
Away
with
scrupulous
wit
!
Now
arms
must
rule
.
And
fearless
minds
climb
soonest
unto
crowns
.
Brother
,
we
will
proclaim
you
out
of
hand
;
The
bruit
thereof
will
bring
you
many
friends
.
Then
be
it
as
you
will
,
for
’tis
my
right
,
And
Henry
but
usurps
the
diadem
.
Ay
,
now
my
sovereign
speaketh
like
himself
,
And
now
will
I
be
Edward’s
champion
.
Sound
,
trumpet
!
Edward
shall
be
here
proclaimed
.
—
Come
,
fellow
soldier
,
make
thou
proclamation
.
Flourish
.
Sound
.
reads
Edward
the
Fourth
,
by
the
Grace
of
God
,
King
of
England
and
France
,
and
Lord
of
Ireland
,
&c
.
And
whosoe’er
gainsays
King
Edward’s
right
,
By
this
I
challenge
him
to
single
fight
.
Throws
down
his
gauntlet
.
Long
live
Edward
the
Fourth
!
ACT 4. SC. 8
Thanks
,
brave
Montgomery
,
and
thanks
unto
you
all
.
If
fortune
serve
me
,
I’ll
requite
this
kindness
.
Now
,
for
this
night
let’s
harbor
here
in
York
,
And
when
the
morning
sun
shall
raise
his
car
Above
the
border
of
this
horizon
,
We’ll
forward
towards
Warwick
and
his
mates
;
For
well
I
wot
that
Henry
is
no
soldier
.
Ah
,
froward
Clarence
,
how
evil
it
beseems
thee
To
flatter
Henry
and
forsake
thy
brother
!
Yet
,
as
we
may
,
we’ll
meet
both
thee
and
Warwick
.
Come
on
,
brave
soldiers
;
doubt
not
of
the
day
;
And
that
once
gotten
,
doubt
not
of
large
pay
.
They
exit
.
Scene
8
Flourish
.
Enter
King
Henry
,
Warwick
,
Montague
,
Clarence
,
Oxford
,
and
Exeter
,
all
wearing
the
red
rose
.
What
counsel
,
lords
?
Edward
from
Belgia
,
With
hasty
Germans
and
blunt
Hollanders
,
Hath
passed
in
safety
through
the
Narrow
Seas
,
And
with
his
troops
doth
march
amain
to
London
,
And
many
giddy
people
flock
to
him
.
Let’s
levy
men
and
beat
him
back
again
.
A
little
fire
is
quickly
trodden
out
,
Which
,
being
suffered
,
rivers
cannot
quench
.
In
Warwickshire
I
have
true-hearted
friends
,
Not
mutinous
in
peace
yet
bold
in
war
.
Those
will
I
muster
up
;
and
thou
,
son
Clarence
,
Shalt
stir
up
in
Suffolk
,
Norfolk
,
and
in
Kent
ACT 4. SC. 8
The
knights
and
gentlemen
to
come
with
thee
.
—
Thou
,
brother
Montague
,
in
Buckingham
,
Northampton
,
and
in
Leicestershire
shalt
find
Men
well
inclined
to
hear
what
thou
command’st
.
—
And
thou
,
brave
Oxford
,
wondrous
well
beloved
,
In
Oxfordshire
shalt
muster
up
thy
friends
.
—
My
sovereign
,
with
the
loving
citizens
,
Like
to
his
island
girt
in
with
the
ocean
,
Or
modest
Dian
circled
with
her
nymphs
,
Shall
rest
in
London
till
we
come
to
him
.
Fair
lords
,
take
leave
,
and
stand
not
to
reply
.
—
Farewell
,
my
sovereign
.
Farewell
,
my
Hector
and
my
Troy’s
true
hope
.
In
sign
of
truth
,
I
kiss
your
Highness’
hand
.
Well-minded
Clarence
,
be
thou
fortunate
.
Comfort
,
my
lord
;
and
so
I
take
my
leave
.
And
thus
I
seal
my
truth
,
and
bid
adieu
.
He
kisses
Henry’s
hand
.
Sweet
Oxford
and
my
loving
Montague
And
all
at
once
,
once
more
a
happy
farewell
.
Farewell
,
sweet
lords
.
Let’s
meet
at
Coventry
.
All
but
King
Henry
and
Exeter
exit
.
Here
at
the
palace
will
I
rest
awhile
.
Cousin
of
Exeter
,
what
thinks
your
Lordship
?
Methinks
the
power
that
Edward
hath
in
field
Should
not
be
able
to
encounter
mine
.
The
doubt
is
that
he
will
seduce
the
rest
.
ACT 4. SC. 8
That’s
not
my
fear
.
My
meed
hath
got
me
fame
.
I
have
not
stopped
mine
ears
to
their
demands
,
Nor
posted
off
their
suits
with
slow
delays
.
My
pity
hath
been
balm
to
heal
their
wounds
,
My
mildness
hath
allayed
their
swelling
griefs
,
My
mercy
dried
their
water-flowing
tears
.
I
have
not
been
desirous
of
their
wealth
Nor
much
oppressed
them
with
great
subsidies
,
Nor
forward
of
revenge
,
though
they
much
erred
.
Then
why
should
they
love
Edward
more
than
me
?
No
,
Exeter
,
these
graces
challenge
grace
;
And
when
the
lion
fawns
upon
the
lamb
,
The
lamb
will
never
cease
to
follow
him
.
