The Unabridged Shakespeare contents:
-------------------------------------------
This work is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN, WORLDWIDE

(In approximate chronological order of composition within each group.)


Histories
---------
2 Henry VI
3 Henry VI
1 Henry VI
Richard III
Venus and Adonis
The Rape of Lucrece
Richard II
King John
1 Henry IV
2 Henry IV
Henry V
Sonnets and 'A Lover's Complaint'
Various Poems
Henry VIII

Comedies
--------
The Two Gentlemen of Verona
The Taming of the Shrew
The Comedy of Errors
Love's Labour's Lost
A Midsummer Night's Dream
The Merchant of Venice
The Merry Wives of Windsor
Much Ado About Nothing
As You Like It
Twelfth Night
Troilus and Cressida
Measure for Measure
All's Well That Ends Well
Pericles Prince of Tyre
The Winter's Tale
Cymbeline
The Tempest

Tragedies
---------
Titus Andronicus
Romeo and Juliet
Julius Caesar
Hamlet
Othello
Timon of Athens
King Lear
Macbeth
Antony and Cleopatra
Coriolanus

Glossary
--------

For more information about the entire series of Moby lexical databases, please contact Grady Ward at grady@btr.com.


The Complete Shakespeare: HISTORIES
-----------------------------------




	2 KING HENRY VI


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY
the Sixth	(KING HENRY VI:)

HUMPHREY	Duke of Gloucester, his uncle. (GLOUCESTER:)

CARDINAL BEAUFORT	Bishop of Winchester, great-uncle to the King.
	(CARDINAL:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Duke of York. (YORK:)


EDWARD	|
	|  his sons
RICHARD	|


DUKE OF SOMERSET	(SOMERSET:)

DUKE OF SUFFOLK	(SUFFOLK:)

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM	(BUCKINGHAM:)

LORD CLIFFORD	(CLIFFORD:)

YOUNG CLIFFORD	his son.

EARL OF SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

LORD SCALES	(SCALES:)

LORD SAY	(SAY:)

SIR HUMPHREY
STAFFORD	(SIR HUMPHREY:)

WILLIAM STAFFORD	Sir Humphrey Stafford's brother.

SIR JOHN STANLEY	(STANLEY:)

VAUX:

MATTHEW GOFFE:

	A Sea-captain, (Captain:)  Master, and Master's-Mate.

WALTER WHITMORE:

	Two Gentlemen, prisoners with Suffolk.
	(First Gentleman:)
	(Second Gentleman:)


JOHN HUME (HUME:)	|
	|  priests.
JOHN SOUTHWELL	|


BOLINGBROKE	a conjurer.

THOMAS HORNER	an armourer. (HORNER:)

PETER	Thomas Horner's man.

	Clerk of Chatham. (Clerk:)

	Mayor of Saint Alban's. (Mayor:)

SIMPCOX	an impostor.

ALEXANDER IDEN	a Kentish gentleman. (IDEN:)

JACK CADE	a rebel. (CADE:)


GEORGE BEVIS	(BEVIS:)	|
		|
JOHN HOLLAND	(HOLLAND:)	|
		|
DICK the butcher	(DICK:)	|
		|  followers of Cade.
SMITH the weaver	(SMITH:)	|
		|
MICHAEL	(MICHAEL:)	|
		|
&c.		|


	Two Murderers
	(First Murderer:)
	(Second Murderer:)

QUEEN MARGARET	Queen to King Henry.

ELEANOR	Duchess of Gloucester. (DUCHESS:)

MARGARET JOURDAIN	a witch.

	Wife to Simpcox  (Wife:)

	Lords, Ladies, and Attendants. Petitioners,
	Aldermen, a Herald, a Beadle, Sheriff, and
	Officers, Citizens, 'Prentices, Falconers,
	Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c.
	(First Neighbour:)
	(Second Neighbour:)
	(Third Neighbour:)
	(First Petitioner:)
	(Second Petitioner:)
	(Herald:)
	(Beadle:)
	(Sheriff:)
	(Servant:)
	(Soldier:)
	(Townsman:)
	(First 'Prentice:)
	(Second 'Prentice:)
	(Post:)
	(Messenger:)

	A Spirit. (Spirit:)



SCENE	England.




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING
	HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and
	CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK,
	YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other]

SUFFOLK	As by your high imperial majesty
	I had in charge at my depart for France,
	As procurator to your excellence,
	To marry Princess Margaret for your grace,
	So, in the famous ancient city, Tours,
	In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,
	The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon,
	Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops,
	I have perform'd my task and was espoused:
	And humbly now upon my bended knee,
	In sight of England and her lordly peers,
	Deliver up my title in the queen
	To your most gracious hands, that are the substance
	Of that great shadow I did represent;
	The happiest gift that ever marquess gave,
	The fairest queen that ever king received.

KING HENRY VI	Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret:
	I can express no kinder sign of love
	Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life,
	Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
	For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
	A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
	If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

QUEEN MARGARET	Great King of England and my gracious lord,
	The mutual conference that my mind hath had,
	By day, by night, waking and in my dreams,
	In courtly company or at my beads,
	With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign,
	Makes me the bolder to salute my king
	With ruder terms, such as my wit affords
	And over-joy of heart doth minister.

KING HENRY VI	Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech,
	Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,
	Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys;
	Such is the fulness of my heart's content.
	Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.

ALL	[Kneeling]  Long live Queen Margaret, England's
	happiness!

QUEEN MARGARET	We thank you all.

	[Flourish]

SUFFOLK	My lord protector, so it please your grace,
	Here are the articles of contracted peace
	Between our sovereign and the French king Charles,
	For eighteen months concluded by consent.

GLOUCESTER	[Reads]  'Imprimis, it is agreed between the French
	king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of
	Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that
	the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret,
	daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and
	Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the
	thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy
	of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released
	and delivered to the king her father'--

	[Lets the paper fall]

KING HENRY VI	Uncle, how now!

GLOUCESTER	       Pardon me, gracious lord;
	Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart
	And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further.

KING HENRY VI	Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on.

CARDINAL	[Reads]  'Item, It is further agreed between them,
	that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be
	released and delivered over to the king her father,
	and she sent over of the King of England's own
	proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.'

KING HENRY VI	They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down:
	We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,
	And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York,
	We here discharge your grace from being regent
	I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months
	Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester,
	Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset,
	Salisbury, and Warwick;
	We thank you all for the great favour done,
	In entertainment to my princely queen.
	Come, let us in, and with all speed provide
	To see her coronation be perform'd.

	[Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SUFFOLK]

GLOUCESTER	Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,
	To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
	Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
	What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,
	His valour, coin and people, in the wars?
	Did he so often lodge in open field,
	In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
	To conquer France, his true inheritance?
	And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,
	To keep by policy what Henry got?
	Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
	Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,
	Received deep scars in France and Normandy?
	Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,
	With all the learned council of the realm,
	Studied so long, sat in the council-house
	Early and late, debating to and fro
	How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe,
	And had his highness in his infancy
	Crowned in Paris in despite of foes?
	And shall these labours and these honours die?
	Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,
	Your deeds of war and all our counsel die?
	O peers of England, shameful is this league!
	Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,
	Blotting your names from books of memory,
	Razing the characters of your renown,
	Defacing monuments of conquer'd France,
	Undoing all, as all had never been!

CARDINAL	Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,
	This peroration with such circumstance?
	For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still.

GLOUCESTER	Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can;
	But now it is impossible we should:
	Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,
	Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine
	Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style
	Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.

SALISBURY	Now, by the death of Him that died for all,
	These counties were the keys of Normandy.
	But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?

WARWICK	For grief that they are past recovery:
	For, were there hope to conquer them again,
	My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.
	Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;
	Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer:
	And are the cities, that I got with wounds,
	Delivered up again with peaceful words?
	Mort Dieu!

YORK	For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate,
	That dims the honour of this warlike isle!
	France should have torn and rent my very heart,
	Before I would have yielded to this league.
	I never read but England's kings have had
	Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives:
	And our King Henry gives away his own,
	To match with her that brings no vantages.

GLOUCESTER	A proper jest, and never heard before,
	That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth
	For costs and charges in transporting her!
	She should have stayed in France and starved
	in France, Before--

CARDINAL	My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot:
	It was the pleasure of my lord the King.

GLOUCESTER	My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind;
	'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,
	But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye.
	Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face
	I see thy fury: if I longer stay,
	We shall begin our ancient bickerings.
	Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,
	I prophesied France will be lost ere long.

	[Exit]

CARDINAL	So, there goes our protector in a rage.
	'Tis known to you he is mine enemy,
	Nay, more, an enemy unto you all,
	And no great friend, I fear me, to the king.
	Consider, lords, he is the next of blood,
	And heir apparent to the English crown:
	Had Henry got an empire by his marriage,
	And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,
	There's reason he should be displeased at it.
	Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words
	Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect.
	What though the common people favour him,
	Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of
	Gloucester,'
	Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice,
	'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!'
	With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!'
	I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,
	He will be found a dangerous protector.

BUCKINGHAM	Why should he, then, protect our sovereign,
	He being of age to govern of himself?
	Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,
	And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk,
	We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat.

CARDINAL	This weighty business will not brook delay:
	I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently.

	[Exit]

SOMERSET	Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride
	And greatness of his place be grief to us,
	Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal:
	His insolence is more intolerable
	Than all the princes in the land beside:
	If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector.

BUCKINGHAM	Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector,
	Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal.

	[Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET]

SALISBURY	Pride went before, ambition follows him.
	While these do labour for their own preferment,
	Behoves it us to labour for the realm.
	I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester
	Did bear him like a noble gentleman.
	Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal,
	More like a soldier than a man o' the church,
	As stout and proud as he were lord of all,
	Swear like a ruffian and demean himself
	Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.
	Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age,
	Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping,
	Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,
	Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey:
	And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,
	In bringing them to civil discipline,
	Thy late exploits done in the heart of France,
	When thou wert regent for our sovereign,
	Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people:
	Join we together, for the public good,
	In what we can, to bridle and suppress
	The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal,
	With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition;
	And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds,
	While they do tend the profit of the land.

WARWICK	So God help Warwick, as he loves the land,
	And common profit of his country!

YORK	[Aside]  And so says York, for he hath greatest cause.

SALISBURY	Then let's make haste away, and look unto the main.

WARWICK	Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost;
	That Maine which by main force Warwick did win,
	And would have kept so long as breath did last!
	Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine,
	Which I will win from France, or else be slain,

	[Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY]

YORK	Anjou and Maine are given to the French;
	Paris is lost; the state of Normandy
	Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone:
	Suffolk concluded on the articles,
	The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased
	To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.
	I cannot blame them all: what is't to them?
	'Tis thine they give away, and not their own.
	Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage
	And purchase friends and give to courtezans,
	Still revelling like lords till all be gone;
	While as the silly owner of the goods
	Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands
	And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,
	While all is shared and all is borne away,
	Ready to starve and dare not touch his own:
	So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,
	While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold.
	Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland
	Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood
	As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd
	Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.
	Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!
	Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,
	Even as I have of fertile England's soil.
	A day will come when York shall claim his own;
	And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts
	And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,
	And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown,
	For that's the golden mark I seek to hit:
	Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,
	Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,
	Nor wear the diadem upon his head,
	Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.
	Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve:
	Watch thou and wake when others be asleep,
	To pry into the secrets of the state;
	Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,
	With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen,
	And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars:
	Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,
	With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed;
	And in my standard bear the arms of York
	To grapple with the house of Lancaster;
	And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown,
	Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE II	GLOUCESTER'S house.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER and his DUCHESS]

DUCHESS	Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn,
	Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?
	Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,
	As frowning at the favours of the world?
	Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth,
	Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?
	What seest thou there? King Henry's diadem,
	Enchased with all the honours of the world?
	If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,
	Until thy head be circled with the same.
	Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
	What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine:
	And, having both together heaved it up,
	We'll both together lift our heads to heaven,
	And never more abase our sight so low
	As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

GLOUCESTER	O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,
	Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts.
	And may that thought, when I imagine ill
	Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,
	Be my last breathing in this mortal world!
	My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.

DUCHESS	What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it
	With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.

GLOUCESTER	Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,
	Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot,
	But, as I think, it was by the cardinal;
	And on the pieces of the broken wand
	Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset,
	And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk.
	This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows.

DUCHESS	Tut, this was nothing but an argument
	That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove
	Shall lose his head for his presumption.
	But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke:
	Methought I sat in seat of majesty
	In the cathedral church of Westminster,
	And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd;
	Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel'd to me
	And on my head did set the diadem.

GLOUCESTER	Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright:
	Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor,
	Art thou not second woman in the realm,
	And the protector's wife, beloved of him?
	Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,
	Above the reach or compass of thy thought?
	And wilt thou still be hammering treachery,
	To tumble down thy husband and thyself
	From top of honour to disgrace's feet?
	Away from me, and let me hear no more!

DUCHESS	What, what, my lord! are you so choleric
	With Eleanor, for telling but her dream?
	Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself,
	And not be cheque'd.

GLOUCESTER	Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again.

	[Enter Messenger]

Messenger	My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure
	You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's,
	Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk.

GLOUCESTER	I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?

DUCHESS	Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently.

	[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Messenger]

	Follow I must; I cannot go before,
	While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind.
	Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,
	I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks
	And smooth my way upon their headless necks;
	And, being a woman, I will not be slack
	To play my part in Fortune's pageant.
	Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man,
	We are alone; here's none but thee and I.

	[Enter HUME]

HUME	Jesus preserve your royal majesty!

DUCHESS	What say'st thou? majesty! I am but grace.

HUME	But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice,
	Your grace's title shall be multiplied.

DUCHESS	What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd
	With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch,
	With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?
	And will they undertake to do me good?

HUME	This they have promised, to show your highness
	A spirit raised from depth of under-ground,
	That shall make answer to such questions
	As by your grace shall be propounded him.

DUCHESS	It is enough; I'll think upon the questions:
	When from St. Alban's we do make return,
	We'll see these things effected to the full.
	Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man,
	With thy confederates in this weighty cause.

	[Exit]

HUME	Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold;
	Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume!
	Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum:
	The business asketh silent secrecy.
	Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch:
	Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.
	Yet have I gold flies from another coast;
	I dare not say, from the rich cardinal
	And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk,
	Yet I do find it so; for to be plain,
	They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour,
	Have hired me to undermine the duchess
	And buz these conjurations in her brain.
	They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker;'
	Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker.
	Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near
	To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.
	Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last
	Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck,
	And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall:
	Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE III	The palace.


	[Enter three or four Petitioners, PETER, the
	Armourer's man, being one]

First Petitioner	My masters, let's stand close: my lord protector
	will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver
	our supplications in the quill.

Second Petitioner	Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man!
	Jesu bless him!

	[Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN MARGARET]

PETER	Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen with him.
	I'll be the first, sure.

Second Petitioner	Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and
	not my lord protector.

SUFFOLK	How now, fellow! would'st anything with me?

First Petitioner	I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my lord
	protector.

QUEEN MARGARET	[Reading]  'To my Lord Protector!' Are your
	supplications to his lordship? Let me see them:
	what is thine?

First Petitioner	Mine is, an't please your grace, against John
	Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my
	house, and lands, and wife and all, from me.

SUFFOLK	Thy wife, too! that's some wrong, indeed. What's
	yours? What's here!

	[Reads]

	'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the
	commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave!

Second Petitioner	Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township.

PETER	[Giving his petition]  Against my master, Thomas
	Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful
	heir to the crown.

QUEEN MARGARET	What sayst thou? did the Duke of York say he was
	rightful heir to the crown?

PETER	That my master was? no, forsooth: my master said
	that he was, and that the king was an usurper.

SUFFOLK	Who is there?

	[Enter Servant]

	Take this fellow in, and send for
	his master with a pursuivant presently: we'll hear
	more of your matter before the King.

	[Exit Servant with PETER]

QUEEN MARGARET	And as for you, that love to be protected
	Under the wings of our protector's grace,
	Begin your suits anew, and sue to him.

	[Tears the supplication]

	Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go.

ALL	Come, let's be gone.

	[Exeunt]

QUEEN MARGARET	My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,
	Is this the fashion in the court of England?
	Is this the government of Britain's isle,
	And this the royalty of Albion's king?
	What shall King Henry be a pupil still
	Under the surly Gloucester's governance?
	Am I a queen in title and in style,
	And must be made a subject to a duke?
	I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours
	Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love
	And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France,
	I thought King Henry had resembled thee
	In courage, courtship and proportion:
	But all his mind is bent to holiness,
	To number Ave-Maries on his beads;
	His champions are the prophets and apostles,
	His weapons holy saws of sacred writ,
	His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves
	Are brazen images of canonized saints.
	I would the college of the cardinals
	Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome,
	And set the triple crown upon his head:
	That were a state fit for his holiness.

SUFFOLK	Madam, be patient: as I was cause
	Your highness came to England, so will I
	In England work your grace's full content.

QUEEN MARGARET	Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort,
	The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham,
	And grumbling York: and not the least of these
	But can do more in England than the king.

SUFFOLK	And he of these that can do most of all
	Cannot do more in England than the Nevils:
	Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers.

QUEEN MARGARET	Not all these lords do vex me half so much
	As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife.
	She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,
	More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife:
	Strangers in court do take her for the queen:
	She bears a duke's revenues on her back,
	And in her heart she scorns our poverty:
	Shall I not live to be avenged on her?
	Contemptuous base-born callet as she is,
	She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day,
	The very train of her worst wearing gown
	Was better worth than all my father's lands,
	Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.

SUFFOLK	Madam, myself have limed a bush for her,
	And placed a quire of such enticing birds,
	That she will light to listen to the lays,
	And never mount to trouble you again.
	So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me;
	For I am bold to counsel you in this.
	Although we fancy not the cardinal,
	Yet must we join with him and with the lords,
	Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace.
	As for the Duke of York, this late complaint
	Will make but little for his benefit.
	So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last,
	And you yourself shall steer the happy helm.

	[Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER,
	CARDINAL, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY,
	WARWICK, and the DUCHESS]

KING HENRY VI	For my part, noble lords, I care not which;
	Or Somerset or York, all's one to me.

YORK	If York have ill demean'd himself in France,
	Then let him be denay'd the regentship.

SOMERSET	If Somerset be unworthy of the place,
	Let York be regent; I will yield to him.

WARWICK	Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no,
	Dispute not that: York is the worthier.

CARDINAL	Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.

WARWICK	The cardinal's not my better in the field.

BUCKINGHAM	All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.

WARWICK	Warwick may live to be the best of all.

SALISBURY	Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham,
	Why Somerset should be preferred in this.

QUEEN MARGARET	Because the king, forsooth, will have it so.

GLOUCESTER	Madam, the king is old enough himself
	To give his censure: these are no women's matters.

QUEEN MARGARET	If he be old enough, what needs your grace
	To be protector of his excellence?

GLOUCESTER	Madam, I am protector of the realm;
	And, at his pleasure, will resign my place.

SUFFOLK	Resign it then and leave thine insolence.
	Since thou wert king--as who is king but thou?--
	The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck;
	The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas;
	And all the peers and nobles of the realm
	Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.

CARDINAL	The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags
	Are lank and lean with thy extortions.

SOMERSET	Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire
	Have cost a mass of public treasury.

BUCKINGHAM	Thy cruelty in execution
	Upon offenders, hath exceeded law,
	And left thee to the mercy of the law.

QUEEN MARGARET	They sale of offices and towns in France,
	If they were known, as the suspect is great,
	Would make thee quickly hop without thy head.

	[Exit GLOUCESTER. QUEEN MARGARET drops her fan]

	Give me my fan: what, minion! can ye not?

	[She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear]

	I cry you mercy, madam; was it you?

DUCHESS	Was't I! yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman:
	Could I come near your beauty with my nails,
	I'd set my ten commandments in your face.

KING HENRY VI	Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will.

DUCHESS	Against her will! good king, look to't in time;
	She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby:
	Though in this place most master wear no breeches,
	She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged.

	[Exit]

BUCKINGHAM	Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,
	And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds:
	She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs,
	She'll gallop far enough to her destruction.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	Now, lords, my choler being over-blown
	With walking once about the quadrangle,
	I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.
	As for your spiteful false objections,
	Prove them, and I lie open to the law:
	But God in mercy so deal with my soul,
	As I in duty love my king and country!
	But, to the matter that we have in hand:
	I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man
	To be your regent in the realm of France.

SUFFOLK	Before we make election, give me leave
	To show some reason, of no little force,
	That York is most unmeet of any man.

YORK	I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet:
	First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride;
	Next, if I be appointed for the place,
	My Lord of Somerset will keep me here,
	Without discharge, money, or furniture,
	Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands:
	Last time, I danced attendance on his will
	Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost.

WARWICK	That can I witness; and a fouler fact
	Did never traitor in the land commit.

SUFFOLK	Peace, headstrong Warwick!

WARWICK	Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?

	[Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man
	PETER, guarded]

SUFFOLK	Because here is a man accused of treason:
	Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself!

YORK	Doth any one accuse York for a traitor?

KING HENRY VI	What mean'st thou, Suffolk; tell me, what are these?

SUFFOLK	Please it your majesty, this is the man
	That doth accuse his master of high treason:
	His words were these: that Richard, Duke of York,
	Was rightful heir unto the English crown
	And that your majesty was a usurper.

KING HENRY VI	Say, man, were these thy words?

HORNER	An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor
	thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am
	falsely accused by the villain.

PETER	By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak them to
	me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my
	Lord of York's armour.

YORK	Base dunghill villain and mechanical,
	I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech.
	I do beseech your royal majesty,
	Let him have all the rigor of the law.

HORNER	Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words.
	My accuser is my 'prentice; and when I did correct
	him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his
	knees he would be even with me: I have good
	witness of this: therefore I beseech your majesty,
	do not cast away an honest man for a villain's
	accusation.

KING HENRY VI	Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?

GLOUCESTER	This doom, my lord, if I may judge:
	Let Somerset be regent over the French,
	Because in York this breeds suspicion:
	And let these have a day appointed them
	For single combat in convenient place,
	For he hath witness of his servant's malice:
	This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom.

SOMERSET	I humbly thank your royal majesty.

HORNER	And I accept the combat willingly.

PETER	Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity
	my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O
	Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to
	fight a blow. O Lord, my heart!

GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd.

KING HENRY VI	Away with them to prison; and the day of combat
	shall be the last of the next month. Come,
	Somerset, we'll see thee sent away.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE IV	GLOUCESTER's garden.


	[Enter MARGARET JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and
	BOLINGBROKE]

HUME	Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects
	performance of your promises.

BOLINGBROKE	Master Hume, we are therefore provided: will her
	ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?

HUME	Ay, what else? fear you not her courage.

BOLINGBROKE	I have heard her reported to be a woman of an
	invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient,
	Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be
	busy below; and so, I pray you, go, in God's name,
	and leave us.

	[Exit HUME]

	Mother Jourdain, be you
	prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell,
	read you; and let us to our work.

	[Enter the DUCHESS aloft, HUME following]

DUCHESS	Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this
	gear the sooner the better.

BOLINGBROKE	Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:
	Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,
	The time of night when Troy was set on fire;
	The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl,
	And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves,
	That time best fits the work we have in hand.
	Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise,
	We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.

	[Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the
	circle; BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads, Conjuro te,
	&c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the
	Spirit riseth]

Spirit	Adsum.

MARGARET JOURDAIN	Asmath,
	By the eternal God, whose name and power
	Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;
	For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence.

Spirit	Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done!

BOLINGBROKE	'First of the king: what shall of him become?'

	[Reading out of a paper]

Spirit	The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;
	But him outlive, and die a violent death.

	[As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer]

BOLINGBROKE	'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?'

Spirit	By water shall he die, and take his end.

BOLINGBROKE	'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?'

Spirit	Let him shun castles;
	Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
	Than where castles mounted stand.
	Have done, for more I hardly can endure.

BOLINGBROKE	Descend to darkness and the burning lake!
	False fiend, avoid!

	[Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit]

	[Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM with their Guard
	and break in]

YORK	Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash.
	Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch.
	What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal
	Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains:
	My lord protector will, I doubt it not,
	See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.

DUCHESS	Not half so bad as thine to England's king,
	Injurious duke, that threatest where's no cause.

BUCKINGHAM	True, madam, none at all: what call you this?
	Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close.
	And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us.
	Stafford, take her to thee.

	[Exeunt above DUCHESS and HUME, guarded]

	We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming.
	All, away!

	[Exeunt guard with MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, &c]

YORK	Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well:
	A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!
	Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.
	What have we here?

	[Reads]

	'The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
	But him outlive, and die a violent death.'
	Why, this is just
	'Aio te, AEacida, Romanos vincere posse.'
	Well, to the rest:
	'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?
	By water shall he die, and take his end.
	What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?
	Let him shun castles;
	Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
	Than where castles mounted stand.'
	Come, come, my lords;
	These oracles are hardly attain'd,
	And hardly understood.
	The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's,
	With him the husband of this lovely lady:
	Thither go these news, as fast as horse can
	carry them:
	A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.

BUCKINGHAM	Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York,
	To be the post, in hope of his reward.

YORK	At your pleasure, my good lord. Who's within
	there, ho!

	[Enter a Servingman]

	Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick
	To sup with me to-morrow night. Away!

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE I	Saint Alban's.


	[Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER,
	CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers halloing]

QUEEN MARGARET	Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,
	I saw not better sport these seven years' day:
	Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high;
	And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.

KING HENRY VI	But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,
	And what a pitch she flew above the rest!
	To see how God in all his creatures works!
	Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.

SUFFOLK	No marvel, an it like your majesty,
	My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;
	They know their master loves to be aloft,
	And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.

GLOUCESTER	My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind
	That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

CARDINAL	I thought as much; he would be above the clouds.

GLOUCESTER	Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that?
	Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven?

KING HENRY VI	The treasury of everlasting joy.

CARDINAL	Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts
	Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart;
	Pernicious protector, dangerous peer,
	That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal!

GLOUCESTER	What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory?
	Tantaene animis coelestibus irae?
	Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice;
	With such holiness can you do it?

SUFFOLK	No malice, sir; no more than well becomes
	So good a quarrel and so bad a peer.

GLOUCESTER	As who, my lord?

SUFFOLK	       Why, as you, my lord,
	An't like your lordly lord-protectorship.

GLOUCESTER	Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.

QUEEN MARGARET	And thy ambition, Gloucester.

KING HENRY VI	I prithee, peace, good queen,
	And whet not on these furious peers;
	For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.

CARDINAL	Let me be blessed for the peace I make,
	Against this proud protector, with my sword!

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CARDINAL]  Faith, holy uncle, would
	'twere come to that!

CARDINAL	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Marry, when thou darest.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CARDINAL]  Make up no factious
	numbers for the matter;
	In thine own person answer thy abuse.

CARDINAL	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Ay, where thou darest
	not peep: an if thou darest,
	This evening, on the east side of the grove.

KING HENRY VI	How now, my lords!

CARDINAL	       Believe me, cousin Gloucester,
	Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
	We had had more sport.

	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]

		 Come with thy two-hand sword.

GLOUCESTER	True, uncle.

CARDINAL	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Are ye advised? the
	east side of the grove?

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CARDINAL]  Cardinal, I am with you.

KING HENRY VI	Why, how now, uncle Gloucester!

GLOUCESTER	Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.

	[Aside to CARDINAL]

	Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this,
	Or all my fence shall fail.

CARDINAL	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  Medice, teipsum--
	Protector, see to't well, protect yourself.

KING HENRY VI	The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords.
	How irksome is this music to my heart!
	When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?
	I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.

	[Enter a Townsman of Saint Alban's, crying 'A miracle!']

GLOUCESTER	What means this noise?
	Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?

Townsman	A miracle! a miracle!

SUFFOLK	Come to the king and tell him what miracle.

Townsman	Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine,
	Within this half-hour, hath received his sight;
	A man that ne'er saw in his life before.

KING HENRY VI	Now, God be praised, that to believing souls
	Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!