Shout
within
À
York
!
À
York
!
Hark
,
hark
,
my
lord
,
what
shouts
are
these
?
Enter
King
Edward
and
Richard
and
Soldiers
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Seize
on
the
shamefaced
Henry
,
bear
him
hence
,
And
once
again
proclaim
us
King
of
England
.
—
You
are
the
fount
that
makes
small
brooks
to
flow
.
Now
stops
thy
spring
;
my
sea
shall
suck
them
dry
And
swell
so
much
the
higher
by
their
ebb
.
—
Hence
with
him
to
the
Tower
.
Let
him
not
speak
.
Soldiers
exit
with
King
Henry
and
Exeter
.
And
,
lords
,
towards
Coventry
bend
we
our
course
,
Where
peremptory
Warwick
now
remains
.
The
sun
shines
hot
,
and
if
we
use
delay
,
Cold
biting
winter
mars
our
hoped-for
hay
.
Away
betimes
,
before
his
forces
join
,
And
take
the
great-grown
traitor
unawares
.
Brave
warriors
,
march
amain
towards
Coventry
.
They
exit
.
ACT
5
Scene
1
Enter
Warwick
,
wearing
the
red
rose
,
the
Mayor
of
Coventry
,
two
Messengers
,
and
others
,
upon
the
walls
.
Where
is
the
post
that
came
from
valiant
Oxford
?
—
How
far
hence
is
thy
lord
,
mine
honest
fellow
?
By
this
at
Dunsmore
,
marching
hitherward
.
He
exits
.
How
far
off
is
our
brother
Montague
?
Where
is
the
post
that
came
from
Montague
?
By
this
at
Daintry
,
with
a
puissant
troop
.
He
exits
.
Enter
,
upon
the
walls
,
Somerville
wearing
the
red
rose
.
Say
,
Somerville
,
what
says
my
loving
son
?
And
,
by
thy
guess
,
how
nigh
is
Clarence
now
?
At
Southam
I
did
leave
him
with
his
forces
And
do
expect
him
here
some
two
hours
hence
.
Drum
offstage
.
Then
Clarence
is
at
hand
;
I
hear
his
drum
.
ACT 5. SC. 1
It
is
not
his
,
my
lord
;
here
Southam
lies
.
The
drum
your
Honor
hears
marcheth
from
Warwick
.
Who
should
that
be
?
Belike
unlooked-for
friends
.
They
are
at
hand
,
and
you
shall
quickly
know
.
March
.
Flourish
.
Enter
below
,
King
Edward
,
Richard
,
and
Soldiers
,
including
a
Trumpeter
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Go
,
Trumpet
,
to
the
walls
,
and
sound
a
parle
.
See
how
the
surly
Warwick
mans
the
wall
.
O
unbid
spite
,
is
sportful
Edward
come
?
Where
slept
our
scouts
,
or
how
are
they
seduced
,
That
we
could
hear
no
news
of
his
repair
?
Now
,
Warwick
,
wilt
thou
ope
the
city
gates
,
Speak
gentle
words
,
and
humbly
bend
thy
knee
?
Call
Edward
king
,
and
at
his
hands
beg
mercy
,
And
he
shall
pardon
thee
these
outrages
.
Nay
,
rather
wilt
thou
draw
thy
forces
hence
,
Confess
who
set
thee
up
and
plucked
thee
down
,
Call
Warwick
patron
,
and
be
penitent
,
And
thou
shalt
still
remain
the
Duke
of
York
.
I
thought
at
least
he
would
have
said
the
King
.
Or
did
he
make
the
jest
against
his
will
?
Is
not
a
dukedom
,
sir
,
a
goodly
gift
?
ACT 5. SC. 1
Ay
,
by
my
faith
,
for
a
poor
earl
to
give
.
I’ll
do
thee
service
for
so
good
a
gift
.
’Twas
I
that
gave
the
kingdom
to
thy
brother
.
Why
,
then
,
’tis
mine
,
if
but
by
Warwick’s
gift
.
Thou
art
no
Atlas
for
so
great
a
weight
;
And
,
weakling
,
Warwick
takes
his
gift
again
,
And
Henry
is
my
king
,
Warwick
his
subject
.
But
Warwick’s
king
is
Edward’s
prisoner
.
And
,
gallant
Warwick
,
do
but
answer
this
:
What
is
the
body
when
the
head
is
off
?
Alas
,
that
Warwick
had
no
more
forecast
,
But
whiles
he
thought
to
steal
the
single
ten
,
The
King
was
slyly
fingered
from
the
deck
.
You
left
poor
Henry
at
the
Bishop’s
palace
,
And
ten
to
one
you’ll
meet
him
in
the
Tower
.
’Tis
even
so
;
yet
you
are
Warwick
still
.
Come
,
Warwick
,
take
the
time
;
kneel
down
,
kneel
down
.
Nay
,
when
?
Strike
now
,
or
else
the
iron
cools
.
I
had
rather
chop
this
hand
off
at
a
blow
And
with
the
other
fling
it
at
thy
face
Than
bear
so
low
a
sail
to
strike
to
thee
.
Sail
how
thou
canst
,
have
wind
and
tide
thy
friend
,
This
hand
,
fast
wound
about
thy
coal-black
coalblack
hair
,
Shall
,
whiles
thy
head
is
warm
and
new
cut
off
,
Write
in
the
dust
this
sentence
with
thy
blood
:
Wind-changing
Warwick
now
can
change
no
more
.
ACT 5. SC. 1
Enter
Oxford
,
below
,
wearing
the
red
rose
,
with
Soldiers
,
Drum
and
Colors
.
O
,
cheerful
colors
,
see
where
Oxford
comes
!
Oxford
,
Oxford
for
Lancaster
!
Oxford
and
his
troops
exit
as
through
a
city
gate
.
The
gates
are
open
;
let
us
enter
too
.
So
other
foes
may
set
upon
our
backs
.
Stand
we
in
good
array
,
for
they
no
doubt
Will
issue
out
again
and
bid
us
battle
.
If
not
,
the
city
being
but
of
small
defense
,
We’ll
quickly
rouse
the
traitors
in
the
same
.
Oxford
enters
aloft
.
O
welcome
,
Oxford
,
for
we
want
thy
help
.
Enter
Montague
,
below
,
wearing
the
red
rose
,
with
Soldiers
,
Drum
and
Colors
.
Montague
,
Montague
for
Lancaster
!
Thou
and
thy
brother
both
shall
buy
this
treason
Even
with
the
dearest
blood
your
bodies
bear
!
Montague
and
his
troops
exit
as
through
a
city
gate
.
The
harder
matched
,
the
greater
victory
.
My
mind
presageth
happy
gain
and
conquest
.
Enter
Somerset
,
below
,
wearing
the
red
rose
,
with
Soldiers
,
Drum
and
Colors
.
Somerset
,
Somerset
for
Lancaster
!
ACT 5. SC. 1
Two
of
thy
name
,
both
dukes
of
Somerset
,
Have
sold
their
lives
unto
the
house
of
York
,
And
thou
shalt
be
the
third
,
if
this
sword
hold
.
Somerset
and
his
troops
exit
as
through
a
city
gate
.
Enter
Clarence
,
below
,
wearing
the
red
rose
,
with
Soldiers
,
Drum
and
Colors
.
And
lo
,
where
George
of
Clarence
sweeps
along
,
Of
force
enough
to
bid
his
brother
battle
,
With
whom
an
upright
zeal
to
right
prevails
More
than
the
nature
of
a
brother’s
love
.
—
Come
,
Clarence
,
come
;
thou
wilt
,
if
Warwick
call
.
Father
of
Warwick
,
know
you
what
this
means
?
He
removes
the
red
rose
.
Look
,
here
I
throw
my
infamy
at
thee
.
He
throws
the
rose
at
Warwick
.
I
will
not
ruinate
my
father’s
house
,
Who
gave
his
blood
to
lime
the
stones
together
And
set
up
Lancaster
.
Why
,
trowest
thou
,
Warwick
,
That
Clarence
is
so
harsh
,
so
blunt
,
unnatural
,
To
bend
the
fatal
instruments
of
war
Against
his
brother
and
his
lawful
king
?
Perhaps
thou
wilt
object
my
holy
oath
.
To
keep
that
oath
were
more
impiety
Than
Jephthah
when
he
sacrificed
his
daughter
.
I
am
so
sorry
for
my
trespass
made
That
,
to
deserve
well
at
my
brother’s
hands
,
I
here
proclaim
myself
thy
mortal
foe
,
With
resolution
,
wheresoe’er
I
meet
thee
—
As
I
will
meet
thee
if
thou
stir
abroad
—
To
plague
thee
for
thy
foul
misleading
me
.
And
so
,
proud-hearted
Warwick
,
I
defy
thee
And
to
my
brother
turn
my
blushing
cheeks
.
—
ACT 5. SC. 2
Pardon
me
,
Edward
,
I
will
make
amends
.
—
And
,
Richard
,
do
not
frown
upon
my
faults
,
For
I
will
henceforth
be
no
more
unconstant
.
Now
,
welcome
more
,
and
ten
times
more
beloved
,
Than
if
thou
never
hadst
deserved
our
hate
.
Welcome
,
good
Clarence
;
this
is
brother-like
.
O
,
passing
traitor
,
perjured
and
unjust
.
What
,
Warwick
,
wilt
thou
leave
the
town
and
fight
?
Or
shall
we
beat
the
stones
about
thine
ears
?
Alas
,
I
am
not
cooped
here
for
defense
.
I
will
away
towards
Barnet
presently
And
bid
thee
battle
,
Edward
,
if
thou
dar’st
.
Yes
,
Warwick
,
Edward
dares
,
and
leads
the
way
.
—
Warwick
exits
from
the
walls
and
descends
.
Lords
,
to
the
field
!
Saint
George
and
victory
!
They
exit
.
March
.
Warwick
and
his
company
follows
.
Scene
2
Alarum
and
excursions
.
Enter
King
Edward
,
wearing
the
white
rose
,
bringing
forth
Warwick
,
wearing
the
red
rose
,
wounded
.
So
,
lie
thou
there
.
Die
thou
,
and
die
our
fear
,
For
Warwick
was
a
bug
that
feared
us
all
.
Now
,
Montague
,
sit
fast
.
I
seek
for
thee
,
That
Warwick’s
bones
may
keep
thine
company
.
He
exits
.
ACT 5. SC. 2
Ah
,
who
is
nigh
?
Come
to
me
,
friend
or
foe
,
And
tell
me
who
is
victor
,
York
or
Warwick
?
Why
ask
I
that
?