	[Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's and his
	brethren, bearing SIMPCOX, between two in a
	chair, SIMPCOX's Wife following]

CARDINAL	Here comes the townsmen on procession,
	To present your highness with the man.

KING HENRY VI	Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
	Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.

GLOUCESTER	Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king;
	His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.

KING HENRY VI	Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,
	That we for thee may glorify the Lord.
	What, hast thou been long blind and now restored?

SIMPCOX	Born blind, an't please your grace.

Wife	Ay, indeed, was he.

SUFFOLK	What woman is this?

Wife	His wife, an't like your worship.

GLOUCESTER	Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have
	better told.

KING HENRY VI	Where wert thou born?

SIMPCOX	At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace.

KING HENRY VI	Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee:
	Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass,
	But still remember what the Lord hath done.

QUEEN MARGARET	Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance,
	Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?

SIMPCOX	God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd
	A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep,
	By good Saint Alban; who said, 'Simpcox, come,
	Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.'

Wife	Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft
	Myself have heard a voice to call him so.

CARDINAL	What, art thou lame?

SIMPCOX	Ay, God Almighty help me!

SUFFOLK	How camest thou so?

SIMPCOX	A fall off of a tree.

Wife	A plum-tree, master.

GLOUCESTER	How long hast thou been blind?

SIMPCOX	Born so, master.

GLOUCESTER	       What, and wouldst climb a tree?

SIMPCOX	But that in all my life, when I was a youth.

Wife	Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.

GLOUCESTER	Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst
	venture so.

SIMPCOX	Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons,
	And made me climb, with danger of my life.

GLOUCESTER	A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.
	Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open them:
	In my opinion yet thou seest not well.

SIMPCOX	Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and
	Saint Alban.

GLOUCESTER	Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of?

SIMPCOX	Red, master; red as blood.

GLOUCESTER	Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of?

SIMPCOX	Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet.

KING HENRY VI	Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of?

SUFFOLK	And yet, I think, jet did he never see.

GLOUCESTER	But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many.

Wife	Never, before this day, in all his life.

GLOUCESTER	Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?

SIMPCOX	Alas, master, I know not.

GLOUCESTER	What's his name?

SIMPCOX	I know not.

GLOUCESTER	Nor his?

SIMPCOX	No, indeed, master.

GLOUCESTER	What's thine own name?

SIMPCOX	Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.

GLOUCESTER	Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in
	Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou
	mightest as well have known all our names as thus to
	name the several colours we do wear. Sight may
	distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them
	all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here
	hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his
	cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple
	to his legs again?

SIMPCOX	O master, that you could!

GLOUCESTER	My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not beadles in
	your town, and things called whips?

Mayor	Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.

GLOUCESTER	Then send for one presently.

Mayor	Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.

	[Exit an Attendant]

GLOUCESTER	Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, sirrah,
	if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me
	over this stool and run away.

SIMPCOX	Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone:
	You go about to torture me in vain.

	[Enter a Beadle with whips]

GLOUCESTER	Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah
	beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.

Beadle	I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your
	doublet quickly.

SIMPCOX	Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand.

	[After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over
	the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry, 'A miracle!']

KING HENRY VI	O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long?

QUEEN MARGARET	It made me laugh to see the villain run.

GLOUCESTER	Follow the knave; and take this drab away.

Wife	Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.

GLOUCESTER	Let them be whipped through every market-town, till
	they come to Berwick, from whence they came.

	[Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, &c]

CARDINAL	Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.

SUFFOLK	True; made the lame to leap and fly away.

GLOUCESTER	But you have done more miracles than I;
	You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM]

KING HENRY VI	What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM	Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold.
	A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent,
	Under the countenance and confederacy
	Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife,
	The ringleader and head of all this rout,
	Have practised dangerously against your state,
	Dealing with witches and with conjurers:
	Whom we have apprehended in the fact;
	Raising up wicked spirits from under ground,
	Demanding of King Henry's life and death,
	And other of your highness' privy-council;
	As more at large your grace shall understand.

CARDINAL	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  And so, my lord protector,
	by this means
	Your lady is forthcoming yet at London.
	This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge;
	'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.

GLOUCESTER	Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart:
	Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers;
	And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee,
	Or to the meanest groom.

KING HENRY VI	O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones,
	Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!

QUEEN MARGARET	Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest.
	And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.

GLOUCESTER	Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal,
	How I have loved my king and commonweal:
	And, for my wife, I know not how it stands;
	Sorry I am to hear what I have heard:
	Noble she is, but if she have forgot
	Honour and virtue and conversed with such
	As, like to pitch, defile nobility,
	I banish her my bed and company
	And give her as a prey to law and shame,
	That hath dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name.

KING HENRY VI	Well, for this night we will repose us here:
	To-morrow toward London back again,
	To look into this business thoroughly
	And call these foul offenders to their answers
	And poise the cause in justice' equal scales,
	Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE II	London. YORK'S garden.


	[Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK]

YORK	Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,
	Our simple supper ended, give me leave
	In this close walk to satisfy myself,
	In craving your opinion of my title,
	Which is infallible, to England's crown.

SALISBURY	My lord, I long to hear it at full.

WARWICK	Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good,
	The Nevils are thy subjects to command.

YORK	Then thus:
	Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons:
	The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales;
	The second, William of Hatfield, and the third,
	Lionel Duke of Clarence: next to whom
	Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster;
	The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York;
	The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester;
	William of Windsor was the seventh and last.
	Edward the Black Prince died before his father
	And left behind him Richard, his only son,
	Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as king;
	Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster,
	The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
	Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth,
	Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king,
	Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came,
	And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know,
	Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously.

WARWICK	Father, the duke hath told the truth:
	Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.

YORK	Which now they hold by force and not by right;
	For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead,
	The issue of the next son should have reign'd.

SALISBURY	But William of Hatfield died without an heir.

YORK	The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line
	I claimed the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter,
	Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March:
	Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March;
	Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor.

SALISBURY	This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
	As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;
	And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,
	Who kept him in captivity till he died.
	But to the rest.

YORK	       His eldest sister, Anne,
	My mother, being heir unto the crown
	Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was son
	To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son.
	By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir
	To Roger Earl of March, who was the son
	Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe,
	Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence:
	So, if the issue of the elder son
	Succeed before the younger, I am king.

WARWICK	What plain proceeding is more plain than this?
	Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
	The fourth son; York claims it from the third.
	Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign:
	It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee
	And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.
	Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together;
	And in this private plot be we the first
	That shall salute our rightful sovereign
	With honour of his birthright to the crown.

BOTH	Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king!

YORK	We thank you, lords. But I am not your king
	Till I be crown'd and that my sword be stain'd
	With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;
	And that's not suddenly to be perform'd,
	But with advice and silent secrecy.
	Do you as I do in these dangerous days:
	Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence,
	At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
	At Buckingham and all the crew of them,
	Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock,
	That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey:
	'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that
	Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.

SALISBURY	My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full.

WARWICK	My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick
	Shall one day make the Duke of York a king.

YORK	And, Nevil, this I do assure myself:
	Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick
	The greatest man in England but the king.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE III	A hall of justice.


	[Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
	MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY;
	the DUCHESS, MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, HUME,
	and BOLINGBROKE, under guard]

KING HENRY VI	Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife:
	In sight of God and us, your guilt is great:
	Receive the sentence of the law for sins
	Such as by God's book are adjudged to death.
	You four, from hence to prison back again;
	From thence unto the place of execution:
	The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes,
	And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.
	You, madam, for you are more nobly born,
	Despoiled of your honour in your life,
	Shall, after three days' open penance done,
	Live in your country here in banishment,
	With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man.

DUCHESS	Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death.

GLOUCESTER	Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged thee:
	I cannot justify whom the law condemns.

	[Exeunt DUCHESS and other prisoners, guarded]

	Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
	Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age
	Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!
	I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go;
	Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease.

KING HENRY VI	Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: ere thou go,
	Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself
	Protector be; and God shall be my hope,
	My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet:
	And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved
	Than when thou wert protector to thy King.

QUEEN MARGARET	I see no reason why a king of years
	Should be to be protected like a child.
	God and King Henry govern England's realm.
	Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm.

GLOUCESTER	My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff:
	As willingly do I the same resign
	As e'er thy father Henry made it mine;
	And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it
	As others would ambitiously receive it.
	Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone,
	May honourable peace attend thy throne!

	[Exit]

QUEEN MARGARET	Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen;
	And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself,
	That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once;
	His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off.
	This staff of honour raught, there let it stand
	Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.

SUFFOLK	Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays;
	Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days.

YORK	Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty,
	This is the day appointed for the combat;
	And ready are the appellant and defendant,
	The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,
	So please your highness to behold the fight.

QUEEN MARGARET	Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore
	Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.

KING HENRY VI	O God's name, see the lists and all things fit:
	Here let them end it; and God defend the right!

YORK	I never saw a fellow worse bested,
	Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,
	The servant of this armourer, my lords.

	[Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his
	Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk;
	and he enters with a drum before him and his staff
	with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the other
	door PETER, his man, with a drum and sand-bag, and
	'Prentices drinking to him]

First Neighbour	Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of
	sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.

Second Neighbour	And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco.

Third Neighbour	And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour:
	drink, and fear not your man.

HORNER	Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and
	a fig for Peter!

First 'Prentice	Here, Peter, I drink to thee: and be not afraid.

Second 'Prentice	Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight
	for credit of the 'prentices.

PETER	I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray
	you; for I think I have taken my last draught in
	this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee
	my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer:
	and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O
	Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to
	deal with my master, he hath learnt me so much fence already.

SALISBURY	Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows.
	Sirrah, what's thy name?

PETER	Peter, forsooth.

SALISBURY	Peter! what more?

PETER	Thump.

SALISBURY	Thump! then see thou thump thy master well.

HORNER	Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's
	instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an
	honest man: and touching the Duke of York, I will
	take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the
	king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at
	thee with a downright blow!

YORK	Dispatch: this knave's tongue begins to double.
	Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants!

	[Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes him down]

HORNER	Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason.

	[Dies]

YORK	Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the
	good wine in thy master's way.

PETER	O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence?
	O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right!

KING HENRY VI	Go, take hence that traitor from our sight;
	For his death we do perceive his guilt:
	And God in justice hath revealed to us
	The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,
	Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully.
	Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.

	[Sound a flourish. Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE IV	A street.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER and his Servingmen, in
	mourning cloaks]

GLOUCESTER	Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud;
	And after summer evermore succeeds
	Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold:
	So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.
	Sirs, what's o'clock?

Servants	Ten, my lord.

GLOUCESTER	Ten is the hour that was appointed me
	To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess:
	Uneath may she endure the flinty streets,
	To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
	Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
	The abject people gazing on thy face,
	With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,
	That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels
	When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
	But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare
	My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.

	[Enter the DUCHESS in a white sheet, and a taper
	burning in her hand; with STANLEY, the Sheriff,
	and Officers]

Servant	So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.

GLOUCESTER	No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by.

DUCHESS	Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
	Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze!
	See how the giddy multitude do point,
	And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee!
	Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,
	And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
	And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!

GLOUCESTER	Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.

DUCHESS	Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!
	For whilst I think I am thy married wife
	And thou a prince, protector of this land,
	Methinks I should not thus be led along,
	Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back,
	And followed with a rabble that rejoice
	To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans.
	The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,
	And when I start, the envious people laugh
	And bid me be advised how I tread.
	Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?
	Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world,
	Or count them happy that enjoy the sun?
	No; dark shall be my light and night my day;
	To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.
	Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife,
	And he a prince and ruler of the land:
	Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was
	As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
	Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock
	To every idle rascal follower.
	But be thou mild and blush not at my shame,
	Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death
	Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will;
	For Suffolk, he that can do all in all
	With her that hateth thee and hates us all,
	And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest,
	Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings,
	And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee:
	But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared,
	Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.

GLOUCESTER	Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry;
	I must offend before I be attainted;
	And had I twenty times so many foes,
	And each of them had twenty times their power,
	All these could not procure me any scathe,
	So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless.
	Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach?
	Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away
	But I in danger for the breach of law.
	Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell:
	I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;
	These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.

	[Enter a Herald]

Herald	I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament,
	Holden at Bury the first of this next month.

GLOUCESTER	And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before!
	This is close dealing. Well, I will be there.

	[Exit Herald]

	My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff,
	Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.

Sheriff	An't please your grace, here my commission stays,
	And Sir John Stanley is appointed now
	To take her with him to the Isle of Man.

GLOUCESTER	Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?

STANLEY	So am I given in charge, may't please your grace.

GLOUCESTER	Entreat her not the worse in that I pray
	You use her well: the world may laugh again;
	And I may live to do you kindness if
	You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell!

DUCHESS	What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell!

GLOUCESTER	Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.

	[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Servingmen]

DUCHESS	Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee!
	For none abides with me: my joy is death;
	Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd,
	Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
	Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence;
	I care not whither, for I beg no favour,
	Only convey me where thou art commanded.

STANLEY	Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man;
	There to be used according to your state.

DUCHESS	That's bad enough, for I am but reproach:
	And shall I then be used reproachfully?

STANLEY	Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's lady;
	According to that state you shall be used.

DUCHESS	Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,
	Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.

Sheriff	It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.

DUCHESS	Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged.
	Come, Stanley, shall we go?

STANLEY	Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,
	And go we to attire you for our journey.

DUCHESS	My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:
	No, it will hang upon my richest robes
	And show itself, attire me how I can.
	Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE I	The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund's.


	[Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
	MARGARET, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK, BUCKINGHAM,
	SALISBURY and WARWICK to the Parliament]

KING HENRY VI	I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come:
	'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
	Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.

QUEEN MARGARET	Can you not see? or will ye not observe
	The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?
	With what a majesty he bears himself,
	How insolent of late he is become,
	How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself?
	We know the time since he was mild and affable,
	And if we did but glance a far-off look,
	Immediately he was upon his knee,
	That all the court admired him for submission:
	But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,
	When every one will give the time of day,
	He knits his brow and shows an angry eye,
	And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,
	Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
	Small curs are not regarded when they grin;
	But great men tremble when the lion roars;
	And Humphrey is no little man in England.
	First note that he is near you in descent,
	And should you fall, he as the next will mount.
	Me seemeth then it is no policy,
	Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears
	And his advantage following your decease,
	That he should come about your royal person
	Or be admitted to your highness' council.
	By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts,
	And when he please to make commotion,
	'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him.
	Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;
	Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden
	And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
	The reverent care I bear unto my lord
	Made me collect these dangers in the duke.
	If it be fond, call it a woman's fear;
	Which fear if better reasons can supplant,
	I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke.
	My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,
	Reprove my allegation, if you can;
	Or else conclude my words effectual.

SUFFOLK	Well hath your highness seen into this duke;
	And, had I first been put to speak my mind,
	I think I should have told your grace's tale.
	The duchess, by his subornation,
	Upon my life, began her devilish practises:
	Or, if he were not privy to those faults,
	Yet, by reputing of his high descent,
	As next the king he was successive heir,
	And such high vaunts of his nobility,
	Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess
	By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall.
	Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep;
	And in his simple show he harbours treason.
	The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.
	No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man
	Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit.

CARDINAL	Did he not, contrary to form of law,
	Devise strange deaths for small offences done?

YORK	And did he not, in his protectorship,
	Levy great sums of money through the realm
	For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it?
	By means whereof the towns each day revolted.

BUCKINGHAM	Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown.
	Which time will bring to light in smooth
	Duke Humphrey.

KING HENRY VI	My lords, at once: the care you have of us,
	To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
	Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience,
	Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent
	From meaning treason to our royal person
	As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove:
	The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given
	To dream on evil or to work my downfall.

QUEEN MARGARET	Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance!
	Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed,
	For he's disposed as the hateful raven:
	Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him,
	For he's inclined as is the ravenous wolf.
	Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?
	Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all
	Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.

	[Enter SOMERSET]

SOMERSET	All health unto my gracious sovereign!

KING HENRY VI	Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?

SOMERSET	That all your interest in those territories
	Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.

KING HENRY VI	Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will be done!

YORK	[Aside]  Cold news for me; for I had hope of France
	As firmly as I hope for fertile England.
	Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud
	And caterpillars eat my leaves away;
	But I will remedy this gear ere long,
	Or sell my title for a glorious grave.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	All happiness unto my lord the king!
	Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long.

SUFFOLK	Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon,
	Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art:
	I do arrest thee of high treason here.

GLOUCESTER	Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush
	Nor change my countenance for this arrest:
	A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.
	The purest spring is not so free from mud
	As I am clear from treason to my sovereign:
	Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?

YORK	'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France,
	And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay;
	By means whereof his highness hath lost France.

GLOUCESTER	Is it but thought so? what are they that think it?
	I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay,
	Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
	So help me God, as I have watch'd the night,
	Ay, night by night, in studying good for England,
	That doit that e'er I wrested from the king,
	Or any groat I hoarded to my use,
	Be brought against me at my trial-day!
	No; many a pound of mine own proper store,
	Because I would not tax the needy commons,
	Have I disbursed to the garrisons,
	And never ask'd for restitution.

CARDINAL	It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.

GLOUCESTER	I say no more than truth, so help me God!

YORK	In your protectorship you did devise
	Strange tortures for offenders never heard of,
	That England was defamed by tyranny.

GLOUCESTER	Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was
	protector,
	Pity was all the fault that was in me;
	For I should melt at an offender's tears,
	And lowly words were ransom for their fault.
	Unless it were a bloody murderer,
	Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers,
	I never gave them condign punishment:
	Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured
	Above the felon or what trespass else.

SUFFOLK	My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered:
	But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,
	Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.
	I do arrest you in his highness' name;
	And here commit you to my lord cardinal
	To keep, until your further time of trial.

KING HENRY VI	My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope
	That you will clear yourself from all suspect:
	My conscience tells me you are innocent.

GLOUCESTER	Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous:
	Virtue is choked with foul ambition
	And charity chased hence by rancour's hand;
	Foul subornation is predominant
	And equity exiled your highness' land.
	I know their complot is to have my life,
	And if my death might make this island happy,
	And prove the period of their tyranny,
	I would expend it with all willingness:
	But mine is made the prologue to their play;
	For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril,
	Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
	Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
	And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;
	Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue
	The envious load that lies upon his heart;
	And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
	Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back,
	By false accuse doth level at my life:
	And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,
	Causeless have laid disgraces on my head,
	And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up
	My liefest liege to be mine enemy:
	Ay, all you have laid your heads together--
	Myself had notice of your conventicles--
	And all to make away my guiltless life.
	I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
	Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt;
	The ancient proverb will be well effected:
	'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.'

CARDINAL	My liege, his railing is intolerable:
	If those that care to keep your royal person
	From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage
	Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at,
	And the offender granted scope of speech,
	'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.

SUFFOLK	Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here
	With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd,
	As if she had suborned some to swear
	False allegations to o'erthrow his state?

QUEEN MARGARET	But I can give the loser leave to chide.

GLOUCESTER	Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed;
	Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false!
	And well such losers may have leave to speak.

BUCKINGHAM	He'll wrest the sense and hold us here all day:
	Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner.

CARDINAL	Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure.

GLOUCESTER	Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch
	Before his legs be firm to bear his body.
	Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
	And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.
	Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were!
	For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear.

	[Exit, guarded]

KING HENRY VI	My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best,
	Do or undo, as if ourself were here.

QUEEN MARGARET	What, will your highness leave the parliament?

KING HENRY VI	Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief,
	Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes,
	My body round engirt with misery,
	For what's more miserable than discontent?
	Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see
	The map of honour, truth and loyalty:
	And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come
	That e'er I proved thee false or fear'd thy faith.
	What louring star now envies thy estate,
	That these great lords and Margaret our queen
	Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?
	Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong;
	And as the butcher takes away the calf
	And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,
	Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,
	Even so remorseless have they borne him hence;
	And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
	Looking the way her harmless young one went,
	And can do nought but wail her darling's loss,
	Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case
	With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes
	Look after him and cannot do him good,
	So mighty are his vowed enemies.
	His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan
	Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.'

	[Exeunt all but QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL,
	SUFFOLK, and YORK; SOMERSET remains apart]

QUEEN MARGARET	Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams.
	Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,
	Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester's show
	Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile
	With sorrow snares relenting passengers,
	Or as the snake roll'd in a flowering bank,
	With shining chequer'd slough, doth sting a child
	That for the beauty thinks it excellent.
	Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I--
	And yet herein I judge mine own wit good--
	This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world,
	To rid us of the fear we have of him.

CARDINAL	That he should die is worthy policy;
	But yet we want a colour for his death:
	'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.

SUFFOLK	But, in my mind, that were no policy:
	The king will labour still to save his life,
	The commons haply rise, to save his life;
	And yet we have but trivial argument,
	More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.

YORK	So that, by this, you would not have him die.

SUFFOLK	Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!

YORK	'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.
	But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,
	Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,
	Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set
	To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,
	As place Duke Humphrey for the king's protector?

QUEEN MARGARET	So the poor chicken should be sure of death.

SUFFOLK	Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness, then,
	To make the fox surveyor of the fold?
	Who being accused a crafty murderer,
	His guilt should be but idly posted over,
	Because his purpose is not executed.
	No; let him die, in that he is a fox,
	By nature proved an enemy to the flock,
	Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,
	As Humphrey, proved by reasons, to my liege.
	And do not stand on quillets how to slay him:
	Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,
	Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,
	So he be dead; for that is good deceit
	Which mates him first that first intends deceit.

QUEEN MARGARET	Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.

SUFFOLK	Not resolute, except so much were done;
	For things are often spoke and seldom meant:
	But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,
	Seeing the deed is meritorious,
	And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,
	Say but the word, and I will be his priest.

CARDINAL	But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,
	Ere you can take due orders for a priest:
	Say you consent and censure well the deed,
	And I'll provide his executioner,
	I tender so the safety of my liege.

SUFFOLK	Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.

QUEEN MARGARET	And so say I.

YORK	And I    and now we three have spoke it,
	It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.

	[Enter a Post]

Post	Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain,
	To signify that rebels there are up
	And put the Englishmen unto the sword:
	Send succors, lords, and stop the rage betime,
	Before the wound do grow uncurable;
	For, being green, there is great hope of help.

CARDINAL	A breach that craves a quick expedient stop!
	What counsel give you in this weighty cause?

YORK	That Somerset be sent as regent thither:
	'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd;
	Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

SOMERSET	If York, with all his far-fet policy,
	Had been the regent there instead of me,
	He never would have stay'd in France so long.

YORK	No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done:
	I rather would have lost my life betimes
	Than bring a burthen of dishonour home
	By staying there so long till all were lost.
	Show me one scar character'd on thy skin:
	Men's flesh preserved so whole do seldom win.

QUEEN MARGARET	Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
	If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with:
	No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still:
	Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,
	Might happily have proved far worse than his.

YORK	What, worse than nought? nay, then, a shame take all!

SOMERSET	And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!

CARDINAL	My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.
	The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms
	And temper clay with blood of Englishmen:
	To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
	Collected choicely, from each county some,
	And try your hap against the Irishmen?

YORK	I will, my lord, so please his majesty.

SUFFOLK	Why, our authority is his consent,
	And what we do establish he confirms:
	Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

YORK	I am content: provide me soldiers, lords,
	Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

SUFFOLK	A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd.
	But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.

CARDINAL	No more of him; for I will deal with him
	That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.
	And so break off; the day is almost spent:
	Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

YORK	My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
	At Bristol I expect my soldiers;
	For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

SUFFOLK	I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York.

	[Exeunt all but YORK]

YORK	Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,
	And change misdoubt to resolution:
	Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art
	Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying:
	Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,
	And find no harbour in a royal heart.
	Faster than spring-time showers comes thought
	on thought,
	And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
	My brain more busy than the labouring spider
	Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
	Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done,
	To send me packing with an host of men:
	I fear me you but warm the starved snake,
	Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting
	your hearts.
	'Twas men I lack'd and you will give them me:
	I take it kindly; and yet be well assured
	You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
	Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
	I will stir up in England some black storm
	Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;
	And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
	Until the golden circuit on my head,
	Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
	Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.
	And, for a minister of my intent,
	I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,
	John Cade of Ashford,
	To make commotion, as full well he can,
	Under the title of John Mortimer.
	In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
	Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,
	And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
	Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine;
	And, in the end being rescued, I have seen
	Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
	Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.
	Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern,
	Hath he conversed with the enemy,
	And undiscover'd come to me again
	And given me notice of their villanies.
	This devil here shall be my substitute;
	For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
	In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:
	By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
	How they affect the house and claim of York.
	Say he be taken, rack'd and tortured,
	I know no pain they can inflict upon him
	Will make him say I moved him to those arms.
	Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will,
	Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength
	And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd;
	For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
	And Henry put apart, the next for me.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE II	Bury St. Edmund's. A room of state.


	[Enter certain Murderers, hastily]

First Murderer	Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know
	We have dispatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

Second Murderer	O that it were to do! What have we done?
	Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

	[Enter SUFFOLK]

First Murder	Here comes my lord.

SUFFOLK	Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing?

First Murderer	Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

SUFFOLK	Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;
	I will reward you for this venturous deed.
	The king and all the peers are here at hand.
	Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,
	According as I gave directions?

First Murderer	'Tis, my good lord.

SUFFOLK	Away! be gone.

	[Exeunt Murderers]

	[Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
	MARGARET, CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with Attendants]

KING HENRY VI	Go, call our uncle to our presence straight;
	Say we intend to try his grace to-day.
	If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

SUFFOLK	I'll call him presently, my noble lord.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY VI	Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,
	Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester
	Than from true evidence of good esteem
	He be approved in practise culpable.

QUEEN MARGARET	God forbid any malice should prevail,
	That faultless may condemn a nobleman!
	Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

KING HENRY VI	I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.

	[Re-enter SUFFOLK]

	How now! why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
	Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?

SUFFOLK	Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.

QUEEN MARGARET	Marry, God forfend!

CARDINAL	God's secret judgment: I did dream to-night
	The duke was dumb and could not speak a word.

	[KING HENRY VI swoons]

QUEEN MARGARET	How fares my lord? Help, lords! the king is dead.

SOMERSET	Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.

QUEEN MARGARET	Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!

SUFFOLK	He doth revive again: madam, be patient.

KING HENRY VI	O heavenly God!

QUEEN MARGARET	How fares my gracious lord?

SUFFOLK	Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!

KING HENRY VI	What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
	Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
	Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;
	And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,
	By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
	Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
	Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words;
	Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
	Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.
	Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
	Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
	Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
	Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding:
	Yet do not go away: come, basilisk,
	And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
	For in the shade of death I shall find joy;
	In life but double death, now Gloucester's dead.

QUEEN MARGARET	Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?
	Although the duke was enemy to him,
	Yet he most Christian-like laments his death:
	And for myself, foe as he was to me,
	Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans
	Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,
	I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
	Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,
	And all to have the noble duke alive.
	What know I how the world may deem of me?
	For it is known we were but hollow friends:
	It may be judged I made the duke away;
	So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
	And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
	This get I by his death: ay me, unhappy!
	To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!

KING HENRY VI	Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!

QUEEN MARGARET	Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.
	What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face?
	I am no loathsome leper; look on me.
	What! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?
	Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen.
	Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb?
	Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.
	Erect his statue and worship it,
	And make my image but an alehouse sign.
	Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea
	And twice by awkward wind from England's bank
	Drove back again unto my native clime?
	What boded this, but well forewarning wind
	Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest,
	Nor set no footing on this unkind shore'?
	What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts
	And he that loosed them forth their brazen caves:
	And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,
	Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock
	Yet AEolus would not be a murderer,
	But left that hateful office unto thee:
	The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me,
	Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore,
	With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness:
	The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands
	And would not dash me with their ragged sides,
	Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
	Might in thy palace perish Margaret.
	As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,
	When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,
	I stood upon the hatches in the storm,
	And when the dusky sky began to rob
	My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
	I took a costly jewel from my neck,
	A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,
	And threw it towards thy land: the sea received it,
	And so I wish'd thy body might my heart:
	And even with this I lost fair England's view
	And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart
	And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
	For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
	How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue,
	The agent of thy foul inconstancy,
	To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did
	When he to madding Dido would unfold
	His father's acts commenced in burning Troy!
	Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?
	Ay me, I can no more! die, Margaret!
	For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.