My
mangled
body
shows
,
My
blood
,
my
want
of
strength
,
my
sick
heart
shows
That
I
must
yield
my
body
to
the
earth
And
,
by
my
fall
,
the
conquest
to
my
foe
.
Thus
yields
the
cedar
to
the
axe’s
edge
,
Whose
arms
gave
shelter
to
the
princely
eagle
,
Under
whose
shade
the
ramping
lion
slept
,
Whose
top
branch
overpeered
Jove’s
spreading
tree
And
kept
low
shrubs
from
winter’s
pow’rful
wind
.
These
eyes
,
that
now
are
dimmed
with
death’s
black
veil
,
Have
been
as
piercing
as
the
midday
sun
To
search
the
secret
treasons
of
the
world
.
The
wrinkles
in
my
brows
,
now
filled
with
blood
,
Were
likened
oft
to
kingly
sepulchers
,
For
who
lived
king
but
I
could
dig
his
grave
?
And
who
durst
smile
when
Warwick
bent
his
brow
?
Lo
,
now
my
glory
smeared
in
dust
and
blood
!
My
parks
,
my
walks
,
my
manors
that
I
had
Even
now
forsake
me
;
and
of
all
my
lands
Is
nothing
left
me
but
my
body’s
length
.
Why
,
what
is
pomp
,
rule
,
reign
,
but
earth
and
dust
?
And
live
we
how
we
can
,
yet
die
we
must
.
Enter
Oxford
and
Somerset
,
both
wearing
the
red
rose
.
Ah
,
Warwick
,
Warwick
,
wert
thou
as
we
are
,
We
might
recover
all
our
loss
again
.
The
Queen
from
France
hath
brought
a
puissant
power
;
Even
now
we
heard
the
news
.
Ah
,
could’st
thou
fly
—
Why
,
then
,
I
would
not
fly
.
Ah
,
Montague
,
ACT 5. SC. 3
If
thou
be
there
,
sweet
brother
,
take
my
hand
And
with
thy
lips
keep
in
my
soul
awhile
.
Thou
lov’st
me
not
,
for
,
brother
,
if
thou
didst
,
Thy
tears
would
wash
this
cold
congealèd
blood
That
glues
my
lips
and
will
not
let
me
speak
.
Come
quickly
,
Montague
,
or
I
am
dead
.
Ah
,
Warwick
,
Montague
hath
breathed
his
last
,
And
to
the
latest
gasp
cried
out
for
Warwick
,
And
said
Commend
me
to
my
valiant
brother
.
And
more
he
would
have
said
,
and
more
he
spoke
,
Which
sounded
like
a
cannon
in
a
vault
,
That
mought
not
be
distinguished
,
but
at
last
I
well
might
hear
,
delivered
with
a
groan
,
O
,
farewell
,
Warwick
.
Sweet
rest
his
soul
!
Fly
,
lords
,
and
save
yourselves
,
For
Warwick
bids
you
all
farewell
to
meet
in
heaven
.
He
dies
.
Away
,
away
,
to
meet
the
Queen’s
great
power
!
Here
they
bear
away
his
body
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Flourish
.
Enter
King
Edward
in
triumph
,
with
Richard
,
Clarence
,
and
the
rest
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
Thus
far
our
fortune
keeps
an
upward
course
,
And
we
are
graced
with
wreaths
of
victory
.
But
in
the
midst
of
this
bright-shining
day
,
I
spy
a
black
suspicious
threat’ning
cloud
That
will
encounter
with
our
glorious
sun
Ere
he
attain
his
easeful
western
bed
.
I
mean
,
my
lords
,
those
powers
that
the
Queen
ACT 5. SC. 4
Hath
raised
in
Gallia
have
arrived
our
coast
And
,
as
we
hear
,
march
on
to
fight
with
us
.
A
little
gale
will
soon
disperse
that
cloud
And
blow
it
to
the
source
from
whence
it
came
;
Thy
very
beams
will
dry
those
vapors
up
,
For
every
cloud
engenders
not
a
storm
.
The
Queen
is
valued
thirty
thousand
strong
,
And
Somerset
,
with
Oxford
,
fled
to
her
.
If
she
have
time
to
breathe
,
be
well
assured
Her
faction
will
be
full
as
strong
as
ours
.
We
are
advertised
by
our
loving
friends
That
they
do
hold
their
course
toward
Tewkesbury
.
We
having
now
the
best
at
Barnet
Field
Will
thither
straight
,
for
willingness
rids
way
,
And
,
as
we
march
,
our
strength
will
be
augmented
In
every
county
as
we
go
along
.
Strike
up
the
drum
,
cry
Courage
!
and
away
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Flourish
.
March
.
Enter
Queen
Margaret
,
young
Prince
Edward
,
Somerset
,
Oxford
,
and
Soldiers
,
all
wearing
the
red
rose
.
Great
lords
,
wise
men
ne’er
sit
and
wail
their
loss
But
cheerly
seek
how
to
redress
their
harms
.
What
though
the
mast
be
now
blown
overboard
,
The
cable
broke
,
the
holding-anchor
lost
,
And
half
our
sailors
swallowed
in
the
flood
?
Yet
lives
our
pilot
still
.
Is
’t
meet
that
he
Should
leave
the
helm
and
,
like
a
fearful
lad
,
ACT 5. SC. 4
With
tearful
eyes
add
water
to
the
sea
And
give
more
strength
to
that
which
hath
too
much
,
Whiles
in
his
moan
the
ship
splits
on
the
rock
,
Which
industry
and
courage
might
have
saved
?
Ah
,
what
a
shame
,
ah
,
what
a
fault
were
this
!
Say
Warwick
was
our
anchor
;
what
of
that
?
And
Montague
our
topmast
;
what
of
him
?
Our
slaughtered
friends
the
tackles
;
what
of
these
?
Why
,
is
not
Oxford
here
another
anchor
?
And
Somerset
another
goodly
mast
?
The
friends
of
France
our
shrouds
and
tacklings
?
And
,
though
unskillful
,
why
not
Ned
and
I
For
once
allowed
the
skillful
pilot’s
charge
?
We
will
not
from
the
helm
to
sit
and
weep
,
But
keep
our
course
,
though
the
rough
wind
say
no
,
From
shelves
and
rocks
that
threaten
us
with
wrack
.
As
good
to
chide
the
waves
as
speak
them
fair
.
And
what
is
Edward
but
a
ruthless
sea
?
What
Clarence
but
a
quicksand
of
deceit
?
And
Richard
but
a
ragged
fatal
rock
—
All
these
the
enemies
to
our
poor
bark
?
Say
you
can
swim
:
alas
,
’tis
but
awhile
;
Tread
on
the
sand
:
why
,
there
you
quickly
sink
;
Bestride
the
rock
:
the
tide
will
wash
you
off
Or
else
you
famish
;
that’s
a
threefold
death
.
This
speak
I
,
lords
,
to
let
you
understand
,
If
case
some
one
of
you
would
fly
from
us
,
That
there’s
no
hoped-for
mercy
with
the
brothers
More
than
with
ruthless
waves
,
with
sands
and
rocks
.
Why
,
courage
then
!
What
cannot
be
avoided
’Twere
childish
weakness
to
lament
or
fear
.
Methinks
a
woman
of
this
valiant
spirit
Should
,
if
a
coward
heard
her
speak
these
words
,
Infuse
his
breast
with
magnanimity
And
make
him
,
naked
,
foil
a
man-at-arms
.
ACT 5. SC. 4
I
speak
not
this
as
doubting
any
here
,
For
did
I
but
suspect
a
fearful
man
,
He
should
have
leave
to
go
away
betimes
,
Lest
in
our
need
he
might
infect
another
And
make
him
of
like
spirit
to
himself
.
If
any
such
be
here
,
as
God
forbid
,
Let
him
depart
before
we
need
his
help
.
Women
and
children
of
so
high
a
courage
,
And
warriors
faint
?
Why
,
’twere
perpetual
shame
!
O
,
brave
young
prince
,
thy
famous
grandfather
Doth
live
again
in
thee
.
Long
mayst
thou
live
To
bear
his
image
and
renew
his
glories
!
And
he
that
will
not
fight
for
such
a
hope
,
Go
home
to
bed
and
,
like
the
owl
by
day
,
If
he
arise
,
be
mocked
and
wondered
at
.
Thanks
,
gentle
Somerset
.
—
Sweet
Oxford
,
thanks
.
And
take
his
thanks
that
yet
hath
nothing
else
.
Enter
a
Messenger
.
Prepare
you
,
lords
,
for
Edward
is
at
hand
,
Ready
to
fight
.
Therefore
be
resolute
.
He
exits
.
I
thought
no
less
.
It
is
his
policy
To
haste
thus
fast
to
find
us
unprovided
.
But
he’s
deceived
.
We
are
in
readiness
.
This
cheers
my
heart
to
see
your
forwardness
.
Here
pitch
our
battle
;
hence
we
will
not
budge
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
Flourish
,
and
march
.
Enter
King
Edward
,
Richard
,
Clarence
,
and
Soldiers
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
.
,
to
his
army
Brave
followers
,
yonder
stands
the
thorny
wood
Which
by
the
heavens’
assistance
and
your
strength
Must
by
the
roots
be
hewn
up
yet
ere
night
.
I
need
not
add
more
fuel
to
your
fire
,
For
,
well
I
wot
,
you
blaze
to
burn
them
out
.
Give
signal
to
the
fight
,
and
to
it
,
lords
!
,
to
her
army
Lords
,
knights
,
and
gentlemen
,
what
I
should
say
My
tears
gainsay
,
for
every
word
I
speak
You
see
I
drink
the
water
of
my
eye
.
Therefore
,
no
more
but
this
:
Henry
,
your
sovereign
,
Is
prisoner
to
the
foe
,
his
state
usurped
,
His
realm
a
slaughterhouse
,
his
subjects
slain
,
His
statutes
cancelled
and
his
treasure
spent
,
And
yonder
is
the
wolf
that
makes
this
spoil
.
You
fight
in
justice
.
Then
,
in
God’s
name
,
lords
,
Be
valiant
,
and
give
signal
to
the
fight
!
Alarum
,
retreat
,
excursions
.
They
exit
.
Scene
5
Flourish
.
Enter
King
Edward
,
Richard
,
and
Clarence
,
all
wearing
the
white
rose
,
with
Soldiers
guarding
Queen
Margaret
,
Oxford
,
and
Somerset
,
all
wearing
the
red
rose
,
prisoners
.
Now
here
a
period
of
tumultuous
broils
.
Away
with
Oxford
to
Hames
Castle
straight
.