	[Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY, and many Commons]

WARWICK	It is reported, mighty sovereign,
	That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd
	By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.
	The commons, like an angry hive of bees
	That want their leader, scatter up and down
	And care not who they sting in his revenge.
	Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
	Until they hear the order of his death.

KING HENRY VI	That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;
	But how he died God knows, not Henry:
	Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
	And comment then upon his sudden death.

WARWICK	That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury,
	With the rude multitude till I return.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY VI	O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts,
	My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul
	Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life!
	If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,
	For judgment only doth belong to thee.
	Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
	With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain
	Upon his face an ocean of salt tears,
	To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
	And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling:
	But all in vain are these mean obsequies;
	And to survey his dead and earthly image,
	What were it but to make my sorrow greater?

	[Re-enter WARWICK and others, bearing
	GLOUCESTER'S body on a bed]

WARWICK	Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.

KING HENRY VI	That is to see how deep my grave is made;
	For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,
	For seeing him I see my life in death.

WARWICK	As surely as my soul intends to live
	With that dread King that took our state upon him
	To free us from his father's wrathful curse,
	I do believe that violent hands were laid
	Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.

SUFFOLK	A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!
	What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?

WARWICK	See how the blood is settled in his face.
	Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,
	Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and bloodless,
	Being all descended to the labouring heart;
	Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
	Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;
	Which with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth
	To blush and beautify the cheek again.
	But see, his face is black and full of blood,
	His eye-balls further out than when he lived,
	Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;
	His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with struggling;
	His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
	And tugg'd for life and was by strength subdued:
	Look, on the sheets his hair you see, is sticking;
	His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
	Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.
	It cannot be but he was murder'd here;
	The least of all these signs were probable.

SUFFOLK	Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death?
	Myself and Beaufort had him in protection;
	And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.

WARWICK	But both of you were vow'd Duke Humphrey's foes,
	And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep:
	'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend;
	And 'tis well seen he found an enemy.

QUEEN MARGARET	Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen
	As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death.

WARWICK	Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh
	And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,
	But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?
	Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,
	But may imagine how the bird was dead,
	Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
	Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

QUEEN MARGARET	Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where's your knife?
	Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his talons?

SUFFOLK	I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men;
	But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
	That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart
	That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.
	Say, if thou darest, proud Lord of Warwick-shire,
	That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death.

	[Exeunt CARDINAL, SOMERSET, and others]

WARWICK	What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?

QUEEN MARGARET	He dares not calm his contumelious spirit
	Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
	Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

WARWICK	Madam, be still; with reverence may I say;
	For every word you speak in his behalf
	Is slander to your royal dignity.

SUFFOLK	Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanor!
	If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much,
	Thy mother took into her blameful bed
	Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock
	Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art,
	And never of the Nevils' noble race.

WARWICK	But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee
	And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,
	Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,
	And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,
	I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee
	Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,
	And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st
	That thou thyself was born in bastardy;
	And after all this fearful homage done,
	Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell,
	Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men!

SUFFOLK	Thou shall be waking well I shed thy blood,
	If from this presence thou darest go with me.

WARWICK	Away even now, or I will drag thee hence:
	Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee
	And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ghost.

	[Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK]

KING HENRY VI	What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted!
	Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just,
	And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel
	Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

	[A noise within]

QUEEN MARGARET	What noise is this?

	[Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their
	weapons drawn]

KING HENRY VI	Why, how now, lords! your wrathful weapons drawn
	Here in our presence! dare you be so bold?
	Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?

SUFFOLK	The traitorous Warwick with the men of Bury
	Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.

SALISBURY	[To the Commons, entering]  Sirs, stand apart;
	the king shall know your mind.
	Dread lord, the commons send you word by me,
	Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death,
	Or banished fair England's territories,
	They will by violence tear him from your palace
	And torture him with grievous lingering death.
	They say, by him the good Duke Humphrey died;
	They say, in him they fear your highness' death;
	And mere instinct of love and loyalty,
	Free from a stubborn opposite intent,
	As being thought to contradict your liking,
	Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
	They say, in care of your most royal person,
	That if your highness should intend to sleep
	And charge that no man should disturb your rest
	In pain of your dislike or pain of death,
	Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict,
	Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,
	That slily glided towards your majesty,
	It were but necessary you were waked,
	Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
	The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal;
	And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
	That they will guard you, whether you will or no,
	From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is,
	With whose envenomed and fatal sting,
	Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
	They say, is shamefully bereft of life.

Commons	[Within]  An answer from the king, my
	Lord of Salisbury!

SUFFOLK	'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds,
	Could send such message to their sovereign:
	But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
	To show how quaint an orator you are:
	But all the honour Salisbury hath won
	Is, that he was the lord ambassador
	Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.

Commons	[Within]  An answer from the king, or we will all break in!

KING HENRY VI	Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me.
	I thank them for their tender loving care;
	And had I not been cited so by them,
	Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;
	For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
	Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means:
	And therefore, by His majesty I swear,
	Whose far unworthy deputy I am,
	He shall not breathe infection in this air
	But three days longer, on the pain of death.

	[Exit SALISBURY]

QUEEN MARGARET	O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!

KING HENRY VI	Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk!
	No more, I say: if thou dost plead for him,
	Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
	Had I but said, I would have kept my word,
	But when I swear, it is irrevocable.
	If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found
	On any ground that I am ruler of,
	The world shall not be ransom for thy life.
	Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;
	I have great matters to impart to thee.

	[Exeunt all but QUEEN MARGARET and SUFFOLK]

QUEEN MARGARET	Mischance and sorrow go along with you!
	Heart's discontent and sour affliction
	Be playfellows to keep you company!
	There's two of you; the devil make a third!
	And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!

SUFFOLK	Cease, gentle queen, these execrations,
	And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

QUEEN MARGARET	Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch!
	Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?

SUFFOLK	A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them?
	Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
	I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
	As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear,
	Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
	With full as many signs of deadly hate,
	As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave:
	My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words;
	Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;
	Mine hair be fixed on end, as one distract;
	Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:
	And even now my burthen'd heart would break,
	Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!
	Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!
	Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!
	Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks!
	Their softest touch as smart as lizards' sting!
	Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss,
	And boding screech-owls make the concert full!
	All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell--

QUEEN MARGARET	Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st thyself;
	And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass,
	Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,
	And turn the force of them upon thyself.

SUFFOLK	You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?
	Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
	Well could I curse away a winter's night,
	Though standing naked on a mountain top,
	Where biting cold would never let grass grow,
	And think it but a minute spent in sport.

QUEEN MARGARET	O, let me entreat thee cease. Give me thy hand,
	That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
	Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
	To wash away my woful monuments.
	O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,
	That thou mightst think upon these by the seal,
	Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for thee!
	So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
	'Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by,
	As one that surfeits thinking on a want.
	I will repeal thee, or, be well assured,
	Adventure to be banished myself:
	And banished I am, if but from thee.
	Go; speak not to me; even now be gone.
	O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn'd
	Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves,
	Loather a hundred times to part than die.
	Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!

SUFFOLK	Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished;
	Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.
	'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence;
	A wilderness is populous enough,
	So Suffolk had thy heavenly company:
	For where thou art, there is the world itself,
	With every several pleasure in the world,
	And where thou art not, desolation.
	I can no more: live thou to joy thy life;
	Myself no joy in nought but that thou livest.

	[Enter VAUX]

QUEEN MARGARET	Wither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I prithee?

VAUX	To signify unto his majesty
	That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death;
	For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,
	That makes him gasp and stare and catch the air,
	Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth.
	Sometimes he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost
	Were by his side; sometime he calls the king,
	And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
	The secrets of his overcharged soul;
	And I am sent to tell his majesty
	That even now he cries aloud for him.

QUEEN MARGARET	Go tell this heavy message to the king.

	[Exit VAUX]

	Ay me! what is this world! what news are these!
	But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,
	Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure?
	Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
	And with the southern clouds contend in tears,
	Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows?
	Now get thee hence: the king, thou know'st, is coming;
	If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.

SUFFOLK	If I depart from thee, I cannot live;
	And in thy sight to die, what were it else
	But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
	Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
	As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe
	Dying with mother's dug between its lips:
	Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,
	And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
	To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;
	So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul,
	Or I should breathe it so into thy body,
	And then it lived in sweet Elysium.
	To die by thee were but to die in jest;
	From thee to die were torture more than death:
	O, let me stay, befall what may befall!

QUEEN MARGARET	Away! though parting be a fretful corrosive,
	It is applied to a deathful wound.
	To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee;
	For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe,
	I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out.

SUFFOLK	I go.

QUEEN MARGARET	And take my heart with thee.

SUFFOLK	A jewel, lock'd into the wofull'st cask
	That ever did contain a thing of worth.
	Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we
	This way fall I to death.

QUEEN MARGARET	This way for me.

	[Exeunt severally]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE III	A bedchamber.


	[Enter the KING, SALISBURY, WARWICK, to the
	CARDINAL in bed]

KING HENRY VI	How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to
	thy sovereign.

CARDINAL	If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
	Enough to purchase such another island,
	So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

KING HENRY VI	Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
	Where death's approach is seen so terrible!

WARWICK	Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.

CARDINAL	Bring me unto my trial when you will.
	Died he not in his bed? where should he die?
	Can I make men live, whether they will or no?
	O, torture me no more! I will confess.
	Alive again? then show me where he is:
	I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.
	He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.
	Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright,
	Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.
	Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary
	Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

KING HENRY VI	O thou eternal Mover of the heavens.
	Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
	O, beat away the busy meddling fiend
	That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul.
	And from his bosom purge this black despair!

WARWICK	See, how the pangs of death do make him grin!

SALISBURY	Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.

KING HENRY VI	Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!
	Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,
	Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
	He dies, and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!

WARWICK	So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

KING HENRY VI	Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
	Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;
	And let us all to meditation.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE I	The coast of Kent.


	[Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a
	Captain, a Master, a Master's-mate, WALTER WHITMORE,
	and others; with them SUFFOLK, and others, prisoners]

Captain	The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day
	Is crept into the bosom of the sea;
	And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
	That drag the tragic melancholy night;
	Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings,
	Clip dead men's graves and from their misty jaws
	Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
	Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
	For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
	Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,
	Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.
	Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;
	And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;
	The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

First Gentleman	What is my ransom, master? let me know.

Master	A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.

Master's-Mate	And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.

Captain	What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
	And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
	Cut both the villains' throats; for die you shall:
	The lives of those which we have lost in fight
	Be counterpoised with such a petty sum!

First Gentleman	I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.

Second Gentleman	And so will I and write home for it straight.

WHITMORE	I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
	And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die;

	[To SUFFOLK]

	And so should these, if I might have my will.

Captain	Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.

SUFFOLK	Look on my George; I am a gentleman:
	Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.

WHITMORE	And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.
	How now! why start'st thou? what, doth
	death affright?

SUFFOLK	Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
	A cunning man did calculate my birth
	And told me that by water I should die:
	Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;
	Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded.

WHITMORE	Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not:
	Never yet did base dishonour blur our name,
	But with our sword we wiped away the blot;
	Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
	Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced,
	And I proclaim'd a coward through the world!

SUFFOLK	Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince,
	The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.

WHITMORE	The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags!

SUFFOLK	Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke:
	Jove sometimes went disguised, and why not I?

Captain	But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.

SUFFOLK	Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood,
	The honourable blood of Lancaster,
	Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
	Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup?
	Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule
	And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
	How often hast thou waited at my cup,
	Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board.
	When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?
	Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall'n,
	Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride;
	How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood
	And duly waited for my coming forth?
	This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
	And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.

WHITMORE	Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?

Captain	First let my words stab him, as he hath me.

SUFFOLK	Base slave, thy words are blunt and so art thou.

Captain	Convey him hence and on our longboat's side
	Strike off his head.

SUFFOLK	Thou darest not, for thy own.

Captain	Yes, Pole.

SUFFOLK	       Pole!

Captain	         Pool! Sir Pool! lord!
	Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt
	Troubles the silver spring where England drinks.
	Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth
	For swallowing the treasure of the realm:
	Thy lips that kiss'd the queen shall sweep the ground;
	And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey's death,
	Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain,
	Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again:
	And wedded be thou to the hags of hell,
	For daring to affy a mighty lord
	Unto the daughter of a worthless king,
	Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.
	By devilish policy art thou grown great,
	And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged
	With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.
	By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France,
	The false revolting Normans thorough thee
	Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy
	Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts,
	And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
	The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,
	Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,
	As hating thee, are rising up in arms:
	And now the house of York, thrust from the crown
	By shameful murder of a guiltless king
	And lofty proud encroaching tyranny,
	Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours
	Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine,
	Under the which is writ 'Invitis nubibus.'
	The commons here in Kent are up in arms:
	And, to conclude, reproach and beggary
	Is crept into the palace of our king.
	And all by thee. Away! convey him hence.

SUFFOLK	O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
	Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!
	Small things make base men proud: this villain here,
	Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more
	Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate.
	Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob beehives:
	It is impossible that I should die
	By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
	Thy words move rage and not remorse in me:
	I go of message from the queen to France;
	I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel.

Captain	Walter,--

WHITMORE	Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.

SUFFOLK	Gelidus timor occupat artus it is thee I fear.

WHITMORE	Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.
	What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop?

First Gentleman	My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.

SUFFOLK	Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough,
	Used to command, untaught to plead for favour.
	Far be it we should honour such as these
	With humble suit: no, rather let my head
	Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any
	Save to the God of heaven and to my king;
	And sooner dance upon a bloody pole
	Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom.
	True nobility is exempt from fear:
	More can I bear than you dare execute.

Captain	Hale him away, and let him talk no more.

SUFFOLK	Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,
	That this my death may never be forgot!
	Great men oft die by vile bezonians:
	A Roman sworder and banditto slave
	Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand
	Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders
	Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.

	[Exeunt Whitmore and others with Suffolk]

Captain	And as for these whose ransom we have set,
	It is our pleasure one of them depart;
	Therefore come you with us and let him go.

	[Exeunt all but the First Gentleman]

	[Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK's body]

WHITMORE	There let his head and lifeless body lie,
	Until the queen his mistress bury it.

	[Exit]

First Gentleman	O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
	His body will I bear unto the king:
	If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
	So will the queen, that living held him dear.

	[Exit with the body]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE II	Blackheath.


	[Enter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND]

BEVIS	Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath;
	they have been up these two days.

HOLLAND	They have the more need to sleep now, then.

BEVIS	I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress
	the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.

HOLLAND	So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say it
	was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up.

BEVIS	O miserable age! virtue is not regarded in handicrafts-men.

HOLLAND	The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.

BEVIS	Nay, more, the king's council are no good workmen.

HOLLAND	True; and yet it is said, labour in thy vocation;
	which is as much to say as, let the magistrates be
	labouring men; and therefore should we be
	magistrates.

BEVIS	Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a
	brave mind than a hard hand.

HOLLAND	I see them! I see them! there's Best's son, the
	tanner of Wingham,--

BEVIS	He shall have the skin of our enemies, to make
	dog's-leather of.

HOLLAND	And Dick the Butcher,--

BEVIS	Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity's
	throat cut like a calf.

HOLLAND	And Smith the weaver,--

BEVIS	Argo, their thread of life is spun.

HOLLAND	Come, come, let's fall in with them.

	[Drum. Enter CADE, DICK the Butcher, SMITH the
	Weaver, and a Sawyer, with infinite numbers]

CADE	We John Cade, so termed of our supposed father,--

DICK	[Aside]  Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings.

CADE	For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with
	the spirit of putting down kings and princes,
	--Command silence.

DICK	Silence!

CADE	My father was a Mortimer,--

DICK	[Aside]  He was an honest man, and a good
	bricklayer.

CADE	My mother a Plantagenet,--

DICK	[Aside]  I knew her well; she was a midwife.

CADE	My wife descended of the Lacies,--

DICK	[Aside]  She was, indeed, a pedler's daughter, and
	sold many laces.

SMITH	[Aside]  But now of late, notable to travel with her
	furred pack, she washes bucks here at home.

CADE	Therefore am I of an honourable house.

DICK	[Aside]  Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable;
	and there was he borne, under a hedge, for his
	father had never a house but the cage.

CADE	Valiant I am.

SMITH	[Aside]  A' must needs; for beggary is valiant.

CADE	I am able to endure much.

DICK	[Aside]  No question of that; for I have seen him
	whipped three market-days together.

CADE	I fear neither sword nor fire.

SMITH	[Aside]  He need not fear the sword; for his coat is of proof.

DICK	[Aside]  But methinks he should stand in fear of
	fire, being burnt i' the hand for stealing of sheep.

CADE	Be brave, then; for your captain is brave, and vows
	reformation. There shall be in England seven
	halfpenny loaves sold for a penny: the three-hooped
	pot; shall have ten hoops and I will make it felony
	to drink small beer: all the realm shall be in
	common; and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to
	grass: and when I am king, as king I will be,--

ALL	God save your majesty!

CADE	I thank you, good people: there shall be no money;
	all shall eat and drink on my score; and I will
	apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree
	like brothers and worship me their lord.

DICK	The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.

CADE	Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable
	thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should
	be made parchment? that parchment, being scribbled
	o'er, should undo a man? Some say the bee stings:
	but I say, 'tis the bee's wax; for I did but seal
	once to a thing, and I was never mine own man
	since. How now! who's there?

	[Enter some, bringing forward the Clerk of Chatham]

SMITH	The clerk of Chatham: he can write and read and
	cast accompt.

CADE	O monstrous!

SMITH	We took him setting of boys' copies.

CADE	Here's a villain!

SMITH	Has a book in his pocket with red letters in't.

CADE	Nay, then, he is a conjurer.

DICK	Nay, he can make obligations, and write court-hand.

CADE	I am sorry for't: the man is a proper man, of mine
	honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die.
	Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee: what is thy name?

Clerk	Emmanuel.

DICK	They use to write it on the top of letters: 'twill
	go hard with you.

CADE	Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name? or
	hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest
	plain-dealing man?

CLERK	Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up
	that I can write my name.

ALL	He hath confessed: away with him! he's a villain
	and a traitor.

CADE	Away with him, I say! hang him with his pen and
	ink-horn about his neck.

	[Exit one with the Clerk]

	[Enter MICHAEL]

MICHAEL	Where's our general?

CADE	Here I am, thou particular fellow.

MICHAEL	Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his
	brother are hard by, with the king's forces.

CADE	Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down. He
	shall be encountered with a man as good as himself:
	he is but a knight, is a'?

MICHAEL	No.

CADE	To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently.

	[Kneels]

	Rise up Sir John Mortimer.

	[Rises]

	Now have at him!

	[Enter SIR HUMPHREY and WILLIAM STAFFORD, with
	drum and soldiers]

SIR HUMPHREY	Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,
	Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down;
	Home to your cottages, forsake this groom:
	The king is merciful, if you revolt.

WILLIAM STAFFORD	But angry, wrathful, and inclined to blood,
	If you go forward; therefore yield, or die.

CADE	As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not:
	It is to you, good people, that I speak,
	Over whom, in time to come, I hope to reign;
	For I am rightful heir unto the crown.

SIR HUMPHREY	Villain, thy father was a plasterer;
	And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not?

CADE	And Adam was a gardener.

WILLIAM STAFFORD	And what of that?

CADE	Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.
	Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he not?

SIR HUMPHREY	Ay, sir.

CADE	By her he had two children at one birth.

WILLIAM STAFFORD	That's false.

CADE	Ay, there's the question; but I say, 'tis true:
	The elder of them, being put to nurse,
	Was by a beggar-woman stolen away;
	And, ignorant of his birth and parentage,
	Became a bricklayer when he came to age:
	His son am I; deny it, if you can.

DICK	Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall be king.

SMITH	Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and
	the bricks are alive at this day to testify it;
	therefore deny it not.

SIR HUMPHREY	And will you credit this base drudge's words,
	That speaks he knows not what?

ALL	Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone.

WILLIAM STAFFORD	Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught you this.

CADE	[Aside]  He lies, for I invented it myself.
	Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me, that, for his
	father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys
	went to span-counter for French crowns, I am content
	he shall reign; but I'll be protector over him.

DICK	And furthermore, well have the Lord Say's head for
	selling the dukedom of Maine.

CADE	And good reason; for thereby is England mained, and
	fain to go with a staff, but that my puissance holds
	it up. Fellow kings, I tell you that that Lord Say
	hath gelded the commonwealth, and made it an eunuch:
	and more than that, he can speak French; and
	therefore he is a traitor.

SIR HUMPHREY	O gross and miserable ignorance!

CADE	Nay, answer, if you can: the Frenchmen are our
	enemies; go to, then, I ask but this: can he that
	speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good
	counsellor, or no?

ALL	No, no; and therefore we'll have his head.

WILLIAM STAFFORD	Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail,
	Assail them with the army of the king.

SIR HUMPHREY	Herald, away; and throughout every town
	Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;
	That those which fly before the battle ends
	May, even in their wives' and children's sight,
	Be hang'd up for example at their doors:
	And you that be the king's friends, follow me.

	[Exeunt WILLIAM STAFFORD and SIR HUMPHREY, and soldiers]

CADE	And you that love the commons, follow me.
	Now show yourselves men; 'tis for liberty.
	We will not leave one lord, one gentleman:
	Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon;
	For they are thrifty honest men, and such
	As would, but that they dare not, take our parts.

DICK	They are all in order and march toward us.

CADE	But then are we in order when we are most
	out of order. Come, march forward.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE III	Another part of Blackheath.


	[Alarums to the fight, wherein SIR HUMPHREY and
	WILLIAM STAFFORD are slain. Enter CADE and the rest]

CADE	Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford?

DICK	Here, sir.

CADE	They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou
	behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own
	slaughter-house: therefore thus will I reward thee,
	the Lent shall be as long again as it is; and thou
	shalt have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking
	one.

DICK	I desire no more.

CADE	And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. This
	monument of the victory will I bear;

	[Putting on SIR HUMPHREY'S brigandine]

	and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels
	till I do come to London, where we will have the
	mayor's sword borne before us.

DICK	If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the
	gaols and let out the prisoners.

CADE	Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's march
	towards London.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE IV	London. The palace.


	[Enter KING HENRY VI with a supplication, and the
	QUEEN with SUFFOLK'S head, BUCKINGHAM and Lord SAY]

QUEEN MARGARET	Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind,
	And makes it fearful and degenerate;
	Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.
	But who can cease to weep and look on this?
	Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast:
	But where's the body that I should embrace?

BUCKINGHAM	What answer makes your grace to the rebels'
	supplication?

KING HENRY VI	I'll send some holy bishop to entreat;
	For God forbid so many simple souls
	Should perish by the sword! And I myself,
	Rather than bloody war shall cut them short,
	Will parley with Jack Cade their general:
	But stay, I'll read it over once again.

QUEEN MARGARET	Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely face
	Ruled, like a wandering planet, over me,
	And could it not enforce them to relent,
	That were unworthy to behold the same?

KING HENRY VI	Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head.

SAY	Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his.

KING HENRY VI	How now, madam!
	Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death?
	I fear me, love, if that I had been dead,
	Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for me.

QUEEN MARGARET	No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee.

	[Enter a Messenger]

KING HENRY VI	How now! what news? why comest thou in such haste?

Messenger	The rebels are in Southwark; fly, my lord!
	Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer,
	Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house,
	And calls your grace usurper openly
	And vows to crown himself in Westminster.
	His army is a ragged multitude
	Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless:
	Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death
	Hath given them heart and courage to proceed:
	All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,
	They call false caterpillars, and intend their death.

KING HENRY VI	O graceless men! they know not what they do.

BUCKINGHAM	My gracious lord, return to Killingworth,
	Until a power be raised to put them down.

QUEEN MARGARET	Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now alive,
	These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased!

KING HENRY VI	Lord Say, the traitors hate thee;
	Therefore away with us to Killingworth.

SAY	So might your grace's person be in danger.
	The sight of me is odious in their eyes;
	And therefore in this city will I stay
	And live alone as secret as I may.

	[Enter another Messenger]

Messenger	Jack Cade hath gotten London bridge:
	The citizens fly and forsake their houses:
	The rascal people, thirsting after prey,
	Join with the traitor, and they jointly swear
	To spoil the city and your royal court.

BUCKINGHAM	Then linger not, my lord, away, take horse.

KING HENRY VI	Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will succor us.

QUEEN MARGARET	My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceased.

KING HENRY VI	Farewell, my lord: trust not the Kentish rebels.

BUCKINGHAM	Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd.

SAY	The trust I have is in mine innocence,
	And therefore am I bold and resolute.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE V	London. The Tower.


	[Enter SCALES upon the Tower, walking.
	Then enter two or three Citizens below]

SCALES	How now! is Jack Cade slain?

First Citizen	No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have
	won the bridge, killing all those that withstand
	them: the lord mayor craves aid of your honour from
	the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels.

SCALES	Such aid as I can spare you shall command;
	But I am troubled here with them myself;
	The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower.
	But get you to Smithfield, and gather head,
	And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe;
	Fight for your king, your country and your lives;
	And so, farewell, for I must hence again.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VI	London. Cannon Street.


	[Enter CADE and the rest, and strikes his staff on
	London-stone]

CADE	Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting
	upon London-stone, I charge and command that, of the
	city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but
	claret wine this first year of our reign. And now
	henceforward it shall be treason for any that calls
	me other than Lord Mortimer.

	[Enter a Soldier, running]

Soldier	Jack Cade! Jack Cade!

CADE	Knock him down there.

	[They kill him]

SMITH	If this fellow be wise, he'll never call ye Jack
	Cade more: I think he hath a very fair warning.

DICK	My lord, there's an army gathered together in
	Smithfield.

CADE	Come, then, let's go fight with them; but first, go
	and set London bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn
	down the Tower too. Come, let's away.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VII	London. Smithfield.


	[Alarums. MATTHEW GOFFE is slain, and all the rest.
	Then enter CADE, with his company.

CADE	So, sirs: now go some and pull down the Savoy;
	others to the inns of court; down with them all.

DICK	I have a suit unto your lordship.

CADE	Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word.

DICK	Only that the laws of England may come out of your mouth.

HOLLAND	[Aside]  Mass, 'twill be sore law, then; for he was
	thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole
	yet.

SMITH	[Aside]  Nay, John, it will be stinking law for his
	breath stinks with eating toasted cheese.

CADE	I have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, burn
	all the records of the realm: my mouth shall be
	the parliament of England.

HOLLAND	[Aside]  Then we are like to have biting statutes,
	unless his teeth be pulled out.

CADE	And henceforward all things shall be in common.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My lord, a prize, a prize! here's the Lord Say,
	which sold the towns in France; he that made us pay
	one and twenty fifteens, and one shilling to the
	pound, the last subsidy.

	[Enter BEVIS, with Lord SAY]

CADE	Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. Ah,
	thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! now
	art thou within point-blank of our jurisdiction
	regal. What canst thou answer to my majesty for
	giving up of Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu, the
	dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these
	presence, even the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I
	am the besom that must sweep the court clean of such
	filth as thou art. Thou hast most traitorously
	corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a
	grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers
	had no other books but the score and the tally, thou
	hast caused printing to be used, and, contrary to
	the king, his crown and dignity, thou hast built a
	paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou
	hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and
	a verb, and such abominable words as no Christian
	ear can endure to hear. Thou hast appointed
	justices of peace, to call poor men before them
	about matters they were not able to answer.
	Moreover, thou hast put them in prison; and because
	they could not read, thou hast hanged them; when,
	indeed, only for that cause they have been most
	worthy to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost thou not?

SAY	What of that?

CADE	Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse wear a
	cloak, when honester men than thou go in their hose
	and doublets.

DICK	And work in their shirt too; as myself, for example,
	that am a butcher.

SAY	You men of Kent,--

DICK	What say you of Kent?

SAY	Nothing but this; 'tis 'bona terra, mala gens.'

CADE	Away with him, away with him! he speaks Latin.