For
Somerset
,
off
with
his
guilty
head
.
Go
bear
them
hence
.
I
will
not
hear
them
speak
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
For
my
part
,
I’ll
not
trouble
thee
with
words
.
Nor
I
,
but
stoop
with
patience
to
my
fortune
.
So
part
we
sadly
in
this
troublous
world
To
meet
with
joy
in
sweet
Jerusalem
.
Oxford
and
Somerset
exit
,
under
guard
.
Is
proclamation
made
that
who
finds
Edward
Shall
have
a
high
reward
,
and
he
his
life
?
It
is
,
and
lo
where
youthful
Edward
comes
.
Enter
Prince
Edward
,
wearing
the
red
rose
,
under
guard
.
Bring
forth
the
gallant
;
let
us
hear
him
speak
.
What
,
can
so
young
a
thorn
begin
to
prick
?
—
Edward
,
what
satisfaction
canst
thou
make
For
bearing
arms
,
for
stirring
up
my
subjects
,
And
all
the
trouble
thou
hast
turned
me
to
?
Speak
like
a
subject
,
proud
ambitious
York
.
Suppose
that
I
am
now
my
father’s
mouth
:
Resign
thy
chair
,
and
where
I
stand
,
kneel
thou
,
Whilst
I
propose
the
selfsame
words
to
thee
Which
,
traitor
,
thou
wouldst
have
me
answer
to
.
Ah
,
that
thy
father
had
been
so
resolved
!
That
you
might
still
have
worn
the
petticoat
And
ne’er
have
stol’n
the
breech
from
Lancaster
.
Let
Aesop
fable
in
a
winter’s
night
;
His
currish
riddles
sorts
not
with
this
place
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
By
heaven
,
brat
,
I’ll
plague
you
for
that
word
.
Ay
,
thou
wast
born
to
be
a
plague
to
men
.
For
God’s
sake
,
take
away
this
captive
scold
.
Nay
,
take
away
this
scolding
crookback
,
rather
.
Peace
,
willful
boy
,
or
I
will
charm
your
tongue
.
,
to
Prince
Edward
Untutored
lad
,
thou
art
too
malapert
.
I
know
my
duty
.
You
are
all
undutiful
.
Lascivious
Edward
,
and
thou
perjured
George
,
And
thou
misshapen
Dick
,
I
tell
you
all
I
am
your
better
,
traitors
as
you
are
,
And
thou
usurp’st
my
father’s
right
and
mine
.
Take
that
,
the
likeness
of
this
railer
here
!
Stabs
him
.
Sprawl’st
thou
?
Take
that
to
end
thy
agony
!
Richard
stabs
him
.
And
there’s
for
twitting
me
with
perjury
.
Clarence
stabs
him
.
O
,
kill
me
too
!
Marry
,
and
shall
.
Offers
to
kill
her
.
Hold
,
Richard
,
hold
,
for
we
have
done
too
much
.
Why
should
she
live
to
fill
the
world
with
words
?
Queen
Margaret
faints
.
What
,
doth
she
swoon
?
Use
means
for
her
recovery
.
They
attempt
to
revive
her
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
,
taking
Clarence
aside
Clarence
,
excuse
me
to
the
King
my
brother
.
I’ll
hence
to
London
on
a
serious
matter
.
Ere
you
come
there
,
be
sure
to
hear
some
news
.
What
?
What
?
The
Tower
,
the
Tower
!
He
exits
.
,
rising
from
her
swoon
O
Ned
,
sweet
Ned
,
speak
to
thy
mother
,
boy
.
Canst
thou
not
speak
?
O
traitors
,
murderers
!
They
that
stabbed
Caesar
shed
no
blood
at
all
,
Did
not
offend
,
nor
were
not
worthy
blame
,
If
this
foul
deed
were
by
to
equal
it
.
He
was
a
man
;
this
,
in
respect
,
a
child
,
And
men
ne’er
spend
their
fury
on
a
child
.
What’s
worse
than
murderer
,
that
I
may
name
it
?
No
,
no
,
my
heart
will
burst
an
if
I
speak
,
And
I
will
speak
,
that
so
my
heart
may
burst
.
Butchers
and
villains
,
bloody
cannibals
,
How
sweet
a
plant
have
you
untimely
cropped
!
You
have
no
children
,
butchers
.
If
you
had
,
The
thought
of
them
would
have
stirred
up
remorse
.
But
if
you
ever
chance
to
have
a
child
,
Look
in
his
youth
to
have
him
so
cut
off
As
,
deathsmen
,
you
have
rid
this
sweet
young
prince
.
Away
with
her
.
Go
bear
her
hence
perforce
.
Nay
,
never
bear
me
hence
!
Dispatch
me
here
.
Here
sheathe
thy
sword
;
I’ll
pardon
thee
my
death
.
What
,
wilt
thou
not
?
—
Then
,
Clarence
,
do
it
thou
.
By
heaven
,
I
will
not
do
thee
so
much
ease
.
Good
Clarence
,
do
!
Sweet
Clarence
,
do
thou
do
it
.
Didst
thou
not
hear
me
swear
I
would
not
do
it
?
ACT 5. SC. 6
Ay
,
but
thou
usest
to
forswear
thyself
.
’Twas
sin
before
,
but
now
’tis
charity
.
What
,
wilt
thou
not
?
Where
is
that
devil’s
butcher
,
Richard
,
Hard-favored
Richard
?
Richard
,
where
art
thou
?
Thou
art
not
here
.
Murder
is
thy
alms-deed
;
Petitioners
for
blood
thou
ne’er
putt’st
back
.
Away
,
I
say
!
(
To
Soldiers
.
)
I
charge
you
bear
her
hence
.
So
come
to
you
and
yours
as
to
this
prince
!
Queen
Margaret
exits
under
guard
.
Soldiers
carry
off
Prince
Edward’s
body
.
Where’s
Richard
gone
?
To
London
all
in
post
,
and
,
as
I
guess
,
To
make
a
bloody
supper
in
the
Tower
.
He’s
sudden
if
a
thing
comes
in
his
head
.
Now
march
we
hence
.
Discharge
the
common
sort
With
pay
and
thanks
,
and
let’s
away
to
London
And
see
our
gentle
queen
how
well
she
fares
.
By
this
I
hope
she
hath
a
son
for
me
.
They
exit
.
Scene
6
Enter
King
Henry
the
Sixth
,
wearing
the
red
rose
,
and
Richard
of
Gloucester
,
wearing
the
white
rose
,
with
the
Lieutenant
above
on
the
Tower
walls
.
Good
day
,
my
lord
.
What
,
at
your
book
so
hard
?
ACT 5. SC. 6
Ay
,
my
good
lord
—
my
lord
,
I
should
say
rather
.
’Tis
sin
to
flatter
;
good
was
little
better
:
Good
Gloucester
and
good
devil
were
alike
,
And
both
preposterous
:
therefore
,
not
good
lord
.
,
to
Lieutenant
Sirrah
,
leave
us
to
ourselves
;
we
must
confer
.
Lieutenant
exits
.
So
flies
the
reckless
shepherd
from
the
wolf
;
So
first
the
harmless
sheep
doth
yield
his
fleece
And
next
his
throat
unto
the
butcher’s
knife
.
What
scene
of
death
hath
Roscius
now
to
act
?
Suspicion
always
haunts
the
guilty
mind
;
The
thief
doth
fear
each
bush
an
officer
.
The
bird
that
hath
been
limèd
in
a
bush
,
With
trembling
wings
misdoubteth
every
bush
;
And
I
,
the
hapless
male
to
one
sweet
bird
,
Have
now
the
fatal
object
in
my
eye
Where
my
poor
young
was
limed
,
was
caught
,
and
killed
.
Why
,
what
a
peevish
fool
was
that
of
Crete
That
taught
his
son
the
office
of
a
fowl
!
And
yet
,
for
all
his
wings
,
the
fool
was
drowned
.
I
Daedalus
,
my
poor
boy
Icarus
,
Thy
father
Minos
,
that
denied
our
course
;
The
sun
that
seared
the
wings
of
my
sweet
boy
Thy
brother
Edward
,
and
thyself
the
sea
Whose
envious
gulf
did
swallow
up
his
life
.
Ah
,
kill
me
with
thy
weapon
,
not
with
words
!
My
breast
can
better
brook
thy
dagger’s
point
ACT 5. SC. 6
Than
can
my
ears
that
tragic
history
.
But
wherefore
dost
thou
come
?
Is
’t
for
my
life
?
Think’st
thou
I
am
an
executioner
?
A
persecutor
I
am
sure
thou
art
.
If
murdering
innocents
be
executing
,
Why
,
then
,
thou
art
an
executioner
.
Thy
son
I
killed
for
his
presumption
.
Hadst
thou
been
killed
when
first
thou
didst
presume
,
Thou
hadst
not
lived
to
kill
a
son
of
mine
.
And
thus
I
prophesy
:
that
many
a
thousand
Which
now
mistrust
no
parcel
of
my
fear
,
And
many
an
old
man’s
sigh
,
and
many
a
widow’s
And
many
an
orphan’s
water-standing
eye
,
Men
for
their
sons
,
wives
for
their
husbands
,
Orphans
for
their
parents’
timeless
death
,
Shall
rue
the
hour
that
ever
thou
wast
born
.
The
owl
shrieked
at
thy
birth
,
an
evil
sign
;
The
night-crow
cried
,
aboding
luckless
time
;
Dogs
howled
,
and
hideous
tempest
shook
down
trees
;
The
raven
rooked
her
on
the
chimney’s
top
;
And
chatt’ring
pies
in
dismal
discords
sung
;
Thy
mother
felt
more
than
a
mother’s
pain
,
And
yet
brought
forth
less
than
a
mother’s
hope
:
To
wit
,
an
indigested
and
deformèd
lump
,
Not
like
the
fruit
of
such
a
goodly
tree
.
Teeth
hadst
thou
in
thy
head
when
thou
wast
born
To
signify
thou
cam’st
to
bite
the
world
.
And
if
the
rest
be
true
which
I
have
heard
,
Thou
cam’st
—
I’ll
hear
no
more
.
Die
,
prophet
,
in
thy
speech
;
ACT 5. SC. 6
Stabs
him
.
For
this
amongst
the
rest
was
I
ordained
.
Ay
,
and
for
much
more
slaughter
after
this
.
O
God
,
forgive
my
sins
,
and
pardon
thee
.
Dies
.
What
,
will
the
aspiring
blood
of
Lancaster
Sink
in
the
ground
?
I
thought
it
would
have
mounted
.
See
how
my
sword
weeps
for
the
poor
king’s
death
.