SAY	Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will.
	Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ,
	Is term'd the civil'st place of this isle:
	Sweet is the country, because full of riches;
	The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy;
	Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.
	I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy,
	Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.
	Justice with favour have I always done;
	Prayers and tears have moved me, gifts could never.
	When have I aught exacted at your hands,
	But to maintain the king, the realm and you?
	Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks,
	Because my book preferr'd me to the king,
	And seeing ignorance is the curse of God,
	Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,
	Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits,
	You cannot but forbear to murder me:
	This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings
	For your behoof,--

CADE	Tut, when struck'st thou one blow in the field?

SAY	Great men have reaching hands: oft have I struck
	Those that I never saw and struck them dead.

BEVIS	O monstrous coward! what, to come behind folks?

SAY	These cheeks are pale for watching for your good.

CADE	Give him a box o' the ear and that will make 'em red again.

SAY	Long sitting to determine poor men's causes
	Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.

CADE	Ye shall have a hempen caudle, then, and the help of hatchet.

DICK	Why dost thou quiver, man?

SAY	The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.

CADE	Nay, he nods at us, as who should say, I'll be even
	with you: I'll see if his head will stand steadier
	on a pole, or no. Take him away, and behead him.

SAY	Tell me wherein have I offended most?
	Have I affected wealth or honour? speak.
	Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold?
	Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?
	Whom have I injured, that ye seek my death?
	These hands are free from guiltless bloodshedding,
	This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts.
	O, let me live!

CADE	[Aside]  I feel remorse in myself with his words;
	but I'll bridle it: he shall die, an it be but for
	pleading so well for his life. Away with him! he
	has a familiar under his tongue; he speaks not o'
	God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike
	off his head presently; and then break into his
	son-in-law's house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off
	his head, and bring them both upon two poles hither.

ALL	It shall be done.

SAY	Ah, countrymen! if when you make your prayers,
	God should be so obdurate as yourselves,
	How would it fare with your departed souls?
	And therefore yet relent, and save my life.

CADE	Away with him! and do as I command ye.

	[Exeunt some with Lord SAY]

	The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head
	on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; there
	shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me
	her maidenhead ere they have it: men shall hold of
	me in capite; and we charge and command that their
	wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue can tell.

DICK	My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside and take up
	commodities upon our bills?

CADE	Marry, presently.

ALL	O, brave!

	[Re-enter one with the heads]

CADE	But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another,
	for they loved well when they were alive. Now part
	them again, lest they consult about the giving up of
	some more towns in France. Soldiers, defer the
	spoil of the city until night: for with these borne
	before us, instead of maces, will we ride through
	the streets, and at every corner have them kiss. Away!

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VIII	Southwark.


	[Alarum and retreat. Enter CADE and all his
	rabblement]

CADE	Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus' Corner! Kill
	and knock down! throw them into Thames!

	[Sound a parley]

	What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to
	sound retreat or parley, when I command them kill?

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM and CLIFFORD, attended]

BUCKINGHAM	Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee:
	Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king
	Unto the commons whom thou hast misled;
	And here pronounce free pardon to them all
	That will forsake thee and go home in peace.

CLIFFORD	What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent,
	And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you;
	Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths?
	Who loves the king and will embrace his pardon,
	Fling up his cap, and say 'God save his majesty!'
	Who hateth him and honours not his father,
	Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake,
	Shake he his weapon at us and pass by.

ALL	God save the king! God save the king!

CADE	What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave? And
	you, base peasants, do ye believe him? will you
	needs be hanged with your pardons about your necks?
	Hath my sword therefore broke through London gates,
	that you should leave me at the White Hart in
	Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out
	these arms till you had recovered your ancient
	freedom: but you are all recreants and dastards,
	and delight to live in slavery to the nobility. Let
	them break your backs with burthens, take your
	houses over your heads, ravish your wives and
	daughters before your faces: for me, I will make
	shift for one; and so, God's curse light upon you
	all!

ALL	We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade!

CLIFFORD	Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth,
	That thus you do exclaim you'll go with him?
	Will he conduct you through the heart of France,
	And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?
	Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;
	Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil,
	Unless by robbing of your friends and us.
	Were't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar,
	The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,
	Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you?
	Methinks already in this civil broil
	I see them lording it in London streets,
	Crying 'Villiago!' unto all they meet.
	Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry
	Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy.
	To France, to France, and get what you have lost;
	Spare England, for it is your native coast;
	Henry hath money, you are strong and manly;
	God on our side, doubt not of victory.

ALL	A Clifford! a Clifford! we'll follow the king and Clifford.

CADE	Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this
	multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them
	to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave me
	desolate. I see them lay their heads together to
	surprise me. My sword make way for me, for here is
	no staying. In despite of the devils and hell, have
	through the very middest of you? and heavens and
	honour be witness, that no want of resolution in me.
	but only my followers' base and ignominious
	treasons, makes me betake me to my heels.

	[Exit]

BUCKINGHAM	What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him;
	And he that brings his head unto the king
	Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.

	[Exeunt some of them]

	Follow me, soldiers: we'll devise a mean
	To reconcile you all unto the king.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE IX	Kenilworth Castle.


	[Sound Trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
	MARGARET, and SOMERSET, on the terrace]

KING HENRY VI	Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne,
	And could command no more content than I?
	No sooner was I crept out of my cradle
	But I was made a king, at nine months old.
	Was never subject long'd to be a king
	As I do long and wish to be a subject.

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM and CLIFFORD]

BUCKINGHAM	Health and glad tidings to your majesty!

KING HENRY VI	Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade surprised?
	Or is he but retired to make him strong?

	[Enter below, multitudes, with halters about
	their necks]

CLIFFORD	He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield;
	And humbly thus, with halters on their necks,
	Expect your highness' doom of life or death.

KING HENRY VI	Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates,
	To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!
	Soldiers, this day have you redeemed your lives,
	And show'd how well you love your prince and country:
	Continue still in this so good a mind,
	And Henry, though he be infortunate,
	Assure yourselves, will never be unkind:
	And so, with thanks and pardon to you all,
	I do dismiss you to your several countries.

ALL	God save the king! God save the king!

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	Please it your grace to be advertised
	The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland,
	And with a puissant and a mighty power
	Of gallowglasses and stout kerns
	Is marching hitherward in proud array,
	And still proclaimeth, as he comes along,
	His arms are only to remove from thee
	The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms traitor.

KING HENRY VI	Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York distress'd.
	Like to a ship that, having 'scaped a tempest,
	Is straightway calm'd and boarded with a pirate:
	But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed;
	And now is York in arms to second him.
	I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him,
	And ask him what's the reason of these arms.
	Tell him I'll send Duke Edmund to the Tower;
	And, Somerset, we'll commit thee thither,
	Until his army be dismiss'd from him.

SOMERSET	My lord,
	I'll yield myself to prison willingly,
	Or unto death, to do my country good.

KING HENRY VI	In any case, be not too rough in terms;
	For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language.

BUCKINGHAM	I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal
	As all things shall redound unto your good.

KING HENRY VI	Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern better;
	For yet may England curse my wretched reign.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE X	Kent. IDEN's garden.


	[Enter CADE]

CADE	Fie on ambition! fie on myself, that have a sword,
	and yet am ready to famish! These five days have I
	hid me in these woods and durst not peep out, for
	all the country is laid for me; but now am I so
	hungry that if I might have a lease of my life for a
	thousand years I could stay no longer. Wherefore,
	on a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, to
	see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another
	while, which is not amiss to cool a man's stomach
	this hot weather. And I think this word 'sallet'
	was born to do me good: for many a time, but for a
	sallet, my brainpan had been cleft with a brown
	bill; and many a time, when I have been dry and
	bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a
	quart pot to drink in; and now the word 'sallet'
	must serve me to feed on.

	[Enter IDEN]

IDEN	Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court,
	And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?
	This small inheritance my father left me
	Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy.
	I seek not to wax great by others' waning,
	Or gather wealth, I care not, with what envy:
	Sufficeth that I have maintains my state
	And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.

CADE	Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a
	stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave.
	Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand
	crowns of the king carrying my head to him: but
	I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow
	my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.

IDEN	Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be,
	I know thee not; why, then, should I betray thee?
	Is't not enough to break into my garden,
	And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds,
	Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner,
	But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?

CADE	Brave thee! ay, by the best blood that ever was
	broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well: I
	have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and
	thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead
	as a doornail, I pray God I may never eat grass more.

IDEN	Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands,
	That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,
	Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man.
	Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine,
	See if thou canst outface me with thy looks:
	Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;
	Thy hand is but a finger to my fist,
	Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon;
	My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;
	And if mine arm be heaved in the air,
	Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth.
	As for words, whose greatness answers words,
	Let this my sword report what speech forbears.

CADE	By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I
	heard! Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out
	the burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere thou
	sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on my knees thou
	mayst be turned to hobnails.

	[Here they fight. CADE falls]

	O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain me:
	let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me
	but the ten meals I have lost, and I'll defy them
	all. Wither, garden; and be henceforth a
	burying-place to all that do dwell in this house,
	because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.

IDEN	Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?
	Sword, I will hollow thee for this thy deed,
	And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead:
	Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point;
	But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat,
	To emblaze the honour that thy master got.

CADE	Iden, farewell, and be proud of thy victory. Tell
	Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort
	all the world to be cowards; for I, that never
	feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour.

	[Dies]

IDEN	How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my judge.
	Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee;
	And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,
	So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell.
	Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels
	Unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave,
	And there cut off thy most ungracious head;
	Which I will bear in triumph to the king,
	Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE I	Fields between Dartford and Blackheath.


	[Enter YORK, and his army of Irish, with drum
	and colours]

YORK	From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right,
	And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head:
	Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright,
	To entertain great England's lawful king.
	Ah! sancta majestas, who would not buy thee dear?
	Let them obey that know not how to rule;
	This hand was made to handle naught but gold.
	I cannot give due action to my words,
	Except a sword or sceptre balance it:
	A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul,
	On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France.

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM]

	Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?
	The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.

BUCKINGHAM	York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well.

YORK	Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting.
	Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?

BUCKINGHAM	A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,
	To know the reason of these arms in peace;
	Or why thou, being a subject as I am,
	Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,
	Should raise so great a power without his leave,
	Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.

YORK	[Aside]  Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great:
	O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint,
	I am so angry at these abject terms;
	And now, like Ajax Telamonius,
	On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury.
	I am far better born than is the king,
	More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts:
	But I must make fair weather yet a while,
	Till Henry be more weak and I more strong,--
	Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me,
	That I have given no answer all this while;
	My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.
	The cause why I have brought this army hither
	Is to remove proud Somerset from the king,
	Seditious to his grace and to the state.

BUCKINGHAM	That is too much presumption on thy part:
	But if thy arms be to no other end,
	The king hath yielded unto thy demand:
	The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.

YORK	Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?

BUCKINGHAM	Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.

YORK	Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers.
	Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;
	Meet me to-morrow in St. George's field,
	You shall have pay and every thing you wish.
	And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
	Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons,
	As pledges of my fealty and love;
	I'll send them all as willing as I live:
	Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have,
	Is his to use, so Somerset may die.

BUCKINGHAM	York, I commend this kind submission:
	We twain will go into his highness' tent.

	[Enter KING HENRY VI and Attendants]

KING HENRY VI	Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us,
	That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?

YORK	In all submission and humility
	York doth present himself unto your highness.

KING HENRY VI	Then what intends these forces thou dost bring?

YORK	To heave the traitor Somerset from hence,
	And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade,
	Who since I heard to be discomfited.

	[Enter IDEN, with CADE'S head]

IDEN	If one so rude and of so mean condition
	May pass into the presence of a king,
	Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head,
	The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.

KING HENRY VI	The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou!
	O, let me view his visage, being dead,
	That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.
	Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?

IDEN	I was, an't like your majesty.

KING HENRY VI	How art thou call'd? and what is thy degree?

IDEN	Alexander Iden, that's my name;
	A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.

BUCKINGHAM	So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss
	He were created knight for his good service.

KING HENRY VI	Iden, kneel down.

	[He kneels]

	Rise up a knight.
	We give thee for reward a thousand marks,
	And will that thou henceforth attend on us.

IDEN	May Iden live to merit such a bounty.
	And never live but true unto his liege!

	[Rises]

	[Enter QUEEN MARGARET and SOMERSET]

KING HENRY VI	See, Buckingham, Somerset comes with the queen:
	Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.

QUEEN MARGARET	For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head,
	But boldly stand and front him to his face.

YORK	How now! is Somerset at liberty?
	Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts,
	And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.
	Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?
	False king! why hast thou broken faith with me,
	Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?
	King did I call thee? no, thou art not king,
	Not fit to govern and rule multitudes,
	Which darest not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.
	That head of thine doth not become a crown;
	Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff,
	And not to grace an awful princely sceptre.
	That gold must round engirt these brows of mine,
	Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear,
	Is able with the change to kill and cure.
	Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up
	And with the same to act controlling laws.
	Give place: by heaven, thou shalt rule no more
	O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler.

SOMERSET	O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York,
	Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown;
	Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.

YORK	Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of these,
	If they can brook I bow a knee to man.
	Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail;

	[Exit Attendant]

	I know, ere they will have me go to ward,
	They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.

QUEEN MARGARET	Call hither Clifford! bid him come amain,
	To say if that the bastard boys of York
	Shall be the surety for their traitor father.

	[Exit BUCKINGHAM]

YORK	O blood-besotted Neapolitan,
	Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge!
	The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,
	Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those
	That for my surety will refuse the boys!

	[Enter EDWARD and RICHARD]

	See where they come: I'll warrant they'll
	make it good.

	[Enter CLIFFORD and YOUNG CLIFFORD]

QUEEN MARGARET	And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.

CLIFFORD	Health and all happiness to my lord the king!

	[Kneels]

YORK	I thank thee, Clifford: say, what news with thee?
	Nay, do not fright us with an angry look;
	We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again;
	For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.

CLIFFORD	This is my king, York, I do not mistake;
	But thou mistakest me much to think I do:
	To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?

KING HENRY VI	Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour
	Makes him oppose himself against his king.

CLIFFORD	He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,
	And chop away that factious pate of his.

QUEEN MARGARET	He is arrested, but will not obey;
	His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.

YORK	Will you not, sons?

EDWARD	Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.

RICHARD	And if words will not, then our weapons shall.

CLIFFORD	Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!

YORK	Look in a glass, and call thy image so:
	I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.
	Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,
	That with the very shaking of their chains
	They may astonish these fell-lurking curs:
	Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.

	[Enter the WARWICK and SALISBURY]

CLIFFORD	Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death.
	And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,
	If thou darest bring them to the baiting place.

RICHARD	Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur
	Run back and bite, because he was withheld;
	Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw,
	Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and cried:
	And such a piece of service will you do,
	If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.

CLIFFORD	Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump,
	As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!

YORK	Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.

CLIFFORD	Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.

KING HENRY VI	Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow?
	Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair,
	Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son!
	What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian,
	And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?
	O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty?
	If it be banish'd from the frosty head,
	Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?
	Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war,
	And shame thine honourable age with blood?
	Why art thou old, and want'st experience?
	Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?
	For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me
	That bows unto the grave with mickle age.

SALISBURY	My lord, I have consider'd with myself
	The title of this most renowned duke;
	And in my conscience do repute his grace
	The rightful heir to England's royal seat.

KING HENRY VI	Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?

SALISBURY	I have.

KING HENRY VI	Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?

SALISBURY	It is great sin to swear unto a sin,
	But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.
	Who can be bound by any solemn vow
	To do a murderous deed, to rob a man,
	To force a spotless virgin's chastity,
	To reave the orphan of his patrimony,
	To wring the widow from her custom'd right,
	And have no other reason for this wrong
	But that he was bound by a solemn oath?

QUEEN MARGARET	A subtle traitor needs no sophister.

KING HENRY VI	Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.

YORK	Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,
	I am resolved for death or dignity.

CLIFFORD	The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.

WARWICK	You were best to go to bed and dream again,
	To keep thee from the tempest of the field.

CLIFFORD	I am resolved to bear a greater storm
	Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;
	And that I'll write upon thy burgonet,
	Might I but know thee by thy household badge.

WARWICK	Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest,
	The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff,
	This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet,
	As on a mountain top the cedar shows
	That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,
	Even to affright thee with the view thereof.

CLIFFORD	And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear
	And tread it under foot with all contempt,
	Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear.

YOUNG CLIFFORD	And so to arms, victorious father,
	To quell the rebels and their complices.

RICHARD	Fie! charity, for shame! speak not in spite,
	For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.

YOUNG CLIFFORD	Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou canst tell.

RICHARD	If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.

	[Exeunt severally]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE II	Saint Alban's.


	[Alarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK]

WARWICK	Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls:
	And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,
	Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum
	And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,
	Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me:
	Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
	Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.

	[Enter YORK]

	How now, my noble lord? what, all afoot?

YORK	The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed,
	But match to match I have encounter'd him
	And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
	Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.

	[Enter CLIFFORD]

WARWICK	Of one or both of us the time is come.

YORK	Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,
	For I myself must hunt this deer to death.

WARWICK	Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st.
	As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,
	It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.

	[Exit]

CLIFFORD	What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou pause?

YORK	With thy brave bearing should I be in love,
	But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

CLIFFORD	Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,
	But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.

YORK	So let it help me now against thy sword
	As I in justice and true right express it.

CLIFFORD	My soul and body on the action both!

YORK	A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.

	[They fight, and CLIFFORD falls]

CLIFFORD	La fin couronne les oeuvres.

	[Dies]

YORK	Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.
	Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!

	[Exit]

	[Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD]

YOUNG CLIFFORD	Shame and confusion! all is on the rout;
	Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
	Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
	Whom angry heavens do make their minister
	Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
	Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.
	He that is truly dedicate to war
	Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself
	Hath not essentially but by circumstance
	The name of valour.

	[Seeing his dead father]

	O, let the vile world end,
	And the premised flames of the last day
	Knit earth and heaven together!
	Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
	Particularities and petty sounds
	To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,
	To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve
	The silver livery of advised age,
	And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus
	To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight
	My heart is turn'd to stone: and while 'tis mine,
	It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
	No more will I their babes: tears virginal
	Shall be to me even as the dew to fire,
	And beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims
	Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
	Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:
	Meet I an infant of the house of York,
	Into as many gobbets will I cut it
	As wild Medea young Absyrtus did:
	In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
	Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house:
	As did AEneas old Anchises bear,
	So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;
	But then AEneas bare a living load,
	Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.

	[Exit, bearing off his father]

	[Enter RICHARD and SOMERSET to fight. SOMERSET
	is killed]

RICHARD	So, lie thou there;
	For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign,
	The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset
	Hath made the wizard famous in his death.
	Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:
	Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.

	[Exit]

	[Fight: excursions. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN
	MARGARET, and others]

QUEEN MARGARET	Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame, away!

KING HENRY VI	Can we outrun the heavens? good Margaret, stay.

QUEEN MARGARET	What are you made of? you'll nor fight nor fly:
	Now is it manhood, wisdom and defence,
	To give the enemy way, and to secure us
	By what we can, which can no more but fly.

	[Alarum afar off]

	If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
	Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape,
	As well we may, if not through your neglect,
	We shall to London get, where you are loved
	And where this breach now in our fortunes made
	May readily be stopp'd.

	[Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD]

YOUNG CLIFFORD	But that my heart's on future mischief set,
	I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly:
	But fly you must; uncurable discomfit
	Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.
	Away, for your relief! and we will live
	To see their day and them our fortune give:
	Away, my lord, away!

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE III	Fields near St. Alban's.


	[Alarum. Retreat. Enter YORK, RICHARD, WARWICK,
	and Soldiers, with drum and colours]

YORK	Of Salisbury, who can report of him,
	That winter lion, who in rage forgets
	Aged contusions and all brush of time,
	And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,
	Repairs him with occasion? This happy day
	Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
	If Salisbury be lost.

RICHARD	My noble father,
	Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,
	Three times bestrid him; thrice I led him off,
	Persuaded him from any further act:
	But still, where danger was, still there I met him;
	And like rich hangings in a homely house,
	So was his will in his old feeble body.
	But, noble as he is, look where he comes.

	[Enter SALISBURY]

SALISBURY	Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day;
	By the mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard:
	God knows how long it is I have to live;
	And it hath pleased him that three times to-day
	You have defended me from imminent death.
	Well, lords, we have not got that which we have:
	'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
	Being opposites of such repairing nature.

YORK	I know our safety is to follow them;
	For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
	To call a present court of parliament.
	Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth.
	What says Lord Warwick? shall we after them?

WARWICK	After them! nay, before them, if we can.
	Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day:
	Saint Alban's battle won by famous York
	Shall be eternized in all age to come.
	Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all:
	And more such days as these to us befall!

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI
	
	

	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY	the Sixth.

EDWARD,
PRINCE OF WALES	his son. (PRINCE EDWARD:)

KING LEWIS XI	King of France. (KING LEWIS XI:)

DUKE OF SOMERSET	(SOMERSET:)

DUKE OF EXETER	(EXETER:)

EARL OF OXFORD	(OXFORD:)

EARL OF
NORTHUMBERLAND	(NORTHUMBERLAND:)

EARL OF
WESTMORELAND	(WESTMORELAND:)

LORD CLIFFORD	(CLIFFORD:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Duke of York. (YORK:)


EDWARD	(EDWARD:) Earl of March,	|
	afterwards King Edward IV.	|
	(KING EDWARD IV:)		|
			|
EDMUND	Earl of Rutland, (RUTLAND:)	|
			|  his sons.
GEORGE	(GEORGE:)  afterwards Duke of	|
	Clarence  (CLARENCE:)	|
			|
RICHARD	(RICHARD:) afterwards Duke of	|
	Gloucester, (GLOUCESTER:)	|


DUKE OF NORFOLK	(NORFOLK:)

MARQUESS OF
MONTAGUE	(MONTAGUE:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

EARL OF PEMBROKE	(PEMBROKE:)

LORD HASTINGS	(HASTINGS:)

LORD STAFFORD	(STAFFORD:)


SIR JOHN MORTIMER	(JOHN MORTIMER:)	|
		|  uncles to the Duke of York.
SIR HUGH MORTIMER	(HUGH MORTIMER:)	|


HENRY	Earl of Richmond, a youth (HENRY OF RICHMOND:).

LORD RIVERS	brother to Lady Grey. (RIVERS:)

SIR
WILLIAM STANLEY	(STANLEY:)

SIR
JOHN MONTGOMERY	(MONTGOMERY:)

SIR
JOHN SOMERVILLE	(SOMERVILLE:)

	Tutor to Rutland. (Tutor:)

	Mayor of York. (Mayor:)

	Lieutenant of the Tower. (Lieutenant:)

	A Nobleman. (Nobleman:)

	Two Keepers.
	(First Keeper:)
	(Second Keeper:)

	A Huntsman. (Huntsman:)

	A Son that has killed his father. (Son:)

	A Father that has killed his son. (Father:)

QUEEN MARGARET:

LADY GREY	afterwards Queen to Edward IV. (QUEEN ELIZABETH:)

BONA	sister to the French Queen.

	Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, &c.
	(Soldier:)
	(Post:)
	(Messenger:)
	(First Messenger:)
	(Second Messenger:)
	(First Watchman:)
	(Second Watchman:)
	(Third Watchman:)


SCENE	England and France.




ACT I



SCENE I	London. The Parliament-house.


	[Alarum. Enter YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK,
	MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers]

WARWICK	I wonder how the king escaped our hands.

YORK	While we pursued the horsemen of the north,
	He slily stole away and left his men:
	Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,
	Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
	Cheer'd 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.

EDWARD	Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham,
	Is either slain or wounded dangerously;
	I cleft his beaver with a downright blow:
	That this is true, father, behold his blood.

MONTAGUE	And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood,
	Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd.

RICHARD	Speak thou for me and tell them what I did.

	[Throwing down SOMERSET's head]

YORK	Richard hath best deserved of all my sons.
	But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?

NORFOLK	Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt!

RICHARD	Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head.

WARWICK	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'

YORK	Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will;
	For hither we have broken in by force.

NORFOLK	We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die.

YORK	Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords;
	And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night.

	[They go up]

WARWICK	And when the king comes, offer no violence,
	Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.

YORK	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.

RICHARD	Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house.

WARWICK	The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,
	Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king,
	And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice
	Hath made us by-words to our enemies.

YORK	Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute;
	I mean to take possession of my right.

WARWICK	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.

	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLIFFORD,
	NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and the rest]

KING HENRY VI	My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,
	Even in the chair of state: belike he means,
	Back'd 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 vow'd revenge
	On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends.

NORTHUMBERLAND	If I be not, heavens be revenged on me!

CLIFFORD	The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.

WESTMORELAND	What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down:
	My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it.

KING HENRY VI	Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.

CLIFFORD	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.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so.

KING HENRY VI	Ah, know you not the city favours them,
	And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?

EXETER	But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly.

KING HENRY VI	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.

YORK	I am thine.

EXETER	For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York.

YORK	'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.

EXETER	Thy father was a traitor to the crown.

WARWICK	Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown
	In following this usurping Henry.

CLIFFORD	Whom should he follow but his natural king?

WARWICK	True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York.

KING HENRY VI	And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne?

YORK	It must and shall be so: content thyself.

WARWICK	Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king.

WESTMORELAND	He is both king and Duke of Lancaster;
	And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.

WARWICK	And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget
	That we are those which chased you from the field
	And slew your fathers, and with colours spread
	March'd through the city to the palace gates.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;
	And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.

WESTMORELAND	Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,
	Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives
	Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.

CLIFFORD	Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words,
	I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger
	As shall revenge his death before I stir.

WARWICK	Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats!

YORK	Will you we show our title to the crown?
	If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.

KING HENRY VI	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,
	Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop
	And seized upon their towns and provinces.

WARWICK	Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all.

KING HENRY VI	The lord protector lost it, and not I:
	When I was crown'd I was but nine months old.

RICHARD	You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose.
	Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.

EDWARD	Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.

MONTAGUE	Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms,
	Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus.

RICHARD	Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly.

YORK	Sons, peace!

KING HENRY VI	Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak.

WARWICK	Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords;
	And be you silent and attentive too,
	For he that interrupts him shall not live.

KING HENRY VI	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 colours, 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.

WARWICK	Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king.

KING HENRY VI	Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.

YORK	'Twas by rebellion against his king.

KING HENRY VI	[Aside]  I know not what to say; my title's weak.--
	Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?

YORK	What then?

KING HENRY VI	An if he may, then am I lawful king;
	For Richard, in the view of many lords,
	Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth,
	Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

YORK	He rose against him, being his sovereign,
	And made him to resign his crown perforce.

WARWICK	Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
	Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?

EXETER	No; for he could not so resign his crown
	But that the next heir should succeed and reign.

KING HENRY VI	Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?

EXETER	His is the right, and therefore pardon me.

YORK	Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?

EXETER	My conscience tells me he is lawful king.

KING HENRY VI	[Aside]  All will revolt from me, and turn to him.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st,
	Think not that Henry shall be so deposed.

WARWICK	Deposed he shall be, in despite of all.

NORTHUMBERLAND	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.

CLIFFORD	King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
	Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:
	May that ground gape and swallow me alive,
	Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!

KING HENRY VI	O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!

YORK	Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.
	What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?

WARWICK	Do right unto this princely Duke of York,
	Or I will fill the house with armed 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]

KING HENRY VI	My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word:
	Let me for this my life-time reign as king.

YORK	Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,
	And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest.

KING HENRY VI	I am content: Richard Plantagenet,
	Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.

CLIFFORD	What wrong is this unto the prince your son!

WARWICK	What good is this to England and himself!

WESTMORELAND	Base, fearful and despairing Henry!

CLIFFORD	How hast thou injured both thyself and us!

WESTMORELAND	I cannot stay to hear these articles.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Nor I.

CLIFFORD	Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news.

WESTMORELAND	Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king,
	In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Be thou a prey unto the house of York,
	And die in bands for this unmanly deed!

CLIFFORD	In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome,
	Or live in peace abandon'd and despised!

	[Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and WESTMORELAND]

WARWICK	Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.

EXETER	They seek revenge and therefore will not yield.

KING HENRY VI	Ah, Exeter!

WARWICK	          Why should you sigh, my lord?

KING HENRY VI	Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son,
	Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.
	But be it as it may: I here entail
	The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever;
	Conditionally, that here thou take an oath
	To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,
	To honour me as thy king and sovereign,
	And neither by treason nor hostility
	To seek to put me down and reign thyself.

YORK	This oath I willingly take and will perform.

WARWICK	Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him.

KING HENRY VI	And long live thou and these thy forward sons!

YORK	Now York and Lancaster are reconciled.

EXETER	Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes!

	[Sennet. Here they come down]

YORK	Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle.

WARWICK	And I'll keep London with my soldiers.

NORFOLK	And I to Norfolk with my followers.

MONTAGUE	And I unto the sea from whence I came.

	[Exeunt YORK, EDWARD, EDMUND, GEORGE, RICHARD,
	WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, their Soldiers, and
	Attendants]

KING HENRY VI	And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court.

	[Enter QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD]

EXETER	Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger:
	I'll steal away.

KING HENRY VI	                  Exeter, so will I.

QUEEN MARGARET	Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee.

KING HENRY VI	Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.

QUEEN MARGARET	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 nourish'd him as I did with my blood,
	Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there,
	Rather than have that savage duke thine heir
	And disinherited thine only son.

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

KING HENRY VI	Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son:
	The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me.

QUEEN MARGARET	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 given unto the house of York such head
	As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.
	To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
	What is it, but to make thy sepulchre
	And creep into it far before thy time?
	Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais;
	Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas;
	The duke is made protector of the realm;
	And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds
	The trembling lamb environed with wolves.
	Had I been there, which am a silly woman,
	The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes
	Before I would have granted to that act.
	But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour:
	And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself
	Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
	Until that act of parliament be repeal'd
	Whereby my son is disinherited.
	The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours
	Will follow mine, if once they see them spread;
	And spread they shall be, to thy foul 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.

KING HENRY VI	Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

QUEEN MARGARET	Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone.

KING HENRY VI	Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?

QUEEN MARGARET	Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.

PRINCE EDWARD	When I return with victory from the field
	I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her.

QUEEN MARGARET	Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.

	[Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD]

KING HENRY VI	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, winged with desire,
	Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle
	Tire on the flesh of me and of my son!
	The loss of those three lords torments my heart:
	I'll write unto them and entreat them fair.
	Come, cousin you shall be the messenger.

EXETER	And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE II	Sandal Castle.


	[Enter RICHARD, EDWARD, and MONTAGUE]

RICHARD	Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.

EDWARD	No, I can better play the orator.

MONTAGUE	But I have reasons strong and forcible.

	[Enter YORK]

YORK	Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife?
	What is your quarrel? how began it first?

EDWARD	No quarrel, but a slight contention.

YORK	About what?

RICHARD	About that which concerns your grace and us;
	The crown of England, father, which is yours.

YORK	Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead.

RICHARD	Your right depends not on his life or death.

EDWARD	Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now:
	By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,
	It will outrun you, father, in the end.

YORK	I took an oath that he should quietly reign.

EDWARD	But for a kingdom any oath may be broken:
	I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.

RICHARD	No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn.

YORK	I shall be, if I claim by open war.

RICHARD	I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.

YORK	Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.

RICHARD	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 finger thus? I cannot rest
	Until the white rose that I wear be dyed
	Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.

YORK	Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.
	Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
	And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.
	Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk,
	And tell him privily of our intent.
	You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham,
	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 employ'd, what resteth more,
	But that I seek occasion how to rise,
	And yet the king not privy to my drift,
	Nor any of the house of Lancaster?

	[Enter a Messenger]

	But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post?

Messenger	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.

YORK	Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them?
	Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;
	My brother Montague shall post to London:
	Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
	Whom we have left protectors of the king,
	With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
	And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.

MONTAGUE	Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not:
	And thus most humbly I do take my leave.

	[Exit]

	[Enter JOHN MORTIMER and 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.

JOHN MORTIMER	She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field.

YORK	What, with five thousand men?

RICHARD	Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need:
	A woman's general; what should we fear?

	[A march afar off]

EDWARD	I hear their drums: let's set our men in order,
	And issue forth and bid them battle straight.

YORK	Five men to twenty! though the odds be great,
	I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
	Many a battle have I won in France,
	When as the enemy hath been ten to one:
	Why should I not now have the like success?

	[Alarum. Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE III	Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield.


	[Alarums. Enter RUTLAND and his Tutor]

RUTLAND	Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?
	Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!

	[Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers]

CLIFFORD	Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.
	As for the brat of this accursed duke,
	Whose father slew my father, he shall die.

Tutor	And I, my lord, will bear him company.

CLIFFORD	Soldiers, away with him!

Tutor	Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,
	Lest thou be hated both of God and man!

	[Exit, dragged off by Soldiers]

CLIFFORD	How now! is he dead already? or is it fear
	That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.

RUTLAND	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 threatening 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.

CLIFFORD	In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood
	Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.

RUTLAND	Then let my father's blood open it again:
	He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

CLIFFORD	Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine
	Were not revenge sufficient for me;
	No, if I digg'd 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 accursed line
	And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
	Therefore--

	[Lifting his hand]

RUTLAND	O, let me pray before I take my death!
	To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!

CLIFFORD	Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

RUTLAND	I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me?

CLIFFORD	Thy father hath.

RUTLAND	                  But 'twas ere I was born.
	Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,
	Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,
	He be as miserably slain as I.
	Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
	And when I give occasion of offence,
	Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.

CLIFFORD	No cause!
	Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.

	[Stabs him]

RUTLAND	Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae!

	[Dies]

CLIFFORD	Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
	And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade
	Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
	Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.

	[Exit]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE IV	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum. Enter YORK]

YORK	The army of the queen hath got the field:
	My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
	And all my followers to the eager foe
	Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind
	Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.
	My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them:
	But this I know, they have demean'd themselves
	Like men born to renown by life or death.
	Three times did Richard make a lane to me.
	And thrice 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 encounter'd 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 sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!'
	With this, we charged again: but, out, alas!
	We bodged again; as I have seen a swan
	With bootless labour 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 number'd that make up my life;
	Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

	[Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND,
	PRINCE EDWARD, and Soldiers]

	Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
	I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:
	I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

CLIFFORD	Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm,
	With downright payment, show'd unto my father.
	Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,
	And made an evening at the noontide prick.

YORK	My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
	A bird that will revenge upon you all:
	And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
	Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
	Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?

CLIFFORD	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.

YORK	O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
	And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;
	And, if though 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!

CLIFFORD	I will not bandy with thee word for word,
	But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

QUEEN MARGARET	Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes
	I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.
	Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much
	To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
	What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
	For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
	When he might spurn him with his foot away?
	It is war's prize to take all vantages;
	And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

	[They lay hands on YORK, who struggles]

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

NORTHUMBERLAND	So doth the cony struggle in the net.

YORK	So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;
	So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd.

NORTHUMBERLAND	What would your grace have done unto him now?

QUEEN MARGARET	Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
	Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,
	That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,
	Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
	What! was it you that would be England's king?
	Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
	And made a preachment of your high descent?
	Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
	The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
	And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
	Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice
	Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
	Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
	Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood
	That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
	Made issue from the bosom of the boy;
	And if thine eyes can water for his death,
	I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
	Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
	I should lament thy miserable state.
	I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
	What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails
	That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
	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 wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:
	York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
	A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him:
	Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.

	[Putting a paper crown on his head]

	Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
	Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair,
	And this is he was his adopted heir.
	But how is it that great Plantagenet
	Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
	As I bethink me, you should not be king
	Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.
	And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
	And rob his temples of the diadem,
	Now in his life, against your holy oath?
	O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!
	Off with the crown, and with the crown his head;
	And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.

CLIFFORD	That is my office, for my father's sake.

QUEEN MARGARET	Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes.

YORK	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.
	To tell thee whence thou camest, 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 wonder'd 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 wrapt in a woman's hide!
	How couldst thou drain the life-blood 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.
	Bids't 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.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so
	That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears.

YORK	That face of his the hungry cannibals
	Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood:
	But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
	O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.
	See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
	This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
	And I with tears do wash the blood away.
	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!'
	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!

NORTHUMBERLAND	Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
	I should not for my life but weep with him.
	To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

QUEEN MARGARET	What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?
	Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
	And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

CLIFFORD	Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.

	[Stabbing him]


QUEEN MARGARET	And here's to right our gentle-hearted king.

	[Stabbing him]

YORK	Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
	My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.

	[Dies]

QUEEN MARGARET	Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
	So York may overlook the town of York.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE I	A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire.


	[A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power]

EDWARD	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?

RICHARD	I cannot joy, until I be resolved
	Where our right valiant father is become.
	I saw him in the battle range about;
	And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
	Methought he bore him in the thickest troop
	As doth a lion in a herd of neat;
	Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,
	Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry,
	The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
	So 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,
	And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
	How well resembles it the prime of youth,
	Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love!

EDWARD	Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?

RICHARD	Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
	Not separated with the racking clouds,
	But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
	See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
	As if they vow'd some league inviolable:
	Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
	In this the heaven figures some event.

EDWARD	'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 over-shine the earth as this the world.
	Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
	Upon my target three fair-shining suns.

RICHARD	Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it,
	You love the breeder better than the male.

	[Enter a Messenger]

	But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
	Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

Messenger	Ah, one that was a woful looker-on
	When as the noble Duke of York was slain,
	Your princely father and my loving lord!

EDWARD	O, speak no more, for I have heard too much.

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

Messenger	Environed he was with many foes,
	And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
	Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy.
	But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
	And many strokes, though with a little axe,
	Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
	By many hands your father was subdued;
	But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
	Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen,
	Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite,
	Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept,
	The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks
	A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
	Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain:
	And after many scorns, many foul taunts,
	They took his head, and on the gates of York
	They set the same; and there it doth remain,
	The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

EDWARD	Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
	Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
	O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain
	The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
	And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
	For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee.
	Now my soul's palace is become a prison:
	Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body
	Might in the ground be closed up in rest!
	For never henceforth shall I joy again,
	Never, O never shall I see more joy!

RICHARD	 I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture
	Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
	Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen;
	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 renowned by attempting it.

EDWARD	His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;
	His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

RICHARD	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, MONTAGUE, and their army]

WARWICK	How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad?

RICHARD	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!

EDWARD	O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet,
	Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption,
	Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.

WARWICK	Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears;
	And now, to add more measure to your woes,
	I come to tell you things 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,
	Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
	And very well appointed, as I thought,
	March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen,
	Bearing the king in my behalf along;
	For by my scouts I was advertised
	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 Alban's met
	Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought:
	But whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
	Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
	That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen;
	Or whether 'twas report of her success;
	Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
	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 cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
	With promise of high pay and great rewards:
	But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
	And we in them no hope to win the day;
	So that we fled; the king unto the queen;
	Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself,
	In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you:
	For in the marches here we heard you were,
	Making another head to fight again.

EDWARD	Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?
	And when came George from Burgundy to England?

WARWICK	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.

RICHARD	'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:
	Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
	But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.

WARWICK	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 sceptre from his fist,
	Were he as famous and as bold in war
	As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer.

RICHARD	I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not:
	'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.
	But in this troublous time what's to be done?
	Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
	And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
	Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads?
	Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
	Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
	If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords.

WARWICK	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.
	He swore consent to your succession,
	His oath enrolled 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 amain,
	And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
	And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!'
	But never once again turn back and fly.

RICHARD	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.

EDWARD	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!

WARWICK	No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York:
	The next degree is England's royal throne;
	For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
	In every borough as we pass along;
	And he that throws not up his cap for joy
	Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
	King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
	Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown,
	But sound the trumpets, and about our task.

RICHARD	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.

EDWARD	Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us!

	[Enter a Messenger]

WARWICK	How now! what news?

Messenger	The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,
	The queen is coming with a puissant host;
	And craves your company for speedy counsel.

WARWICK	Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE II	Before York.


	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET,
	PRINCE EDWARD, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with
	drum and trumpets]

QUEEN MARGARET	Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.
	Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy
	That sought to be encompass'd with your crown:
	Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

KING HENRY VI	Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck:
	To see this sight, it irks my very soul.
	Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,
	Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.

CLIFFORD	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?
	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 doth 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 climb'd unto their nest,
	Offer their own lives in their young's defence?
	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 his 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.

KING HENRY VI	Full well hath Clifford play'd 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?
	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 thousand-fold more care to keep
	Than in possession and jot of pleasure.
	Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know
	How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

QUEEN MARGARET	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.

KING HENRY VI	Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
	And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right.

PRINCE	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.

CLIFFORD	Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

	[Enter a Messenger]

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:
	Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.

CLIFFORD	I would your highness would depart the field:
	The queen hath best success when you are absent.

QUEEN MARGARET	Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.

KING HENRY VI	Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Be it with resolution then to fight.

PRINCE EDWARD	My royal father, cheer these noble lords
	And hearten those that fight in your defence:
	Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!'

	[March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK,
	NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers]

EDWARD	Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace,
	And set thy diadem upon my head;
	Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

QUEEN MARGARET	Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!
	Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
	Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?

EDWARD	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.

CLIFFORD	And reason too:
	Who should succeed the father but the son?

RICHARD	Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!

CLIFFORD	Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,
	Or any he the proudest of thy sort.

RICHARD	'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?

CLIFFORD	Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

RICHARD	For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight.

WARWICK	What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown?

QUEEN MARGARET	Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak?
	When you and I met at Saint Alban's last,
	Your legs did better service than your hands.

WARWICK	Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.

CLIFFORD	You said so much before, and yet you fled.

WARWICK	'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

NORTHUMBERLAND	No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.

RICHARD	Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.
	Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain
	The execution of my big-swoln heart
	Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

CLIFFORD	I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child?

RICHARD	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.

KING HENRY VI	Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.

QUEEN MARGARET	Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.

KING HENRY VI	I prithee, give no limits to my tongue:
	I am a king, and privileged to speak.

CLIFFORD	My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here
	Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still.

RICHARD	Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword:
	By him that made us all, I am resolved
	that Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.

EDWARD	Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
	A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day,
	That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.

WARWICK	If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;
	For York in justice puts his armour on.

PRINCE EDWARD	If that be right which Warwick says is right,
	There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

RICHARD	Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;
	For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

QUEEN MARGARET	But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam;
	But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic,
	Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
	As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.

RICHARD	Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,
	Whose father bears the title of a king,--
	As if a channel should be call'd the sea,--
	Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,
	To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?

EDWARD	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 wrong'd
	By that false woman, as this king by thee.
	His father revell'd in the heart of France,
	And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop;
	And had he match'd 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 brew'd a shower for him,
	That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
	And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
	For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride?
	Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
	And we, in pity of the gentle king,
	Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

GEORGE	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.

EDWARD	And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
	Not willing any longer conference,
	Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak.
	Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave!
	And either victory, or else a grave.

QUEEN MARGARET	Stay, Edward.

EDWARD	No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay:
	These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE III	A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in
	Yorkshire.


	[Alarum. Excursions. Enter WARWICK]

WARWICK	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 robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
	And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.

	[Enter EDWARD, running]

EDWARD	Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death!
	For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.

WARWICK	How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good?

	[Enter GEORGE]

GEORGE	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?

EDWARD	Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
	And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit.

	[Enter RICHARD]

RICHARD	Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?
	Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
	Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance;
	And in the very pangs of death he cried,
	Like to a dismal clangour heard from far,
	'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!'
	So, underneath the belly of their steeds,
	That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
	The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

WARWICK	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 play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
	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.

EDWARD	O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;
	And in this vow do chain my soul to thine!
	And, ere my knee rise from the 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 they 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!
	Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
	Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth.

RICHARD	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 spring-time so.

WARWICK	Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell.

GEORGE	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.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE IV	Another part of the field.


	[Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD]

RICHARD	Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone:
	Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,
	And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
	Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

CLIFFORD	Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:
	This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York;
	And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;
	And here's the heart that triumphs in their death
	And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother
	To execute the like upon thyself;
	And so, have at thee!

	[They fight. WARWICK comes; CLIFFORD flies]

RICHARD	Nay Warwick, single out some other chase;
	For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE V	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum. Enter KING HENRY VI alone]

KING HENRY VI	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 conquered:
	So is the equal of this fell war.
	Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
	To whom God will, there be the victory!
	For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
	Have chid me from the battle; swearing both
	They prosper best of all when I am thence.
	Would I were dead! if God's good will were so;
	For what is in this world but grief and woe?
	O God! methinks it were a happy life,
	To be no better than a homely swain;
	To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
	To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
	Thereby to see the minutes how they run,
	How many make the hour full complete;
	How many hours bring about the day;
	How many days will finish up the year;
	How many years a mortal man may live.
	When this is known, then to divide the times:
	So many hours must I tend my flock;
	So many hours must I take my rest;
	So many hours must I contemplate;
	So many hours must I sport myself;
	So many days my ewes have been with young;
	So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean:
	So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:
	So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,
	Pass'd over to the end they were created,
	Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
	Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
	Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade
	To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,
	Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
	To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
	O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.
	And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds,
	His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle.
	His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
	All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
	Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
	His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
	His body couched in a curious bed,
	When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

	[Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father,
	dragging in the dead body]

Son	Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
	This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
	May be possessed with some store of crowns;
	And I, that haply take them from him now,
	May yet ere night yield both my life and them
	To some man else, as this dead man doth me.
	Who's this? O God! it is my father's face,
	Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.
	O heavy times, begetting such events!
	From London by the king was I press'd forth;
	My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man,
	Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
	And I, who at his hands received my life, him
	Have by my hands of life bereaved him.
	Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!
	And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!
	My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
	And no more words till they have flow'd their fill.

KING HENRY VI	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 a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body]

Father	Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
	Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold:
	For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
	But let me see: is this our foeman's face?
	Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son!
	Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
	Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise,
	Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,
	Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart!
	O, pity, God, this miserable age!
	What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,
	Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural,
	This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
	O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
	And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!

KING HENRY VI	Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
	O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!
	O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!
	The red rose and the white are on his face,
	The fatal colours of our striving houses:
	The one his purple blood right well resembles;
	The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth:
	Wither one rose, and let the other flourish;
	If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.

Son	How will my mother for a father's death
	Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied!

Father	How will my wife for slaughter of my son
	Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied!

KING HENRY VI	How will the country for these woful chances
	Misthink the king and not be satisfied!

Son	Was ever son so rued a father's death?

Father	Was ever father so bemoan'd his son?

KING HENRY VI	Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe?
	Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much.

Son	I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.

	[Exit with the body]

Father	These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
	My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,
	For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go;
	My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
	And so obsequious will thy father be,
	Even 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.

	[Exit with the body]

KING HENRY VI	Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
	Here sits a king more woful than you are.

	[Alarums: excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE
	EDWARD, and EXETER]

PRINCE EDWARD	Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,
	And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
	Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

QUEEN MARGARET	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 grasp'd in their ireful hands,
	Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.

EXETER	Away! for vengeance comes along with them:
	Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
	Or else come after: I'll away before.

KING HENRY VI	Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter:
	Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
	Whither the queen intends. Forward; away!

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE VI	Another part of the field.


	[A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded]

CLIFFORD	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 commixture melts.
	Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York,
	The common people swarm like summer flies;
	And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
	And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
	O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent
	That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds,
	Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!
	And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
	Or as thy father and his father did,
	Giving no ground unto the house of York,
	They never then had sprung like summer flies;
	I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
	Had left no mourning widows for our death;
	And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
	For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
	And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
	Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
	No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight:
	The foe is merciless, and will not pity;
	For at their hands I have 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 stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.

	[He faints]

	[Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD,
	MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers]

EDWARD	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, fill'd with a fretting gust,
	Command an argosy to stem the waves.
	But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?

WARWICK	No, 'tis impossible he should escape,
	For, though before his face I speak the words
	Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:
	And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.

	[CLIFFORD groans, and dies]

EDWARD	Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

RICHARD	A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.

EDWARD	See who it is: and, now the battle's ended,
	If friend or foe, let him be gently used.

RICHARD	Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
	Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch
	In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
	But set his murdering knife unto the root
	From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
	I mean our princely father, Duke of York.

WARWICK	From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
	Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;
	Instead whereof let this supply the room:
	Measure for measure must be answered.

EDWARD	Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
	That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
	Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
	And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.

WARWICK	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.

RICHARD	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.

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

RICHARD	Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.

EDWARD	Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

WARWICK	Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.

GEORGE	While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.

RICHARD	Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.

EDWARD	Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee.

GEORGE	Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?

WARWICK	They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont.

RICHARD	What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard
	When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.
	I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul,
	If this right hand would buy two hour's 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 unstanched thirst
	York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

WARWICK	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 crowned England's royal king:
	From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
	And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen:
	So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
	And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
	The scatter'd 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.

EDWARD	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.
	Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,
	And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself,
	Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.

RICHARD	Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester;
	For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous.

WARWICK	Tut, that's a foolish observation:
	Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London,
	To see these honours in possession.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE I	A forest in the north of England.


	[Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands]

First Keeper	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.

Second Keeper	I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.

First Keeper	That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow
	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.

Second Keeper	Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past.

	[Enter KING HENRY VI, disguised, with a prayerbook]

KING HENRY VI	From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,
	To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
	No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
	Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
	Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed:
	No bending knee will call thee 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, and not myself?

First Keeper	Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee:
	This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.

KING HENRY VI	Let me embrace thee, sour adversity,
	For wise men say it is the wisest course.

Second Keeper	Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

First Keeper	Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.

KING HENRY VI	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 labour is but lost;
	For Warwick is a subtle orator,
	And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.
	By this account then Margaret may win him;
	For she's a woman to be pitied much:
	Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;
	Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
	The tiger will be mild 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 install'd;
	That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more;
	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!

Second Keeper	Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?

KING HENRY VI	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?

Second Keeper	Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

KING HENRY VI	Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

Second Keeper	But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?

KING HENRY VI	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.

Second Keeper	Well, if you be a king crown'd 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.

KING HENRY VI	But did you never swear, and break an oath?

Second Keeper	No, never such an oath; nor will not now.

KING HENRY VI	Where did you dwell when I was King of England?

Second Keeper	Here in this country, where we now remain.

KING HENRY VI	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?

First Keeper	No;
	For we were subjects but while you were king.

KING HENRY VI	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.

First Keeper	We are true subjects to the king, King Edward.

KING HENRY VI	So would you be again to Henry,
	If he were seated as King Edward is.

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

KING HENRY VI	In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd:
	And what God will, that let your king perform;
	And what he will, I humbly yield unto.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE II	London. The palace.


	[Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and
	LADY GREY]

KING EDWARD IV	Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field
	This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain,
	His lands 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.

GLOUCESTER	Your highness shall do well to grant her suit;
	It were dishonour to deny it her.

KING EDWARD IV	It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  Yea, is it so?
	I see the lady hath a thing to grant,
	Before the king will grant her humble suit.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  He knows the game: how true
	he keeps the wind!

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  Silence!

KING EDWARD IV	Widow, we will consider of your suit;
	And come some other time to know our mind.

LADY GREY	Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay:
	May it please your highness to resolve me now;
	And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.

GLOUCESTER	[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.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  I fear her not, unless she
	chance to fall.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that! for he'll
	take vantages.

KING EDWARD IV	How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  I think he means to beg a
	child of her.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  Nay, whip me then: he'll rather
	give her two.

LADY GREY	Three, my most gracious lord.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  You shall have four, if you'll
	be ruled by him.

KING EDWARD IV	'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.

LADY GREY	Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.

KING EDWARD IV	Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  Ay, good leave have you; for
	you will have leave,
	Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.

	[GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE retire]

KING EDWARD IV	Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?

LADY GREY	Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.

KING EDWARD IV	And would you not do much to do them good?

LADY GREY	To do them good, I would sustain some harm.

KING EDWARD IV	Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.

LADY GREY	Therefore I came unto your majesty.

KING EDWARD IV	I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.

LADY GREY	So shall you bind me to your highness' service.

KING EDWARD IV	What service wilt thou do me, if I give them?

LADY GREY	What you command, that rests in me to do.

KING EDWARD IV	But you will take exceptions to my boon.

LADY GREY	No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.

KING EDWARD IV	Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.

LADY GREY	Why, then I will do what your grace commands.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  He plies her hard; and much rain
	wears the marble.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  As red as fire! nay, then
	her wax must melt.

LADY GREY	Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task?

KING EDWARD IV	An easy task; 'tis but to love a king.

LADY GREY	That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.

KING EDWARD IV	Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.

LADY GREY	I take my leave with many thousand thanks.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  The match is made; she seals it
	with a curtsy.

KING EDWARD IV	But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean.

LADY GREY	The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.

KING EDWARD IV	Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.
	What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get?

LADY GREY	My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;
	That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.

KING EDWARD IV	No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.

LADY GREY	Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.

KING EDWARD IV	But now you partly may perceive my mind.

LADY GREY	My mind will never grant what I perceive
	Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.

KING EDWARD IV	To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.

LADY GREY	To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.

KING EDWARD IV	Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.

LADY GREY	Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;
	For by that loss I will not purchase them.

KING EDWARD IV	Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.

LADY GREY	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.'

KING EDWARD IV	Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request;
	No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand.

LADY GREY	Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  The widow likes him not, she
	knits her brows.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  He is the bluntest wooer in
	Christendom.

KING EDWARD IV	[Aside]  Her looks do argue her replete with modesty;
	Her words do show her wit incomparable;
	All her perfections challenge sovereignty:
	One way or other, she is for a king;
	And she shall be my love, or else my queen.--
	Say that King Edward take thee for his queen?

LADY GREY	'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord:
	I am a subject fit to jest withal,
	But far unfit to be a sovereign.

KING EDWARD IV	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.

LADY GREY	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.

KING EDWARD IV	You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen.

LADY GREY	'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father.

KING EDWARD IV	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.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside to CLARENCE]  The ghostly father now hath done
	his shrift.

CLARENCE	[Aside to GLOUCESTER]  When he was made a shriver,
	'twas for shift.

KING EDWARD IV	Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.

GLOUCESTER	The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.

KING EDWARD IV	You'll think it strange if I should marry her.

CLARENCE	To whom, my lord?

KING EDWARD IV	                  Why, Clarence, to myself.

GLOUCESTER	That would be ten days' wonder at the least.

CLARENCE	That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.

GLOUCESTER	By so much is the wonder in extremes.

KING EDWARD IV	Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both
	Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.

	[Enter a Nobleman]

Nobleman	My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,
	And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.

KING EDWARD IV	See that he be convey'd unto the Tower:
	And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
	To question of his apprehension.
	Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably.

	[Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
	Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all,
	That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
	To cross me from the golden time I look for!
	And yet, between my soul's desire and me--
	The lustful Edward's title buried--
	Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
	And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies,
	To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:
	A cold premeditation for my purpose!
	Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty;
	Like one that stands upon a promontory,
	And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
	Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,
	And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,
	Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way:
	So do I wish the crown, being so far off;
	And so I chide the means that 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 wither'd shrub;
	To make an envious mountain on my back,
	Where sits deformity to mock my body;
	To shape my legs of an unequal size;
	To disproportion me in every part,
	Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp
	That carries no impression like the dam.
	And am I then a man to be beloved?
	O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
	Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,
	But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such
	As are of better person than myself,
	I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,
	And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell,
	Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head
	Be round impaled 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 rends 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 slily than Ulysses could,
	And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.
	I can add colours to the chameleon,
	Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,
	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.

	[Exit]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE III	France. KING LEWIS XI's palace.


	[Flourish. Enter KING LEWIS XI, his sister BONA,
	his Admiral, called BOURBON, PRINCE EDWARD, QUEEN
	MARGARET, and OXFORD. KING LEWIS XI sits, and
	riseth up again]

KING LEWIS XI	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.

QUEEN MARGARET	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 dishonour laid me on the ground;
	Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,
	And to my humble seat conform myself.

KING LEWIS XI	Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair?

QUEEN MARGARET	From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears
	And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.

KING LEWIS XI	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.