O
,
may
such
purple
tears
be
always
shed
From
those
that
wish
the
downfall
of
our
house
.
If
any
spark
of
life
be
yet
remaining
,
Down
,
down
to
hell
,
and
say
I
sent
thee
thither
—
Stabs
him
again
.
I
that
have
neither
pity
,
love
,
nor
fear
.
Indeed
,
’tis
true
that
Henry
told
me
of
,
For
I
have
often
heard
my
mother
say
I
came
into
the
world
with
my
legs
forward
.
Had
I
not
reason
,
think
you
,
to
make
haste
And
seek
their
ruin
that
usurped
our
right
?
The
midwife
wondered
,
and
the
women
cried
O
Jesus
bless
us
,
he
is
born
with
teeth
!
And
so
I
was
,
which
plainly
signified
That
I
should
snarl
,
and
bite
,
and
play
the
dog
.
Then
,
since
the
heavens
have
shaped
my
body
so
,
Let
hell
make
crook’d
my
mind
to
answer
it
.
I
have
no
brother
,
I
am
like
no
brother
;
And
this
word
love
,
which
graybeards
call
divine
,
Be
resident
in
men
like
one
another
And
not
in
me
.
I
am
myself
alone
.
Clarence
,
beware
;
thou
keep’st
me
from
the
light
,
But
I
will
sort
a
pitchy
day
for
thee
;
For
I
will
buzz
abroad
such
prophecies
That
Edward
shall
be
fearful
of
his
life
;
And
then
to
purge
his
fear
,
I’ll
be
thy
death
.
King
Henry
and
the
Prince
his
son
are
gone
.
ACT 5. SC. 7
Clarence
,
thy
turn
is
next
,
and
then
the
rest
,
Counting
myself
but
bad
till
I
be
best
.
I’ll
throw
thy
body
in
another
room
,
And
triumph
,
Henry
,
in
thy
day
of
doom
.
He
exits
,
carrying
out
the
body
.
Scene
7
Flourish
.
Enter
King
Edward
,
Queen
Elizabeth
,
Clarence
,
Richard
of
Gloucester
,
Hastings
,
Nurse
,
carrying
infant
Prince
Edward
,
and
Attendants
.
Once
more
we
sit
in
England’s
royal
throne
,
Repurchased
with
the
blood
of
enemies
.
What
valiant
foemen
,
like
to
autumn’s
corn
,
Have
we
mowed
down
in
tops
of
all
their
pride
!
Three
dukes
of
Somerset
,
threefold
renowned
For
hardy
and
undoubted
champions
;
Two
Cliffords
,
as
the
father
and
the
son
;
And
two
Northumberlands
;
two
braver
men
Ne’er
spurred
their
coursers
at
the
trumpet’s
sound
.
With
them
the
two
brave
bears
,
Warwick
and
Montague
,
That
in
their
chains
fettered
the
kingly
lion
And
made
the
forest
tremble
when
they
roared
.
Thus
have
we
swept
suspicion
from
our
seat
And
made
our
footstool
of
security
.
—
Come
hither
,
Bess
,
and
let
me
kiss
my
boy
.
—
Young
Ned
,
for
thee
,
thine
uncles
and
myself
Have
in
our
armors
watched
the
winter’s
night
,
Went
all
afoot
in
summer’s
scalding
heat
,
That
thou
mightst
repossess
the
crown
in
peace
,
And
of
our
labors
thou
shalt
reap
the
gain
.
ACT 5. SC. 7
,
aside
I’ll
blast
his
harvest
,
if
your
head
were
laid
;
For
yet
I
am
not
looked
on
in
the
world
.
This
shoulder
was
ordained
so
thick
to
heave
,
And
heave
it
shall
some
weight
or
break
my
back
.
Work
thou
the
way
and
that
shalt
execute
.
Clarence
and
Gloucester
,
love
my
lovely
queen
,
And
kiss
your
princely
nephew
,
brothers
both
.
The
duty
that
I
owe
unto
your
Majesty
I
seal
upon
the
lips
of
this
sweet
babe
.
He
kisses
the
infant
.
Thanks
,
noble
Clarence
;
worthy
brother
,
thanks
.
And
that
I
love
the
tree
from
whence
thou
sprang’st
,
Witness
the
loving
kiss
I
give
the
fruit
.
He
kisses
the
infant
.
Aside
.
To
say
the
truth
,
so
Judas
kissed
his
master
And
cried
All
hail
!
whenas
he
meant
all
harm
.
Now
am
I
seated
as
my
soul
delights
,
Having
my
country’s
peace
and
brothers’
loves
.
What
will
your
Grace
have
done
with
Margaret
?
Reignier
,
her
father
,
to
the
King
of
France
Hath
pawned
the
Sicils
and
Jerusalem
,
And
hither
have
they
sent
it
for
her
ransom
.
Away
with
her
,
and
waft
her
hence
to
France
.
And
now
what
rests
but
that
we
spend
the
time
With
stately
triumphs
,
mirthful
comic
shows
,
Such
as
befits
the
pleasure
of
the
court
?
Sound
drums
and
trumpets
!
Farewell
,
sour
annoy
,
For
here
I
hope
begins
our
lasting
joy
.
Flourish
.
They
all
exit
.
all or part of a full metrical line
all or part of a prose speech
a short line which cannot be joined with other lines to form a full metrical line, or which may not be definitively identified asverse or prose
editorial emendation