QUEEN MARGARET	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 banish'd 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 treasures seized, our soldiers put to flight,
	And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.

KING LEWIS XI	Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm,
	While we bethink a means to break it off.

QUEEN MARGARET	The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.

KING LEWIS XI	The more I stay, the more I'll succor thee.

QUEEN MARGARET	O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.
	And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow!

	[Enter WARWICK]

KING LEWIS XI	What's he approacheth boldly to our presence?

QUEEN MARGARET	Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.

KING LEWIS XI	Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France?

	[He descends. She ariseth]

QUEEN MARGARET	Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;
	For this is he that moves both wind and tide.

WARWICK	From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
	My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,
	I come, in kindness and unfeigned love,
	First, to do greetings to thy royal person;
	And then to crave a league of amity;
	And lastly, to confirm that amity
	With a nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant
	That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,
	To England's king in lawful marriage.

QUEEN MARGARET	[Aside]  If that go forward, Henry's hope is done.

WARWICK	[To BONA]  And, gracious madam, in our king's behalf,
	I am commanded, with your leave and favour,
	Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue
	To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart;
	Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears,
	Hath placed thy beauty's image and thy virtue.

QUEEN MARGARET	King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak,
	Before you answer Warwick. His demand
	Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,
	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 dishonour;
	For though usurpers sway the rule awhile,
	Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.

WARWICK	Injurious Margaret!

PRINCE EDWARD	And why not queen?

WARWICK	Because thy father Henry did usurp;
	And thou no more are prince than she is queen.

OXFORD	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 conquered all France:
	From these our Henry lineally descends.

WARWICK	Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse,
	You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost
	All that which Henry 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.

OXFORD	Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege,
	Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years,
	And not bewray thy treason with a blush?

WARWICK	Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right,
	Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree?
	For shame! leave Henry, and call Edward king.

OXFORD	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 mellow'd 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.

WARWICK	And I the house of York.

KING LEWIS XI	Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford,
	Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside,
	While I use further conference with Warwick.

	[They stand aloof]

QUEEN MARGARET	Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not!

KING LEWIS XI	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.

WARWICK	Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.

KING LEWIS XI	But is he gracious in the people's eye?

WARWICK	The more that Henry was unfortunate.

KING LEWIS XI	Then further, all dissembling set aside,
	Tell me for truth the measure of his love
	Unto our sister Bona.

WARWICK	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 fix'd in virtue's ground,
	The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun,
	Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,
	Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.

KING LEWIS XI	Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.

BONA	Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine:

	[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.

KING LEWIS XI	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.

PRINCE EDWARD	To Edward, but not to the English king.

QUEEN MARGARET	Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device
	By this alliance to make void my suit:
	Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend.

KING LEWIS XI	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 promised.
	Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand
	That your estate requires and mine can yield.

WARWICK	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.

QUEEN MARGARET	Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, peace,
	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 blows a horn within]

KING LEWIS XI	Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.

	[Enter a Post]

Post	[To WARWICK]  My lord ambassador, these letters are for you,
	Sent from your brother, Marquess Montague:

	[To KING LEWIS XI]

	These from our king unto your majesty:

	[To QUEEN MARGARET]

	And, madam, these for you; from whom I know not.

	[They all read their letters]

OXFORD	I like it well that our fair queen and mistress
	Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.

PRINCE EDWARD	Nay, mark how Lewis stamps, as he were nettled:
	I hope all's for the best.

KING LEWIS XI	Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, fair queen?

QUEEN MARGARET	Mine, such as fill my heart with unhoped joys.

WARWICK	Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent.

KING LEWIS XI	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 the alliance that he seeks with France?
	Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?

QUEEN MARGARET	I told your majesty as much before:
	This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty.

WARWICK	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 dishonours 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 the abuse done to my niece?
	Did I impale him with the regal crown?
	Did I put Henry from his native right?
	And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame?
	Shame on himself! for my desert is honour:
	And to repair my honour lost for him,
	I here renounce him and return to Henry.
	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.

QUEEN MARGARET	Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love;
	And I forgive and quite forget old faults,
	And joy that thou becomest King Henry's friend.

WARWICK	So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned 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 honour,
	Or than for strength and safety of our country.

BONA	Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged
	But by thy help to this distressed queen?

QUEEN MARGARET	Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live,
	Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?

BONA	My quarrel and this English queen's are one.

WARWICK	And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours.

KING LEWIS XI	And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's.
	Therefore at last I firmly am resolved
	You shall have aid.

QUEEN MARGARET	Let me give humble thanks for all at once.

KING LEWIS XI	Then, England's messenger, return in post,
	And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,
	That Lewis of France is sending over masquers
	To revel it with him and his new bride:
	Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal.

BONA	Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
	I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.

QUEEN MARGARET	Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside,
	And I am ready to put armour on.

WARWICK	Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,
	And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.
	There's thy reward: be gone.

	[Exit Post]

KING LEWIS XI	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?

WARWICK	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.

QUEEN MARGARET	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.

PRINCE EDWARD	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]

KING LEWIS XI	Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied,
	And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high admiral,
	Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet.
	I long till Edward fall by war's mischance,
	For mocking marriage with a dame of France.

	[Exeunt all but WARWICK]

WARWICK	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.

	[Exit]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, and MONTAGUE]

GLOUCESTER	Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you
	Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey?
	Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?

CLARENCE	Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France;
	How could he stay till Warwick made return?

SOMERSET	My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the king.

GLOUCESTER	And his well-chosen bride.

CLARENCE	I mind to tell him plainly what I think.

	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, attended; QUEEN
	ELIZABETH, PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, HASTINGS, and others]

KING EDWARD IV	Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice,
	That you stand pensive, as half malcontent?

CLARENCE	As well as Lewis of France, or the Earl of Warwick,
	Which are so weak of courage and in judgment
	That they'll take no offence at our abuse.

KING EDWARD IV	Suppose they take offence without a cause,
	They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward,
	Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will.

GLOUCESTER	And shall have your will, because our king:
	Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

KING EDWARD IV	Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?

GLOUCESTER	Not I:
	No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd
	Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 'twere pity
	To sunder them that yoke so well together.

KING EDWARD IV	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.

CLARENCE	Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis
	Becomes your enemy, for mocking him
	About the marriage of the Lady Bona.

GLOUCESTER	And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,
	Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.

KING EDWARD IV	What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeased
	By such invention as I can devise?

MONTAGUE	Yet, to have join'd with France in such alliance
	Would more have strengthen'd this our commonwealth
	'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage.

HASTINGS	Why, knows not Montague that of itself
	England is safe, if true within itself?

MONTAGUE	But the safer when 'tis back'd with France.

HASTINGS	'Tis better using France than trusting France:
	Let us be back'd with God and with the seas
	Which He hath given for fence impregnable,
	And with their helps only defend ourselves;
	In them and in ourselves our safety lies.

CLARENCE	For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves
	To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.

KING EDWARD IV	Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant;
	And for this once my will shall stand for law.

GLOUCESTER	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.

CLARENCE	Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir
	Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son,
	And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.

KING EDWARD IV	Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife
	That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.

CLARENCE	In choosing for yourself, you show'd your judgment,
	Which being shallow, you give me leave
	To play the broker in mine own behalf;
	And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.

KING EDWARD IV	Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king,
	And not be tied unto his brother's will.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	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 honours me and mine,
	So your dislike, to whom I would be pleasing,
	Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.

KING EDWARD IV	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.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  I hear, yet say not much, but think the more.

	[Enter a Post]

KING EDWARD IV	Now, messenger, what letters or what news
	From France?

Post	My sovereign liege, no letters; and few words,
	But such as I, without your special pardon,
	Dare not relate.

KING EDWARD IV	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?

Post	At my depart, these were his very words:
	'Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king,
	That Lewis of France is sending over masquers
	To revel it with him and his new bride.'

KING EDWARD IV	Is Lewis so brave? belike he thinks me Henry.
	But what said Lady Bona to my marriage?

Post	These were her words, utter'd with mad disdain:
	'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
	I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.'

KING EDWARD IV	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.

Post	'Tell him,' quoth she, 'my mourning weeds are done,
	And I am ready to put armour on.'

KING EDWARD IV	Belike she minds to play the Amazon.
	But what said Warwick to these injuries?

Post	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.'

KING EDWARD IV	Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?
	Well I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd:
	They shall have wars and pay for their presumption.
	But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?

Post	Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in
	friendship
	That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter.

CLARENCE	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.

	[Exit CLARENCE, and SOMERSET follows]

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  Not I:
	My thoughts aim at a further matter; I
	Stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown.

KING EDWARD IV	Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!
	Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen;
	And haste is needful in this desperate 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.

	[Exeunt PEMBROKE and STAFFORD]

	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.

MONTAGUE	So God help Montague as he proves true!

HASTINGS	And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause!

KING EDWARD IV	Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?

GLOUCESTER	Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.

KING EDWARD IV	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.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE II	A plain in Warwickshire.


	[Enter WARWICK and OXFORD, with French soldiers]

WARWICK	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 come!
	Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?

CLARENCE	Fear not that, my lord.

WARWICK	Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;
	And welcome, Somerset: I hold it cowardice
	To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
	Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love;
	Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother,
	Were but a feigned 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 encamp'd,
	His soldiers lurking in the towns about,
	And but attended by a simple guard,
	We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?
	Our scouts have found the adventure very easy:
	That as Ulysses and stout Diomede
	With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents,
	And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,
	So we, well cover'd 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!

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE III	Edward's camp, near Warwick.


	[Enter three Watchmen, to guard KING EDWARD IV's tent]

First Watchman	Come on, my masters, each man take his stand:
	The king by this is set him down to sleep.

Second Watchman	What, will he not to bed?

First Watchman	Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow
	Never to lie and take his natural rest
	Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd.

Second Watchman	To-morrow then belike shall be the day,
	If Warwick be so near as men report.

Third Watchman	But say, I pray, what nobleman is that
	That with the king here resteth in his tent?

First Watchman	'Tis the Lord Hastings, the king's chiefest friend.

Third Watchman	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?

Second Watchman	'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous.

Third Watchman	Ay, but give me worship and quietness;
	I like it better than a dangerous honour.
	If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,
	'Tis to be doubted he would waken him.

First Watchman	Unless our halberds did shut up his passage.

Second Watchman	Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent,
	But to defend his person from night-foes?

	[Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, SOMERSET, and
	French soldiers, silent all]

WARWICK	This is his tent; and see where stand his guard.
	Courage, my masters! honour now or never!
	But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.

First Watchman	Who goes there?

Second Watchman	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, reenter
	WARWICK, SOMERSET, and the rest, bringing KING
	EDWARD IV out in his gown, sitting in a chair.
	RICHARD and HASTINGS fly over the stage]

SOMERSET	What are they that fly there?

WARWICK	Richard and Hastings: let them go; here is The duke.

KING EDWARD IV	        The duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted,
	Thou call'dst me king.

WARWICK	Ay, but the case is alter'd:
	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?

KING EDWARD IV	Yea, brother of Clarence, are 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.

WARWICK	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 convey'd
	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 a while farewell, good Duke of York.

	[They lead him out forcibly]

KING EDWARD IV	What fates impose, that men must needs abide;
	It boots not to resist both wind and tide.

	[Exit, guarded]

OXFORD	What now remains, my lords, for us to do
	But march to London with our soldiers?

WARWICK	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.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE IV	London. The palace.


	[Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and RIVERS]

RIVERS	Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Why brother Rivers, are you yet to learn
	What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward?

RIVERS	What! loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	No, but the loss of his own royal person.

RIVERS	Then is my sovereign slain?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner,
	Either betray'd 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.

RIVERS	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.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	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 the English crown.

RIVERS	But, madam, where is Warwick then become?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	I am inform'd 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.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE V	A park near Middleham Castle In Yorkshire.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and STANLEY]

GLOUCESTER	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 his way
	Under the colour of his usual game,
	He shall here find his friends with horse and men
	To set him free from his captivity.

	[Enter KING EDWARD IV and a Huntsman with him]

Huntsman	This way, my lord; for this way lies the game.

KING EDWARD IV	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?

GLOUCESTER	Brother, the time and case requireth haste:
	Your horse stands ready at the park-corner.

KING EDWARD IV	But whither shall we then?

HASTINGS	To Lynn, my lord,
	And ship from thence to Flanders.

GLOUCESTER	Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning.

KING EDWARD IV	Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.

GLOUCESTER	But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to talk.

KING EDWARD IV	Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou go along?

Huntsman	Better do so than tarry and be hang'd.

GLOUCESTER	Come then, away; let's ha' no more ado.

KING EDWARD IV	Bishop, farewell: shield thee from Warwick's frown;
	And pray that I may repossess the crown.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VI	London. The Tower.


	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLARENCE, WARWICK,
	SOMERSET, HENRY OF RICHMOND, OXFORD, MONTAGUE, and
	Lieutenant of the Tower]

KING HENRY VI	Master lieutenant, now that God and friends
	Have shaken Edward from the regal seat,
	And turn'd my captive state to liberty,
	My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys,
	At our enlargement what are thy due fees?

Lieutenant	Subjects may challenge nothing of their sovereigns;
	But if an humble prayer may prevail,
	I then crave pardon of your majesty.

KING HENRY VI	For what, lieutenant? for well using me?
	Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness,
	For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure;
	Ay, such a pleasure as incaged 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 set'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 blessed land
	May not be punish'd 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.

WARWICK	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.

CLARENCE	No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway,
	To whom the heavens 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.

WARWICK	And I choose Clarence only for protector.

KING HENRY VI	Warwick and Clarence give me both your hands:
	Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts,
	That no dissension hinder government:
	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.

WARWICK	What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will?

CLARENCE	That he consents, if Warwick yield consent;
	For on thy fortune I repose myself.

WARWICK	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 honour 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.

CLARENCE	What else? and that succession be determined.

WARWICK	Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.

KING HENRY VI	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.

CLARENCE	It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed.

KING HENRY VI	My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that,
	Of whom you seem to have so tender care?

SOMERSET	My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Richmond.

KING HENRY VI	Come hither, England's hope.

	[Lays his hand on his 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 sceptre, 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]

WARWICK	What news, my friend?

Post	That Edward is escaped from your brother,
	And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.

WARWICK	Unsavoury news! but how made he escape?

Post	He was convey'd 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.

WARWICK	My brother was too careless of his charge.
	But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide
	A salve for any sore that may betide.

	[Exeunt all but SOMERSET, HENRY OF RICHMOND, and OXFORD]

SOMERSET	My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's;
	For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help,
	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.

OXFORD	Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown,
	'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down.

SOMERSET	It shall be so; he shall to Brittany.
	Come, therefore, let's about it speedily.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VII	Before York.


	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER,
	HASTINGS, and Soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV	Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest,
	Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,
	And says that once more I shall interchange
	My waned state for Henry's regal crown.
	Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the seas
	And brought desired 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?

GLOUCESTER	The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this;
	For many men that stumble at the threshold
	Are well foretold that danger lurks within.

KING EDWARD IV	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.

HASTINGS	My liege, I'll knock once more to summon them.

	[Enter, on the walls, the Mayor of York, and his Brethren]

Mayor	My lords, we were forewarned of your coming,
	And shut the gates for safety of ourselves;
	For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.

KING EDWARD IV	But, master mayor, if Henry be your king,
	Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York.

Mayor	True, my good lord; I know you for no less.

KING EDWARD IV	Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom,
	As being well content with that alone.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  But when the fox hath once got in his nose,
	He'll soon find means to make the body follow.

HASTINGS	Why, master mayor, why stand you in a doubt?
	Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends.

Mayor	Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be open'd.

	[They descend]

GLOUCESTER	A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded!

HASTINGS	The good old man would fain that all were well,
	So 'twere not 'long of him; but being enter'd,
	I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade
	Both him and all his brothers unto reason.

	[Enter the Mayor and two Aldermen, below]

KING EDWARD IV	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]

GLOUCESTER	Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery,
	Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived.

KING EDWARD IV	Welcome, Sir John! But why come you in arms?

MONTAGUE	To help King Edward in his time of storm,
	As every loyal subject ought to do.

KING EDWARD IV	Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget
	Our title to the crown and only claim
	Our dukedom till God please to send the rest.

MONTAGUE	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]

KING EDWARD IV	Nay, stay, Sir John, awhile, and we'll debate
	By what safe means the crown may be recover'd.

MONTAGUE	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?

GLOUCESTER	Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?

KING EDWARD IV	When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim:
	Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.

HASTINGS	Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule.

GLOUCESTER	And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
	Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand:
	The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.

KING EDWARD IV	Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right,
	And Henry but usurps the diadem.

MONTAGUE	Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself;
	And now will I be Edward's champion.

HASTINGS	Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd:
	Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation.

	[Flourish]

Soldier	Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, king of
	England and France, and lord of Ireland, &c.

MONTAGUE	And whosoe'er gainsays King Edward's right,
	By this I challenge him to single fight.

	[Throws down his gauntlet]

All	Long live Edward the Fourth!

KING EDWARD IV	Thanks, brave Montgomery; and thanks unto you all:
	If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness.
	Now, for this night, let's harbour 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.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VIII	London. The palace.


	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, WARWICK, MONTAGUE,
	CLARENCE, EXETER, and OXFORD]

WARWICK	What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia,
	With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders,
	Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas,
	And with his troops doth march amain to London;
	And many giddy people flock to him.

KING HENRY VI	Let's levy men, and beat him back again.

CLARENCE	A little fire is quickly trodden out;
	Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.

WARWICK	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,
	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.

KING HENRY VI	Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope.

CLARENCE	In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand.

KING HENRY VI	Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!

MONTAGUE	Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave.

OXFORD	And thus I seal my truth, and bid adieu.

KING HENRY VI	Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,
	And all at once, once more a happy farewell.

WARWICK	Farewell, sweet lords: let's meet at Coventry.

	[Exeunt all but KING HENRY VI and EXETER]

KING HENRY VI	Here at the palace I will rest awhile.
	Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship?
	Methinks the power that Edward hath in field
	Should not be able to encounter mine.

EXETER	The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.

KING HENRY VI	That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame:
	I have not stopp'd 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 allay'd their swelling griefs,
	My mercy dried their water-flowing tears;
	I have not been desirous of their wealth,
	Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies.
	Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd:
	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. 'A Lancaster! A Lancaster!']

EXETER	Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these?

	[Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV	Seize on the shame-faced 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 sha$l suck them dry,
	And swell so much the higher by their ebb.
	Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak.

	[Exeunt some with KING HENRY VI]

	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.

GLOUCESTER	Away betimes, before his forces join,
	And take the great-grown traitor unawares:
	Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE I	Coventry.


	[Enter WARWICK, the Mayor of Coventry, two Messengers,
	and others upon the walls]

WARWICK	Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford?
	How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?

First Messenger	By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.

WARWICK	How far off is our brother Montague?
	Where is the post that came from Montague?

Second Messenger	By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.

	[Enter SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE]

WARWICK	Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?
	And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now?

SOMERSET	At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
	And do expect him here some two hours hence.

	[Drum heard]

WARWICK	Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.

SOMERSET	It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies:
	The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick.

WARWICK	Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends.

SOMERSET	They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.

	[March: flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER,
	and soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV	Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle.

GLOUCESTER	See how the surly Warwick mans the wall!

WARWICK	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?

KING EDWARD IV	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.

WARWICK	Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
	Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee own,
	Call Warwick patron and be penitent?
	And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.

GLOUCESTER	I thought, at least, he would have said the king;
	Or did he make the jest against his will?

WARWICK	Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?

GLOUCESTER	Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give:
	I'll do thee service for so good a gift.

WARWICK	'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.

KING EDWARD IV	Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.

WARWICK	Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight:
	And weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
	And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject.

KING EDWARD IV	But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner:
	And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this:
	What is the body when the head is off?

GLOUCESTER	Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,
	But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,
	The king was slily finger'd from the deck!
	You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
	And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.

EDWARD	'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.

GLOUCESTER	Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down:
	Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools.

WARWICK	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.

KING EDWARD IV	Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend,
	This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black 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.'

	[Enter OXFORD, with drum and colours]

WARWICK	O cheerful colours! see where Oxford comes!

OXFORD	Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!

	[He and his forces enter the city]

GLOUCESTER	The gates are open, let us enter too.

KING EDWARD IV	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 defence,
	We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same.

WARWICK	O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.

	[Enter MONTAGUE with drum and colours]

MONTAGUE	Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!

	[He and his forces enter the city]

GLOUCESTER	Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason
	Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.

KING EDWARD IV	The harder match'd, the greater victory:
	My mind presageth happy gain and conquest.

	[Enter SOMERSET, with drum and colours]

SOMERSET	Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!

	[He and his forces enter the city]

GLOUCESTER	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.

	[Enter CLARENCE, with drum and colours]

WARWICK	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.

CLARENCE	Father of Warwick, know you what this means?

	[Taking his red rose out of his hat]

	Look here, I throw my infamy at thee
	I will not ruinate my father's house,
	Who gave his blood to lime the stones together,
	And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st 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's, 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.
	Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends:
	And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
	For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.

KING EDWARD IV	Now welcome more, and ten times more beloved,
	Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.

GLOUCESTER	Welcome, good Clarence; this is brotherlike.

WARWICK	O passing traitor, perjured and unjust!

KING EDWARD IV	What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight?
	Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?

WARWICK	Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence!
	I will away towards Barnet presently,
	And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest.

KING EDWARD IV	Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way.
	Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory!

	[Exeunt King Edward and his company. March. Warwick
	and his company follow]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE II	A field of battle near Barnet.


	[Alarum and excursions. Enter KING EDWARD IV, bringing
	forth WARWICK wounded]

KING EDWARD IV	So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear;
	For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all.
	Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,
	That Warwick's bones may keep thine company.

	[Exit]

WARWICK	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 overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree
	And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind.
	These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,
	Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun,
	To search the secret treasons of the world:
	The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood,
	Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres;
	For who lived king, but I could dig his grave?
	And who durst mine when Warwick bent his brow?
	Lo, now my glory smear'd 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]

SOMERSET	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!

WARWICK	Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague,
	If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand.
	And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile!
	Thou lovest me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
	Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood
	That glues my lips and will not let me speak.
	Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.

SOMERSET	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 clamour in a vault,
	That mought not be distinguished; but at last
	I well might hear, delivered with a groan,
	'O, farewell, Warwick!'

WARWICK	Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves;
	For Warwick bids you all farewell to meet in heaven.

	[Dies]

OXFORD	Away, away, to meet the queen's great power!

	[Here they bear away his body. Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE III	Another part of the field.


	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV in triumph; with
	GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest]

KING EDWARD IV	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, threatening cloud,
	That will encounter with our glorious sun,
	Ere he attain his easeful western bed:
	I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen
	Hath raised in Gallia have arrived our coast
	And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.

CLARENCE	A little gale will soon disperse that cloud
	And blow it to the source from whence it came:
	The very beams will dry those vapours up,
	For every cloud engenders not a storm.

GLOUCESTER	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.

KING EDWARD IV	We are advertised by our loving friends
	That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury:
	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.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE IV	Plains near Tewksbury.


	[March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD,
	SOMERSET, OXFORD, and soldiers]

QUEEN MARGARET	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 swallow'd in the flood?
	Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he
	Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad
	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 topmost; what of him?
	Our slaughter'd 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 unskilful, why not Ned and I
	For once allow'd the skilful 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 wreck.
	As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.
	And what is Edward but 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 a while!
	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.

PRINCE EDWARD	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.
	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.

OXFORD	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!

SOMERSET	And he that will not fight for such a hope.
	Go home to bed, and like the owl by day,
	If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at.

QUEEN MARGARET	Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks.

PRINCE EDWARD	And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand.
	Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.

OXFORD	 I thought no less: it is his policy
	To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.

SOMERSET	But he's deceived; we are in readiness.

QUEEN MARGARET	This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.

OXFORD	Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.

	[Flourish and march. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER,
	CLARENCE, and soldiers]

KING EDWARD IV	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 ye blaze to burn them out
	Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords!

QUEEN MARGARET	Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say
	My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,
	Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes.
	Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,
	Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,
	His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,
	His statutes cancell'd 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. Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE V	Another part of the field.


	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE,
	and soldiers; with QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and
	SOMERSET, prisoners]

KING EDWARD IV	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.

OXFORD	For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.

SOMERSET	Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.

	[Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded]

QUEEN MARGARET	So part we sadly in this troublous world,
	To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

KING EDWARD IV	Is proclamation made, that who finds Edward
	Shall have a high reward, and he his life?

GLOUCESTER	It is: and lo, where youthful Edward comes!

	[Enter soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD]

KING EDWARD IV	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 turn'd me to?

PRINCE EDWARD	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.

QUEEN MARGARET	Ah, that thy father had been so resolved!

GLOUCESTER	That you might still have worn the petticoat,
	And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.

PRINCE EDWARD	Let AEsop fable in a winter's night;
	His currish riddles sort not with this place.

GLOUCESTER	By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for that word.

QUEEN MARGARET	Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.

GLOUCESTER	For God's sake, take away this captive scold.

PRINCE EDWARD	Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.

KING EDWARD IV	Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.

CLARENCE	Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.

PRINCE EDWARD	I know my duty; you are all undutiful:
	Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George,
	And thou mis-shapen Dick, I tell ye all
	I am your better, traitors as ye are:
	And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.

KING EDWARD IV	Take that, thou likeness of this railer here.

	[Stabs him]

GLOUCESTER	Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony.

	[Stabs him]

CLARENCE	And there's for twitting me with perjury.

	[Stabs him]

QUEEN MARGARET	O, kill me too!

GLOUCESTER	Marry, and shall.

	[Offers to kill her]

KING EDWARD IV	Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done too much.

GLOUCESTER	Why should she live, to fill the world with words?

KING EDWARD IV	What, doth she swoon? use means for her recovery.

GLOUCESTER	Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother;
	I'll hence to London on a serious matter:
	Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.

CLARENCE	What? what?

GLOUCESTER	The Tower, the Tower.

	[Exit]

QUEEN MARGARET	O Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy!
	Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers!
	They that stabb'd 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, and 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 cropp'd!
	You have no children, butchers! if you had,
	The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse:
	But if you ever chance to have a child,
	Look in his youth to have him so cut off
	As, deathmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!

KING EDWARD IV	Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.

QUEEN MARGARET	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.

CLARENCE	By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.

QUEEN MARGARET	Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.

CLARENCE	Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?

QUEEN MARGARET	Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself:
	'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.
	What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher,
	Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?
	Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed;
	Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.

KING EDWARD IV	Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence.

QUEEN MARGARET	So come to you and yours, as to this Prince!

	[Exit, led out forcibly]

KING EDWARD IV	Where's Richard gone?

CLARENCE	To London, all in post; and, as I guess,
	To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

KING EDWARD IV	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.

	[Exeunt]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE VI	London. The Tower.


	[Enter KING HENRY VI and GLOUCESTER, with the
	Lieutenant, on the walls]

GLOUCESTER	Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?

KING HENRY VI	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.'

GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer.

	[Exit Lieutenant]

KING HENRY VI	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?

GLOUCESTER	Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
	The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

KING HENRY VI	The bird that hath been limed 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 kill'd.

GLOUCESTER	Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
	That taught his son the office of a fowl!
	An yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.

KING HENRY VI	I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
	Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
	The sun that sear'd 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
	Than can my ears that tragic history.
	But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life?

GLOUCESTER	Think'st thou I am an executioner?

KING HENRY VI	A persecutor, I am sure, thou art:
	If murdering innocents be executing,
	Why, then thou art an executioner.

GLOUCESTER	Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.

KING HENRY VI	Hadst thou been kill'd 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,
	And orphans for their parents timeless death--
	Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
	The owl shriek'd at thy birth,--an evil sign;
	The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
	Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees;
	The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,
	And chattering 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 deformed lump,
	Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
	Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
	To signify thou camest to bite the world:
	And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
	Thou camest--

GLOUCESTER	I'll hear no more: die, prophet in thy speech:

	[Stabs him]

	For this amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.

KING HENRY VI	Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
	God forgive my sins, and pardon thee!

	[Dies]

GLOUCESTER	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 alway 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 ye, to make haste,
	And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
	The midwife wonder'd 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 buz 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:
	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.

	[Exit, with the body]




	3 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE VII	London. The palace.


	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV, QUEEN ELIZABETH,
	CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, a Nurse with the
	young Prince, and Attendants]

KING EDWARD IV	Once more we sit in England's royal throne,
	Re-purchased with the blood of enemies.
	What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,
	Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride!
	Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd
	For hardy and undoubted champions;
	Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
	And two Northumberlands; two braver men
	Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound;
	With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,
	That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion
	And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
	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 armours watch'd the winter's night,
	Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat,
	That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace;
	And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid;
	For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
	This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave;
	And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:
	Work thou the way,--and thou shalt execute.

KING EDWARD IV	Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen;
	And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.

CLARENCE	The duty that I owe unto your majesty
	I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.

GLOUCESTER	And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,
	Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.
	[Aside]  To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master,
	And cried 'all hail!' when as he meant all harm.

KING EDWARD IV	Now am I seated as my soul delights,
	Having my country's peace and brothers' loves.

CLARENCE	What will your grace have done with Margaret?
	Reignier, her father, to the king of France
	Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
	And hither have they sent it for her ransom.

KING EDWARD IV	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.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING
HENRY THE SIXTH	(KING HENRY VI:)

DUKE OF GLOUCESTER	uncle to the King, and Protector. (GLOUCESTER:)

DUKE OF BEDFORD	uncle to the King, and Regent of France. (BEDFORD:)

THOMAS BEAUFORT	Duke of Exeter, great-uncle to the King. (EXETER:)

HENRY BEAUFORT	great-uncle to the King, Bishop of Winchester, and
	afterwards Cardinal. (BISHOP OF WINCHESTER:)

JOHN BEAUFORT	Earl, afterwards Duke, of Somerset. (SOMERSET:)

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge, (RICHARD
	PLANTAGENET:)  afterwards Duke of York.
	(YORK:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

EARL OF SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

EARL OF SUFFOLK	(SUFFOLK:)

LORD TALBOT	afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury. (TALBOT:)

JOHN TALBOT	Lord Talbot's son.

EDMUND MORTIMER	Earl of March. (MORTIMER:)

SIR JOHN FASTOLFE	(FASTOLFE:)

SIR WILLIAM LUCY	(LUCY:)

SIR
WILLIAM GLANSDALE	(GLANDSDALE:)

SIR
THOMAS GARGRAVE	(GARGRAVE:)

Mayor of London	(Mayor:)

WOODVILE	Lieutenant of the Tower.

VERNON	of the White-Rose or York faction.

BASSET	of the Red-Rose or Lancaster faction.

	A Lawyer. (Lawyer:)

	Mortimer's Keepers. (First Gaoler:)

CHARLES	Dauphin, and afterwards King, of France.

REIGNIER	Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples.

DUKE OF BURGUNDY	(BURGUNDY:)

DUKE OF ALENCON	(ALENCON:)

BASTARD OF ORLEANS:

	Governor of Paris.

	Master-Gunner of Orleans, (Master-Gunner:)
	and his Son. (Boy:)

	General of the French forces in Bourdeaux. (General:)

	A French Sergeant. (Sargeant:)

	A Porter.

	An old Shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle. (Shepherd:)

MARGARET	daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to King Henry.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE:

JOAN LA PUCELLE	commonly called Joan of Arc.

	Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers,
	Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants.
	(First Warder:)
	(Second Warder:)
	(Captain:)
	(Officer:)
	(Soldier:)
	(First Soldier:)
	(Watch:)
	(Scout:)
	(First Sentinel:)
	(Servant:)
	(First Serving-Man:)
	(Second Serving-Man:)
	(Third Serving-Man:)

	Fiends appearing to La Pucelle.


SCENE	Partly in England, and partly in France.




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE I	Westminster Abbey.


	[Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the
	Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of
	France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of
	WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, &c]

BEDFORD	Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!
	Comets, importing change of times and states,
	Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,
	And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
	That have consented unto Henry's death!
	King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
	England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

GLOUCESTER	England ne'er had a king until his time.
	Virtue he had, deserving to command:
	His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams:
	His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
	His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire,
	More dazzled and drove back his enemies
	Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.
	What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:
	He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.

EXETER	We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood?
	Henry is dead and never shall revive:
	Upon a wooden coffin we attend,
	And death's dishonourable victory
	We with our stately presence glorify,
	Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
	What! shall we curse the planets of mishap
	That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
	Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
	Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him
	By magic verses have contrived his end?

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.
	Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day
	So dreadful will not be as was his sight.
	The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:
	The church's prayers made him so prosperous.

GLOUCESTER	The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd,
	His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:
	None do you like but an effeminate prince,
	Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector
	And lookest to command the prince and realm.
	Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,
	More than God or religious churchmen may.

GLOUCESTER	Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh,
	And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st
	Except it be to pray against thy foes.

BEDFORD	Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace:
	Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us:
	Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms:
	Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead.
	Posterity, await for wretched years,
	When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck,
	Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,
	And none but women left to wail the dead.
	Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate:
	Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,
	Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
	A far more glorious star thy soul will make
	Than Julius Caesar or bright--

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My honourable lords, health to you all!
	Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
	Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture:
	Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,
	Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.

BEDFORD	What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
	Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns
	Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.

GLOUCESTER	Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?
	If Henry were recall'd to life again,
	These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.

EXETER	How were they lost? what treachery was used?

Messenger	No treachery; but want of men and money.
	Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,
	That here you maintain several factions,
	And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
	You are disputing of your generals:
	One would have lingering wars with little cost;
	Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
	A third thinks, without expense at all,
	By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
	Awake, awake, English nobility!
	Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot:
	Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
	Of England's coat one half is cut away.

EXETER	Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
	These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.

BEDFORD	Me they concern; Regent I am of France.
	Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France.
	Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
	Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,
	To weep their intermissive miseries.

	[Enter to them another Messenger]

Messenger	Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance.
	France is revolted from the English quite,
	Except some petty towns of no import:
	The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims;
	The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
	Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
	The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.

EXETER	The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
	O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

GLOUCESTER	We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats.
	Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.

BEDFORD	Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
	An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
	Wherewith already France is overrun.

	[Enter another Messenger]

Messenger	My gracious lords, to add to your laments,
	Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse,
	I must inform you of a dismal fight
	Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?

Messenger	O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown:
	The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
	The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,
	Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
	Having full scarce six thousand in his troop.
	By three and twenty thousand of the French
	Was round encompassed and set upon.
	No leisure had he to enrank his men;
	He wanted pikes to set before his archers;
	Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges
	They pitched in the ground confusedly,
	To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
	More than three hours the fight continued;
	Where valiant Talbot above human thought
	Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:
	Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;
	Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew:
	The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms;
	All the whole army stood agazed on him:
	His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit
	A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain
	And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
	Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up,
	If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward:
	He, being in the vaward, placed behind
	With purpose to relieve and follow them,
	Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
	Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;
	Enclosed were they with their enemies:
	A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,
	Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back,
	Whom all France with their chief assembled strength
	Durst not presume to look once in the face.

BEDFORD	Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself,
	For living idly here in pomp and ease,
	Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
	Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.

Messenger	O no, he lives; but is took prisoner,
	And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford:
	Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.

BEDFORD	His ransom there is none but I shall pay:
	I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne:
	His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;
	Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.
	Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;
	Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,
	To keep our great Saint George's feast withal:
	Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
	Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.

Messenger	So you had need; for Orleans is besieged;
	The English army is grown weak and faint:
	The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply,
	And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
	Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.

EXETER	Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,
	Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,
	Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.

BEDFORD	I do remember it; and here take my leave,
	To go about my preparation.

	[Exit]

GLOUCESTER	I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,
	To view the artillery and munition;
	And then I will proclaim young Henry king.

	[Exit]

EXETER	To Eltham will I, where the young king is,
	Being ordain'd his special governor,
	And for his safety there I'll best devise.

	[Exit]

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Each hath his place and function to attend:
	I am left out; for me nothing remains.
	But long I will not be Jack out of office:
	The king from Eltham I intend to steal
	And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE II	France. Before Orleans.


	[Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and
	REIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers]

CHARLES	Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens
	So in the earth, to this day is not known:
	Late did he shine upon the English side;
	Now we are victors; upon us he smiles.
	What towns of any moment but we have?
	At pleasure here we lie near Orleans;
	Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
	Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

ALENCON	They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves:
	Either they must be dieted like mules
	And have their provender tied to their mouths
	Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.

REIGNIER	Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here?
	Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear:
	Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury;
	And he may well in fretting spend his gall,
	Nor men nor money hath he to make war.

CHARLES	Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them.
	Now for the honour of the forlorn French!
	Him I forgive my death that killeth me
	When he sees me go back one foot or fly.

	[Exeunt]

	[Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English
	with great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER]

CHARLES	Who ever saw the like? what men have I!
	Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled,
	But that they left me 'midst my enemies.

REIGNIER	Salisbury is a desperate homicide;
	He fighteth as one weary of his life.
	The other lords, like lions wanting food,
	Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.

ALENCON	Froissart, a countryman of ours, records,
	England all Olivers and Rowlands bred,
	During the time Edward the Third did reign.
	More truly now may this be verified;
	For none but Samsons and Goliases
	It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!
	Lean, raw-boned rascals! who would e'er suppose
	They had such courage and audacity?

CHARLES	Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves,
	And hunger will enforce them to be more eager:
	Of old I know them; rather with their teeth
	The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege.

REIGNIER	I think, by some odd gimmors or device
	Their arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on;
	Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.
	By my consent, we'll even let them alone.

ALENCON	Be it so.

	[Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS]

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.

CHARLES	Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd:
	Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?
	Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand:
	A holy maid hither with me I bring,
	Which by a vision sent to her from heaven
	Ordained is to raise this tedious siege
	And drive the English forth the bounds of France.
	The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,
	Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome:
	What's past and what's to come she can descry.
	Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,
	For they are certain and unfallible.

CHARLES	Go, call her in.

	[Exit BASTARD OF ORLEANS]

	But first, to try her skill,
	Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place:
	Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern:
	By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.

	[Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with JOAN LA PUCELLE]

REIGNIER	Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?
	Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;
	I know thee well, though never seen before.
	Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me:
	In private will I talk with thee apart.
	Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.

REIGNIER	She takes upon her bravely at first dash.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
	My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.
	Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased
	To shine on my contemptible estate:
	Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,
	And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,
	God's mother deigned to appear to me
	And in a vision full of majesty
	Will'd me to leave my base vocation
	And free my country from calamity:
	Her aid she promised and assured success:
	In complete glory she reveal'd herself;
	And, whereas I was black and swart before,
	With those clear rays which she infused on me
	That beauty am I bless'd with which you see.
	Ask me what question thou canst possible,
	And I will answer unpremeditated:
	My courage try by combat, if thou darest,
	And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
	Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate,
	If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.

CHARLES	Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms:
	Only this proof I'll of thy valour make,
	In single combat thou shalt buckle with me,
	And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
	Otherwise I renounce all confidence.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword,
	Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side;
	The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's
	churchyard,
	Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.

CHARLES	Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.

	[Here they fight, and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes]

CHARLES	Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon
	And fightest with the sword of Deborah.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak.

CHARLES	Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me:
	Impatiently I burn with thy desire;
	My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued.
	Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,
	Let me thy servant and not sovereign be:
	'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	I must not yield to any rites of love,
	For my profession's sacred from above:
	When I have chased all thy foes from hence,
	Then will I think upon a recompense.

CHARLES	Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.

REIGNIER	My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.

ALENCON	Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;
	Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.

REIGNIER	Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?

ALENCON	He may mean more than we poor men do know:
	These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.

REIGNIER	My lord, where are you? what devise you on?
	Shall we give over Orleans, or no?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants!
	Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.

CHARLES	What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.
	This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
	Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days,
	Since I have entered into these wars.
	Glory is like a circle in the water,
	Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
	Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
	With Henry's death the English circle ends;
	Dispersed are the glories it included.
	Now am I like that proud insulting ship
	Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.

CHARLES	Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?
	Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
	Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
	Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee.
	Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
	How may I reverently worship thee enough?

ALENCON	Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.

REIGNIER	Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;
	Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized.

CHARLES	Presently we'll try: come, let's away about it:
	No prophet will I trust, if she prove false.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE III	London. Before the Tower.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats]

GLOUCESTER	I am come to survey the Tower this day:
	Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.
	Where be these warders, that they wait not here?
	Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.

First Warder	[Within]  Who's there that knocks so imperiously?

First Serving-Man	It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.

Second Warder	[Within]  Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in.

First Serving-Man	Villains, answer you so the lord protector?

First Warder	[Within]  The Lord protect him! so we answer him:
	We do no otherwise than we are will'd.

GLOUCESTER	Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine?
	There's none protector of the realm but I.
	Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize.
	Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?

	[Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and
	WOODVILE the Lieutenant speaks within]

WOODVILE	What noise is this? what traitors have we here?

GLOUCESTER	Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?
	Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter.

WOODVILE	Have patience, noble duke; I may not open;
	The Cardinal of Winchester forbids:
	From him I have express commandment
	That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.

GLOUCESTER	Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me?
	Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate,
	Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook?
	Thou art no friend to God or to the king:
	Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.

Serving-Men	Open the gates unto the lord protector,
	Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.

	[Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates BISHOP
	OF WINCHESTER and his men in tawny coats]

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this?

GLOUCESTER	Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out?

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	I do, thou most usurping proditor,
	And not protector, of the king or realm.

GLOUCESTER	Stand back, thou manifest conspirator,
	Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord;
	Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin:
	I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat,
	If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot:
	This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,
	To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.

GLOUCESTER	I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back:
	Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth
	I'll use to carry thee out of this place.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Do what thou darest; I beard thee to thy face.

GLOUCESTER	What! am I dared and bearded to my face?
	Draw, men, for all this privileged place;
	Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard,
	I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly:
	Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat:
	In spite of pope or dignities of church,
	Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope.

GLOUCESTER	Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope!
	Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay?
	Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.
	Out, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite!

	[Here GLOUCESTER's men beat out BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER's men, and enter in the hurly-
	burly the Mayor of London and his Officers]

Mayor	Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,
	Thus contumeliously should break the peace!

GLOUCESTER	Peace, mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs:
	Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king,
	Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens,
	One that still motions war and never peace,
	O'ercharging your free purses with large fines,
	That seeks to overthrow religion,
	Because he is protector of the realm,
	And would have armour here out of the Tower,
	To crown himself king and suppress the prince.

GLOUCESTER	I will not answer thee with words, but blows.

	[Here they skirmish again]

Mayor	Naught rests for me in this tumultuous strife
	But to make open proclamation:
	Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst,
	Cry.

Officer	All manner of men assembled here in arms this day
	against God's peace and the king's, we charge and
	command you, in his highness' name, to repair to
	your several dwelling-places; and not to wear,
	handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger,
	henceforward, upon pain of death.

GLOUCESTER	Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law:
	But we shall meet, and break our minds at large.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure:
	Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.

Mayor	I'll call for clubs, if you will not away.
	This cardinal's more haughty than the devil.

GLOUCESTER	Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou mayst.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head;
	For I intend to have it ere long.

	[Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER with their Serving-men]

Mayor	See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.
	Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear!
	I myself fight not once in forty year.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE IV	Orleans.


	[Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy]

Master-Gunner	Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieged,
	And how the English have the suburbs won.

Boy	Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,
	Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.

Master-Gunner	But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me:
	Chief master-gunner am I of this town;
	Something I must do to procure me grace.
	The prince's espials have informed me
	How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd,
	Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars
	In yonder tower, to overpeer the city,
	And thence discover how with most advantage
	They may vex us with shot, or with assault.
	To intercept this inconvenience,
	A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed;
	And even these three days have I watch'd,
	If I could see them.
	Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer.
	If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;
	And thou shalt find me at the governor's.

	[Exit]

Boy	Father, I warrant you; take you no care;
	I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.

	[Exit]

	[Enter, on the turrets, SALISBURY and TALBOT,
	GLANSDALE, GARGRAVE, and others]

SALISBURY	Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!
	How wert thou handled being prisoner?
	Or by what means got'st thou to be released?
	Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.

TALBOT	The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner
	Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;
	For him was I exchanged and ransomed.
	But with a baser man of arms by far
	Once in contempt they would have barter'd me:
	Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death,
	Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd.
	In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired.
	But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart,
	Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
	If I now had him brought into my power.

SALISBURY	Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd.

TALBOT	With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts.
	In open market-place produced they me,
	To be a public spectacle to all:
	Here, said they, is the terror of the French,
	The scarecrow that affrights our children so.
	Then broke I from the officers that led me,
	And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground,
	To hurl at the beholders of my shame:
	My grisly countenance made others fly;
	None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
	In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;
	So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread,
	That they supposed I could rend bars of steel,
	And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:
	Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,
	That walked about me every minute-while;
	And if I did but stir out of my bed,
	Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.

	[Enter the Boy with a linstock]

SALISBURY	I grieve to hear what torments you endured,
	But we will be revenged sufficiently
	Now it is supper-time in Orleans:
	Here, through this grate, I count each one
	and view the Frenchmen how they fortify:
	Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.
	Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale,
	Let me have your express opinions
	Where is best place to make our battery next.

GARGRAVE	I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords.

GLANSDALE	And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.

TALBOT	For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,
	Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.

	[Here they shoot. SALISBURY and GARGRAVE fall]

SALISBURY	O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

GARGRAVE	O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man!

TALBOT	What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?
	Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak:
	How farest thou, mirror of all martial men?
	One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!
	Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand
	That hath contrived this woful tragedy!
	In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;
	Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars;
	Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,
	His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.
	Yet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,
	One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace:
	The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
	Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,
	If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!
	Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.
	Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?
	Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.
	Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;
	Thou shalt not die whiles--
	He beckons with his hand and smiles on me.
	As who should say 'When I am dead and gone,
	Remember to avenge me on the French.'
	Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,
	Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
	Wretched shall France be only in my name.

	[Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens]

	What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens?
	Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My lord, my lord, the French have gathered head:
	The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,
	A holy prophetess new risen up,
	Is come with a great power to raise the siege.

	[Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans]

TALBOT	Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan!
	It irks his heart he cannot be revenged.
	Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you:
	Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,
	Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels,
	And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
	Convey me Salisbury into his tent,
	And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.

	[Alarum. Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE V	The same.


	[Here an alarum again: and TALBOT pursueth the
	DAUPHIN, and driveth him: then enter JOAN LA
	PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit
	after them then re-enter TALBOT]

TALBOT	Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?
	Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them:
	A woman clad in armour chaseth them.

	[Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE]

	Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee;
	Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:
	Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch,
	And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.

	[Here they fight]

TALBOT	Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?
	My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage
	And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder.
	But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.

	[They fight again]

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:
	I must go victual Orleans forthwith.

	[A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers]

	O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
	Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men;
	Help Salisbury to make his testament:
	This day is ours, as many more shall be.

	[Exit]

TALBOT	My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;
	I know not where I am, nor what I do;
	A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,
	Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists:
	So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench
	Are from their hives and houses driven away.
	They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs;
	Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.

	[A short alarum]

	Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight,
	Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
	Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:
	Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,
	Or horse or oxen from the leopard,
	As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.

	[Alarum. Here another skirmish]

	It will not be: retire into your trenches:
	You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
	For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.
	Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,
	In spite of us or aught that we could do.
	O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
	The shame hereof will make me hide my head.

	[Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat; flourish]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT I



SCENE VI	The same.


	[Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES,
	REIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers]

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Advance our waving colours on the walls;
	Rescued is Orleans from the English
	Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

CHARLES	Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter,
	How shall I honour thee for this success?
	Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens
	That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next.
	France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!
	Recover'd is the town of Orleans:
	More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.

REIGNIER	Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town?
	Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires
	And feast and banquet in the open streets,
	To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.

ALENCON	All France will be replete with mirth and joy,
	When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.

CHARLES	'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;
	For which I will divide my crown with her,
	And all the priests and friars in my realm
	Shall in procession sing her endless praise.
	A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear
	Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was:
	In memory of her when she is dead,
	Her ashes, in an urn more precious
	Than the rich-jewel'd of Darius,
	Transported shall be at high festivals
	Before the kings and queens of France.
	No longer on Saint Denis will we cry,
	But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.
	Come in, and let us banquet royally,
	After this golden day of victory.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE I	Before Orleans.


	[Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels]

Sergeant	Sirs, take your places and be vigilant:
	If any noise or soldier you perceive
	Near to the walls, by some apparent sign
	Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.

First Sentinel	Sergeant, you shall.

	[Exit Sergeant]

		Thus are poor servitors,
	When others sleep upon their quiet beds,
	Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold.

	[Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with
	scaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march]

TALBOT	Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,
	By whose approach the regions of Artois,
	Wallon and Picardy are friends to us,
	This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,
	Having all day caroused and banqueted:
	Embrace we then this opportunity
	As fitting best to quittance their deceit
	Contrived by art and baleful sorcery.

BEDFORD	Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame,
	Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
	To join with witches and the help of hell!

BURGUNDY	Traitors have never other company.
	But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?

TALBOT	A maid, they say.

BEDFORD	                  A maid! and be so martial!

BURGUNDY	Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,
	If underneath the standard of the French
	She carry armour as she hath begun.

TALBOT	Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:
	God is our fortress, in whose conquering name
	Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

BEDFORD	Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.

TALBOT	Not all together: better far, I guess,
	That we do make our entrance several ways;
	That, if it chance the one of us do fail,
	The other yet may rise against their force.

BEDFORD	Agreed: I'll to yond corner.

BURGUNDY	And I to this.

TALBOT	And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.
	Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right
	Of English Henry, shall this night appear
	How much in duty I am bound to both.

Sentinels	Arm! arm! the enemy doth make assault!

	[Cry: 'St. George,' 'A Talbot.']

	[The French leap over the walls in their shirts.
	Enter, several ways, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS,
	ALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready]

ALENCON	How now, my lords! what, all unready so?

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well.

REIGNIER	'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,
	Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors.

ALENCON	Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms,
	Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise
	More venturous or desperate than this.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.

REIGNIER	If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.

ALENCON	Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard.

	[Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE]

CHARLES	Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?
	Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,
	Make us partakers of a little gain,
	That now our loss might be ten times so much?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend!
	At all times will you have my power alike?
	Sleeping or waking must I still prevail,
	Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?
	Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,
	This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.

CHARLES	Duke of Alencon, this was your default,
	That, being captain of the watch to-night,
	Did look no better to that weighty charge.

ALENCON	Had all your quarters been as safely kept
	As that whereof I had the government,
	We had not been thus shamefully surprised.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Mine was secure.

REIGNIER	                  And so was mine, my lord.

CHARLES	And, for myself, most part of all this night,
	Within her quarter and mine own precinct
	I was employ'd in passing to and fro,
	About relieving of the sentinels:
	Then how or which way should they first break in?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Question, my lords, no further of the case,
	How or which way: 'tis sure they found some place
	But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
	And now there rests no other shift but this;
	To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed,
	And lay new platforms to endamage them.

	[Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A
	Talbot! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their
	clothes behind]

Soldier	I'll be so bold to take what they have left.
	The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;
	For I have loaden me with many spoils,
	Using no other weapon but his name.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE II	Orleans. Within the town.


	[Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and others]

BEDFORD	The day begins to break, and night is fled,
	Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.
	Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.

	[Retreat sounded]

TALBOT	Bring forth the body of old Salisbury,
	And here advance it in the market-place,
	The middle centre of this cursed town.
	Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;
	For every drop of blood was drawn from him,
	There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight.
	And that hereafter ages may behold
	What ruin happen'd in revenge of him,
	Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
	A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd:
	Upon the which, that every one may read,
	Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans,
	The treacherous manner of his mournful death
	And what a terror he had been to France.
	But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,
	I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace,
	His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,
	Nor any of his false confederates.

BEDFORD	'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,
	Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds,
	They did amongst the troops of armed men
	Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.

BURGUNDY	Myself, as far as I could well discern
	For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,
	Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull,
	When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,
	Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves
	That could not live asunder day or night.
	After that things are set in order here,
	We'll follow them with all the power we have.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	All hail, my lords! which of this princely train
	Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
	So much applauded through the realm of France?

TALBOT	Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him?

Messenger	The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,
	With modesty admiring thy renown,
	By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe
	To visit her poor castle where she lies,
	That she may boast she hath beheld the man
	Whose glory fills the world with loud report.

BURGUNDY	Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars
	Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport,
	When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.
	You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.

TALBOT	Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men
	Could not prevail with all their oratory,
	Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled:
	And therefore tell her I return great thanks,
	And in submission will attend on her.
	Will not your honours bear me company?

BEDFORD	No, truly; it is more than manners will:
	And I have heard it said, unbidden guests
	Are often welcomest when they are gone.

TALBOT	Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,
	I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.
	Come hither, captain.

	[Whispers]

		You perceive my mind?

Captain	I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II



SCENE III	Auvergne. The COUNTESS's castle.


	[Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter]

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	Porter, remember what I gave in charge;
	And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.

Porter	Madam, I will.

	[Exit]

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	The plot is laid: if all things fall out right,
	I shall as famous be by this exploit
	As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.
	Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight,
	And his achievements of no less account:
	Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
	To give their censure of these rare reports.

	[Enter Messenger and TALBOT]

Messenger	Madam,
	According as your ladyship desired,
	By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	And he is welcome. What! is this the man?

Messenger	Madam, it is.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	                  Is this the scourge of France?
	Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad
	That with his name the mothers still their babes?
	I see report is fabulous and false:
	I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
	A second Hector, for his grim aspect,
	And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
	Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!
	It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp
	Should strike such terror to his enemies.

TALBOT	Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;
	But since your ladyship is not at leisure,
	I'll sort some other time to visit you.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes.

Messenger	Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves
	To know the cause of your abrupt departure.

TALBOT	Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
	I go to certify her Talbot's here.

	[Re-enter Porter with keys]

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.

TALBOT	Prisoner! to whom?

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	To me, blood-thirsty lord;
	And for that cause I trained thee to my house.
	Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
	For in my gallery thy picture hangs:
	But now the substance shall endure the like,
	And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,
	That hast by tyranny these many years
	Wasted our country, slain our citizens
	And sent our sons and husbands captivate.

TALBOT	Ha, ha, ha!

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn to moan.

TALBOT	I laugh to see your ladyship so fond
	To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow
	Whereon to practise your severity.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	Why, art not thou the man?

TALBOT	I am indeed.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	Then have I substance too.

TALBOT	No, no, I am but shadow of myself:
	You are deceived, my substance is not here;
	For what you see is but the smallest part
	And least proportion of humanity:
	I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
	It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,
	Your roof were not sufficient to contain't.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;
	He will be here, and yet he is not here:
	How can these contrarieties agree?

TALBOT	That will I show you presently.

	[Winds his horn. Drums strike up: a peal of
	ordnance. Enter soldiers]

	How say you, madam? are you now persuaded
	That Talbot is but shadow of himself?
	These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength,
	With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,
	Razeth your cities and subverts your towns
	And in a moment makes them desolate.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse:
	I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited
	And more than may be gather'd by thy shape.
	Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath;
	For I am sorry that with reverence
	I did not entertain thee as thou art.

TALBOT	Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue
	The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
	The outward composition of his body.
	What you have done hath not offended me;
	Nor other satisfaction do I crave,
	But only, with your patience, that we may
	Taste of your wine and see what cates you have;
	For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.

COUNTESS
OF AUVERGNE	With all my heart, and think me honoured
	To feast so great a warrior in my house.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II


SCENE IV	London. The Temple-garden.


	[Enter the Earls of SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK;
	RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another Lawyer]

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Great lords and gentlemen, what means this silence?
	Dare no man answer in a case of truth?

SUFFOLK	Within the Temple-hall we were too loud;
	The garden here is more convenient.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth;
	Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error?

SUFFOLK	Faith, I have been a truant in the law,
	And never yet could frame my will to it;
	And therefore frame the law unto my will.

SOMERSET	Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.

WARWICK	Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;
	Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;
	Between two blades, which bears the better temper:
	Between two horses, which doth bear him best;
	Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye;
	I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgement;
	But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
	Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:
	The truth appears so naked on my side
	That any purblind eye may find it out.

SOMERSET	And on my side it is so well apparell'd,
	So clear, so shining and so evident
	That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,
	In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:
	Let him that is a true-born gentleman
	And stands upon the honour of his birth,
	If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
	From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.

SOMERSET	Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,
	But dare maintain the party of the truth,
	Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.

WARWICK	I love no colours, and without all colour
	Of base insinuating flattery
	I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.

SUFFOLK	I pluck this red rose with young Somerset
	And say withal I think he held the right.

VERNON	Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more,
	Till you conclude that he upon whose side
	The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree
	Shall yield the other in the right opinion.

SOMERSET	Good Master Vernon, it is well objected:
	If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	And I.

VERNON	Then for the truth and plainness of the case.
	I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
	Giving my verdict on the white rose side.

SOMERSET	Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,
	Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red
	And fall on my side so, against your will.

VERNON	If I my lord, for my opinion bleed,
	Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt
	And keep me on the side where still I am.

SOMERSET	Well, well, come on: who else?

Lawyer	Unless my study and my books be false,
	The argument you held was wrong in you:

	[To SOMERSET]

	In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

SOMERSET	Here in my scabbard, meditating that
	Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;
	For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
	The truth on our side.

SOMERSET	No, Plantagenet,
	'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks
	Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,
	And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

SOMERSET	Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;
	Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.

SOMERSET	Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,
	That shall maintain what I have said is true,
	Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
	I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.

SUFFOLK	Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and thee.

SUFFOLK	I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.

SOMERSET	Away, away, good William de la Pole!
	We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.

WARWICK	Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;
	His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,
	Third son to the third Edward King of England:
	Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	He bears him on the place's privilege,
	Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.

SOMERSET	By him that made me, I'll maintain my words
	On any plot of ground in Christendom.
	Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,
	For treason executed in our late king's days?
	And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted,
	Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?
	His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
	And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	My father was attached, not attainted,
	Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;
	And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,
	Were growing time once ripen'd to my will.
	For your partaker Pole and you yourself,
	I'll note you in my book of memory,
	To scourge you for this apprehension:
	Look to it well and say you are well warn'd.

SOMERSET	Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;
	And know us by these colours for thy foes,
	For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,
	As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
	Will I for ever and my faction wear,
	Until it wither with me to my grave
	Or flourish to the height of my degree.

SUFFOLK	Go forward and be choked with thy ambition!
	And so farewell until I meet thee next.

	[Exit]

SOMERSET	Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious Richard.

	[Exit]

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	How I am braved and must perforce endure it!

WARWICK	This blot that they object against your house
	Shall be wiped out in the next parliament
	Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;
	And if thou be not then created York,
	I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
	Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,
	Against proud Somerset and William Pole,
	Will I upon thy party wear this rose:
	And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,
	Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden,
	Shall send between the red rose and the white
	A thousand souls to death and deadly night.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you,
	That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.

VERNON	In your behalf still will I wear the same.

Lawyer	And so will I.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Thanks, gentle sir.
	Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say
	This quarrel will drink blood another day.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT II


SCENE V	The Tower of London.


	[Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and Gaolers]

MORTIMER	Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
	Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.
	Even like a man new haled from the rack,
	So fare my limbs with long imprisonment.
	And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
	Nestor-like aged in an age of care,
	Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
	These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
	Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;
	Weak shoulders, overborne with burthening grief,
	And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine
	That droops his sapless branches to the ground;
	Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,
	Unable to support this lump of clay,
	Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,
	As witting I no other comfort have.
	But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?

First Gaoler	Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come:
	We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;
	And answer was return'd that he will come.

MORTIMER	Enough: my soul shall then be satisfied.
	Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.
	Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
	Before whose glory I was great in arms,
	This loathsome sequestration have I had:
	And even since then hath Richard been obscured,
	Deprived of honour and inheritance.
	But now the arbitrator of despairs,
	Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
	With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence:
	I would his troubles likewise were expired,
	That so he might recover what was lost.

	[Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

First Gaoler	My lord, your loving nephew now is come.

MORTIMER	Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used,
	Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.

MORTIMER	Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck,
	And in his bosom spend my latter gasp:
	O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,
	That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.
	And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,
	Why didst thou say, of late thou wert despised?

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;
	And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.
	This day, in argument upon a case,
	Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me;
	Among which terms he used his lavish tongue
	And did upbraid me with my father's death:
	Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
	Else with the like I had requited him.
	Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,
	In honour of a true Plantagenet
	And for alliance sake, declare the cause
	My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.

MORTIMER	That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me
	And hath detain'd me all my flowering youth
	Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,
	Was cursed instrument of his decease.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Discover more at large what cause that was,
	For I am ignorant and cannot guess.

MORTIMER	I will, if that my fading breath permit
	And death approach not ere my tale be done.
	Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,
	Deposed his nephew Richard, Edward's son,
	The first-begotten and the lawful heir,
	Of Edward king, the third of that descent:
	During whose reign the Percies of the north,
	Finding his usurpation most unjust,
	Endeavor'd my advancement to the throne:
	The reason moved these warlike lords to this
	Was, for that--young King Richard thus removed,
	Leaving no heir begotten of his body--
	I was the next by birth and parentage;
	For by my mother I derived am
	From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son
	To King Edward the Third; whereas he
	From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
	Being but fourth of that heroic line.
	But mark: as in this haughty attempt
	They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
	I lost my liberty and they their lives.
	Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,
	Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,
	Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then derived
	From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,
	Marrying my sister that thy mother was,
	Again in pity of my hard distress
	Levied an army, weening to redeem
	And have install'd me in the diadem:
	But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl
	And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
	In whom the tide rested, were suppress'd.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Of which, my lord, your honour is the last.

MORTIMER	True; and thou seest that I no issue have
	And that my fainting words do warrant death;
	Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather:
	But yet be wary in thy studious care.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Thy grave admonishments prevail with me:
	But yet, methinks, my father's execution
	Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.

MORTIMER	With silence, nephew, be thou politic:
	Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,
	And like a mountain, not to be removed.
	But now thy uncle is removing hence:
	As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd
	With long continuance in a settled place.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	O, uncle, would some part of my young years
	Might but redeem the passage of your age!

MORTIMER	Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer doth
	Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.
	Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
	Only give order for my funeral:
	And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes
	And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!

	[Dies]

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!
	In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage
	And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.
	Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
	And what I do imagine let that rest.
	Keepers, convey him hence, and I myself
	Will see his burial better than his life.

	[Exeunt Gaolers, bearing out the body of MORTIMER]

	Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
	Choked with ambition of the meaner sort:
	And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
	Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house:
	I doubt not but with honour to redress;
	And therefore haste I to the parliament,
	Either to be restored to my blood,
	Or make my ill the advantage of my good.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE I	London. The Parliament-house.


	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, EXETER, GLOUCESTER,
	WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others.
	GLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears it]

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Comest thou with deep premeditated lines,
	With written pamphlets studiously devised,
	Humphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse,
	Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,
	Do it without invention, suddenly;
	As I with sudden and extemporal speech
	Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

GLOUCESTER	Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience,
	Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.
	Think not, although in writing I preferr'd
	The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
	That therefore I have forged, or am not able
	Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:
	No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
	Thy lewd, pestiferous and dissentious pranks,
	As very infants prattle of thy pride.
	Thou art a most pernicious usurer,
	Forward by nature, enemy to peace;
	Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
	A man of thy profession and degree;
	And for thy treachery, what's more manifest?
	In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
	As well at London bridge as at the Tower.
	Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
	The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
	From envious malice of thy swelling heart.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe
	To give me hearing what I shall reply.
	If I were covetous, ambitious or perverse,
	As he will have me, how am I so poor?
	Or how haps it I seek not to advance
	Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
	And for dissension, who preferreth peace
	More than I do?--except I be provoked.
	No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
	It is not that that hath incensed the duke:
	It is, because no one should sway but he;
	No one but he should be about the king;
	And that engenders thunder in his breast
	And makes him roar these accusations forth.
	But he shall know I am as good--

GLOUCESTER	As good!
	Thou bastard of my grandfather!

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,
	But one imperious in another's throne?

GLOUCESTER	Am I not protector, saucy priest?

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	And am not I a prelate of the church?

GLOUCESTER	Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps
	And useth it to patronage his theft.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Unreverent Gloster!

GLOUCESTER	Thou art reverent
	Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Rome shall remedy this.

WARWICK	Roam thither, then.

SOMERSET	My lord, it were your duty to forbear.

WARWICK	Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.

SOMERSET	Methinks my lord should be religious
	And know the office that belongs to such.

WARWICK	Methinks his lordship should be humbler;
	it fitteth not a prelate so to plead.

SOMERSET	Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.

WARWICK	State holy or unhallow'd, what of that?
	Is not his grace protector to the king?

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	[Aside]  Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue,
	Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should;
	Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?'
	Else would I have a fling at Winchester.

KING HENRY VI	Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,
	The special watchmen of our English weal,
	I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,
	To join your hearts in love and amity.
	O, what a scandal is it to our crown,
	That two such noble peers as ye should jar!
	Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell
	Civil dissension is a viperous worm
	That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.

	[A noise within, 'Down with the tawny-coats!']

	What tumult's this?

WARWICK	An uproar, I dare warrant,
	Begun through malice of the bishop's men.

	[A noise again, 'Stones! stones!' Enter Mayor]

Mayor	O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,
	Pity the city of London, pity us!
	The bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men,
	Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
	Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones
	And banding themselves in contrary parts
	Do pelt so fast at one another's pate
	That many have their giddy brains knock'd out:
	Our windows are broke down in every street
	And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops.

	[Enter Serving-men, in skirmish, with bloody pates]

KING HENRY VI	We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
	To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace.
	Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.

First Serving-man	Nay, if we be forbidden stones,
	We'll fall to it with our teeth.

Second Serving-man	Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.

	[Skirmish again]

GLOUCESTER	You of my household, leave this peevish broil
	And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.

Third Serving-man	My lord, we know your grace to be a man
	Just and upright; and, for your royal birth,
	Inferior to none but to his majesty:
	And ere that we will suffer such a prince,
	So kind a father of the commonweal,
	To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,
	We and our wives and children all will fight
	And have our bodies slaughtered by thy foes.

First Serving-man	Ay, and the very parings of our nails
	Shall pitch a field when we are dead.

	[Begin again]

GLOUCESTER	Stay, stay, I say!
	And if you love me, as you say you do,
	Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.

KING HENRY VI	O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!
	Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold
	My sighs and tears and will not once relent?
	Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
	Or who should study to prefer a peace.
	If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

WARWICK	Yield, my lord protector; yield, Winchester;
	Except you mean with obstinate repulse
	To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.
	You see what mischief and what murder too
	Hath been enacted through your enmity;
	Then be at peace except ye thirst for blood.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	He shall submit, or I will never yield.

GLOUCESTER	Compassion on the king commands me stoop;
	Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest
	Should ever get that privilege of me.

WARWICK	Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the duke
	Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
	As by his smoothed brows it doth appear:
	Why look you still so stern and tragical?

GLOUCESTER	Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.

KING HENRY VI	Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach
	That malice was a great and grievous sin;
	And will not you maintain the thing you teach,
	But prove a chief offender in the same?

WARWICK	Sweet king! the bishop hath a kindly gird.
	For shame, my lord of Winchester, relent!
	What, shall a child instruct you what to do?

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee;
	Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.--
	See here, my friends and loving countrymen,
	This token serveth for a flag of truce
	Betwixt ourselves and all our followers:
	So help me God, as I dissemble not!

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	[Aside]  So help me God, as I intend it not!

KING HENRY VI	O, loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,
	How joyful am I made by this contract!
	Away, my masters! trouble us no more;
	But join in friendship, as your lords have done.

First Serving-man	Content: I'll to the surgeon's.

Second Serving-man	And so will I.

Third Serving-man	And I will see what physic the tavern affords.

	[Exeunt Serving-men, Mayor, &c]

WARWICK	Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,
	Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet
	We do exhibit to your majesty.

GLOUCESTER	Well urged, my Lord of Warwick: or sweet prince,
	And if your grace mark every circumstance,
	You have great reason to do Richard right;
	Especially for those occasions
	At Eltham Place I told your majesty.

KING HENRY VI	And those occasions, uncle, were of force:
	Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is
	That Richard be restored to his blood.

WARWICK	Let Richard be restored to his blood;
	So shall his father's wrongs be recompensed.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.

KING HENRY VI	If Richard will be true, not that alone
	But all the whole inheritance I give
	That doth belong unto the house of York,
	From whence you spring by lineal descent.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	Thy humble servant vows obedience
	And humble service till the point of death.

KING HENRY VI	Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;
	And, in reguerdon of that duty done,
	I gird thee with the valiant sword of York:
	Rise Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
	And rise created princely Duke of York.

RICHARD
PLANTAGENET	And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!
	And as my duty springs, so perish they
	That grudge one thought against your majesty!

ALL	Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke of York!

SOMERSET	[Aside]  Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York!

GLOUCESTER	Now will it best avail your majesty
	To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France:
	The presence of a king engenders love
	Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,
	As it disanimates his enemies.

KING HENRY VI	When Gloucester says the word, King Henry goes;
	For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.

GLOUCESTER	Your ships already are in readiness.

	[Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER]

EXETER	Ay, we may march in England or in France,
	Not seeing what is likely to ensue.
	This late dissension grown betwixt the peers
	Burns under feigned ashes of forged love
	And will at last break out into a flame:
	As fester'd members rot but by degree,
	Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,
	So will this base and envious discord breed.
	And now I fear that fatal prophecy
	Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth
	Was in the mouth of every sucking babe;
	That Henry born at Monmouth should win all
	And Henry born at Windsor lose all:
	Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish
	His days may finish ere that hapless time.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE II	France. Before Rouen.


	[Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE disguised, with four Soldiers
	with sacks upon their backs]

JOAN LA PUCELLE	These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,
	Through which our policy must make a breach:
	Take heed, be wary how you place your words;
	Talk like the vulgar sort of market men
	That come to gather money for their corn.
	If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,
	And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
	I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,
	That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.

First Soldier	Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,
	And we be lords and rulers over Rouen;
	Therefore we'll knock.

	[Knocks]

Watch	[Within]  Qui est la?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Paysans, pauvres gens de France;
	Poor market folks that come to sell their corn.

Watch	Enter, go in; the market bell is rung.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON,
	REIGNIER, and forces]

CHARLES	Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem!
	And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Here enter'd Pucelle and her practisants;
	Now she is there, how will she specify
	Where is the best and safest passage in?

REIGNIER	By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;
	Which, once discern'd, shows that her meaning is,
	No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd.

	[Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE on the top, thrusting out a
	torch burning]

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Behold, this is the happy wedding torch
	That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,
	But burning fatal to the Talbotites!

	[Exit]

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend;
	The burning torch in yonder turret stands.

CHARLES	Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
	A prophet to the fall of all our foes!

REIGNIER	Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;
	Enter, and cry 'The Dauphin!' presently,
	And then do execution on the watch.

	[Alarum. Exeunt]

	[An alarum. Enter TALBOT in an excursion]

TALBOT	France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,
	If Talbot but survive thy treachery.
	Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress,
	Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,
	That hardly we escaped the pride of France.

	[Exit]

	[An alarum: excursions. BEDFORD, brought in sick
	in a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without:
	within JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD OF ORLEANS,
	ALENCON, and REIGNIER, on the walls]

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?
	I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast
	Before he'll buy again at such a rate:
	'Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste?

BURGUNDY	Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan!
	I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own
	And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.

CHARLES	Your grace may starve perhaps before that time.

BEDFORD	O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!

JOAN LA PUCELLE	What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance,
	And run a tilt at death within a chair?

TALBOT	Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
	Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours!
	Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age
	And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
	Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
	Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Are ye so hot, sir? yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;
	If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.

	[The English whisper together in council]

	God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker?

TALBOT	Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,
	To try if that our own be ours or no.

TALBOT	I speak not to that railing Hecate,
	But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest;
	Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?

ALENCON	Signior, no.

TALBOT	Signior, hang! base muleters of France!
	Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls
	And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Away, captains! let's get us from the walls;
	For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.
	God be wi' you, my lord! we came but to tell you
	That we are here.

	[Exeunt from the walls]

TALBOT	And there will we be too, ere it be long,
	Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!
	Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,
	Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France,
	Either to get the town again or die:
	And I, as sure as English Henry lives
	And as his father here was conqueror,
	As sure as in this late-betrayed town
	Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried,
	So sure I swear to get the town or die.

BURGUNDY	My vows are equal partners with thy vows.

TALBOT	But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,
	The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,
	We will bestow you in some better place,
	Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.

BEDFORD	Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me:
	Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen
	And will be partner of your weal or woe.

BURGUNDY	Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.

BEDFORD	Not to be gone from hence; for once I read
	That stout Pendragon in his litter sick
	Came to the field and vanquished his foes:
	Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts,
	Because I ever found them as myself.

TALBOT	Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!
	Then be it so: heavens keep old Bedford safe!
	And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
	But gather we our forces out of hand
	And set upon our boasting enemy.

	[Exeunt all but BEDFORD and Attendants]

	[An alarum: excursions. Enter FASTOLFE and
	a Captain]

Captain	Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?

FASTOLFE	Whither away! to save myself by flight:
	We are like to have the overthrow again.

Captain	What! will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot?

FASTOLFE	Ay,
	All the Talbots in the world, to save my life!

	[Exit]

Captain	Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!

	[Exit]

	[Retreat: excursions. JOAN LA PUCELLE, ALENCON,
	and CHARLES fly]

BEDFORD	Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,
	For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
	What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
	They that of late were daring with their scoffs
	Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.

	[BEDFORD dies, and is carried in by two in his chair]

	[An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest]

TALBOT	Lost, and recover'd in a day again!
	This is a double honour, Burgundy:
	Yet heavens have glory for this victory!

BURGUNDY	Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
	Enshrines thee in his heart and there erects
	Thy noble deeds as valour's monuments.

TALBOT	Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle now?
	I think her old familiar is asleep:
	Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks?
	What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief
	That such a valiant company are fled.
	Now will we take some order in the town,
	Placing therein some expert officers,
	And then depart to Paris to the king,
	For there young Henry with his nobles lie.

BURGUNDY	What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.

TALBOT	But yet, before we go, let's not forget
	The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased,
	But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen:
	A braver soldier never couched lance,
	A gentler heart did never sway in court;
	But kings and mightiest potentates must die,
	For that's the end of human misery.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE III	The plains near Rouen.


	[Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, JOAN
	LA PUCELLE, and forces]

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
	Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered:
	Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
	For things that are not to be remedied.
	Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while
	And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
	We'll pull his plumes and take away his train,
	If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.

CHARLES	We have been guided by thee hitherto,
	And of thy cunning had no diffidence:
	One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Search out thy wit for secret policies,
	And we will make thee famous through the world.

ALENCON	We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
	And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint:
	Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
	By fair persuasions mix'd with sugar'd words
	We will entice the Duke of Burgundy
	To leave the Talbot and to follow us.

CHARLES	Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
	France were no place for Henry's warriors;
	Nor should that nation boast it so with us,
	But be extirped from our provinces.

ALENCON	For ever should they be expulsed from France
	And not have title of an earldom here.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Your honours shall perceive how I will work
	To bring this matter to the wished end.

	[Drum sounds afar off]

	Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive
	Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.

	[Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over
	at a distance, TALBOT and his forces]

	There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,
	And all the troops of English after him.

	[French march. Enter BURGUNDY and forces]

	Now in the rearward comes the duke and his:
	Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
	Summon a parley; we will talk with him.

	[Trumpets sound a parley]

CHARLES	A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!

BURGUNDY	Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.

BURGUNDY	What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.

CHARLES	Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
	Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.

BURGUNDY	Speak on; but be not over-tedious.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
	And see the cities and the towns defaced
	By wasting ruin of the cruel foe.
	As looks the mother on her lowly babe
	When death doth close his tender dying eyes,
	See, see the pining malady of France;
	Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
	Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast.
	O, turn thy edged sword another way;
	Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help.
	One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom
	Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore:
	Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,
	And wash away thy country's stained spots.

BURGUNDY	Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,
	Or nature makes me suddenly relent.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,
	Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
	Who joint'st thou with but with a lordly nation
	That will not trust thee but for profit's sake?
	When Talbot hath set footing once in France
	And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill,
	Who then but English Henry will be lord
	And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?
	Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof,
	Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?
	And was he not in England prisoner?
	But when they heard he was thine enemy,
	They set him free without his ransom paid,
	In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.
	See, then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen
	And joint'st with them will be thy slaughtermen.
	Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord:
	Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.

BURGUNDY	I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers
	Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot,
	And made me almost yield upon my knees.
	Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen,
	And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace:
	My forces and my power of men are yours:
	So farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	[Aside]  Done like a Frenchman: turn, and turn again!

CHARLES	Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	And doth beget new courage in our breasts.

ALENCON	Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,
	And doth deserve a coronet of gold.

CHARLES	Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,
	And seek how we may prejudice the foe.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT III



SCENE IV	Paris. The palace.


	[Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK,
	EXETER, VERNON	BASSET, and others. To them
	with his Soldiers, TALBOT]

TALBOT	My gracious prince, and honourable peers,
	Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
	I have awhile given truce unto my wars,
	To do my duty to my sovereign:
	In sign, whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd
	To your obedience fifty fortresses,
	Twelve cities and seven walled towns of strength,
	Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,
	Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet,
	And with submissive loyalty of heart
	Ascribes the glory of his conquest got
	First to my God and next unto your grace.

	[Kneels]

KING HENRY VI	Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester,
	That hath so long been resident in France?

GLOUCESTER	Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.

KING HENRY VI	Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord!
	When I was young, as yet I am not old,
	I do remember how my father said
	A stouter champion never handled sword.
	Long since we were resolved of your truth,
	Your faithful service and your toil in war;
	Yet never have you tasted our reward,
	Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks,
	Because till now we never saw your face:
	Therefore, stand up; and, for these good deserts,
	We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury;
	And in our coronation take your place.

	[Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but VERNON and BASSET]

VERNON	Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea,
	Disgracing of these colours that I wear
	In honour of my noble Lord of York:
	Darest thou maintain the former words thou spakest?

BASSET	Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage
	The envious barking of your saucy tongue
	Against my lord the Duke of Somerset.

VERNON	Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.

BASSET	Why, what is he? as good a man as York.

VERNON	Hark ye; not so: in witness, take ye that.

	[Strikes him]

BASSET	Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is such
	That whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death,
	Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
	But I'll unto his majesty, and crave
	I may have liberty to venge this wrong;
	When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost.

VERNON	Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;
	And, after, meet you sooner than you would.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE I	Paris. A hall of state.


	[Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF
	WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK,
	TALBOT, EXETER, the Governor, of Paris, and others]

GLOUCESTER	Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.

BISHOP
OF WINCHESTER	God save King Henry, of that name the sixth!

GLOUCESTER	Now, governor of Paris, take your oath,
	That you elect no other king but him;
	Esteem none friends but such as are his friends,
	And none your foes but such as shall pretend
	Malicious practises against his state:
	This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!

	[Enter FASTOLFE]

FASTOLFE	My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,
	To haste unto your coronation,
	A letter was deliver'd to my hands,
	Writ to your grace from the Duke of Burgundy.

TALBOT	Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee!
	I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next,
	To tear the garter from thy craven's leg,

	[Plucking it off]

	Which I have done, because unworthily
	Thou wast installed in that high degree.
	Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest
	This dastard, at the battle of Patay,
	When but in all I was six thousand strong
	And that the French were almost ten to one,
	Before we met or that a stroke was given,
	Like to a trusty squire did run away:
	In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;
	Myself and divers gentlemen beside
	Were there surprised and taken prisoners.
	Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss;
	Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
	This ornament of knighthood, yea or no.

GLOUCESTER	To say the truth, this fact was infamous
	And ill beseeming any common man,
	Much more a knight, a captain and a leader.

TALBOT	When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,
	Knights of the garter were of noble birth,
	Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage,
	Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
	Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,
	But always resolute in most extremes.
	He then that is not furnish'd in this sort
	Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,
	Profaning this most honourable order,
	And should, if I were worthy to be judge,
	Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain
	That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.

KING HENRY VI	Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy doom!
	Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight:
	Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.

	[Exit FASTOLFE]

	And now, my lord protector, view the letter
	Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.

GLOUCESTER	What means his grace, that he hath changed his style?
	No more but, plain and bluntly, 'To the king!'
	Hath he forgot he is his sovereign?
	Or doth this churlish superscription
	Pretend some alteration in good will?
	What's here?

	[Reads]

	'I have, upon especial cause,
	Moved with compassion of my country's wreck,
	Together with the pitiful complaints
	Of such as your oppression feeds upon,
	Forsaken your pernicious faction
	And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France.'
	O monstrous treachery! can this be so,
	That in alliance, amity and oaths,
	There should be found such false dissembling guile?

KING HENRY VI	What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?

GLOUCESTER	He doth, my lord, and is become your foe.

KING HENRY VI	Is that the worst this letter doth contain?

GLOUCESTER	It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.

KING HENRY VI	Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall talk with him
	And give him chastisement for this abuse.
	How say you, my lord? are you not content?

TALBOT	Content, my liege! yes, but that I am prevented,
	I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.

KING HENRY VI	Then gather strength and march unto him straight:
	Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason
	And what offence it is to flout his friends.

TALBOT	I go, my lord, in heart desiring still
	You may behold confusion of your foes.

	[Exit]

	[Enter VERNON and BASSET]

VERNON	Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign.

BASSET	And me, my lord, grant me the combat too.

YORK	This is my servant: hear him, noble prince.

SOMERSET	And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him.

KING HENRY VI	Be patient, lords; and give them leave to speak.
	Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim?
	And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom?

VERNON	With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.

BASSET	And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.

KING HENRY VI	What is that wrong whereof you both complain?
	First let me know, and then I'll answer you.

BASSET	Crossing the sea from England into France,
	This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,
	Upbraided me about the rose I wear;
	Saying, the sanguine colour of the leaves
	Did represent my master's blushing cheeks,
	When stubbornly he did repugn the truth
	About a certain question in the law
	Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him;
	With other vile and ignominious terms:
	In confutation of which rude reproach
	And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
	I crave the benefit of law of arms.

VERNON	And that is my petition, noble lord:
	For though he seem with forged quaint conceit
	To set a gloss upon his bold intent,
	Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him;
	And he first took exceptions at this badge,
	Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower
	Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.

YORK	Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?

SOMERSET	Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out,
	Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.

KING HENRY VI	Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick men,
	When for so slight and frivolous a cause
	Such factious emulations shall arise!
	Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
	Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.

YORK	Let this dissension first be tried by fight,
	And then your highness shall command a peace.

SOMERSET	The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;
	Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.

YORK	There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.

VERNON	Nay, let it rest where it began at first.

BASSET	Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.

GLOUCESTER	Confirm it so! Confounded be your strife!
	And perish ye, with your audacious prate!
	Presumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed
	With this immodest clamorous outrage
	To trouble and disturb the king and us?
	And you, my lords, methinks you do not well
	To bear with their perverse objections;
	Much less to take occasion from their mouths
	To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves:
	Let me persuade you take a better course.

EXETER	It grieves his highness: good my lords, be friends.

KING HENRY VI	Come hither, you that would be combatants:
	Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour,
	Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.
	And you, my lords, remember where we are,
	In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation:
	If they perceive dissension in our looks
	And that within ourselves we disagree,
	How will their grudging stomachs be provoked
	To wilful disobedience, and rebel!
	Beside, what infamy will there arise,
	When foreign princes shall be certified
	That for a toy, a thing of no regard,
	King Henry's peers and chief nobility
	Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France!
	O, think upon the conquest of my father,
	My tender years, and let us not forego
	That for a trifle that was bought with blood
	Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
	I see no reason, if I wear this rose,

	[Putting on a red rose]

	That any one should therefore be suspicious
	I more incline to Somerset than York:
	Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both:
	As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
	Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.
	But your discretions better can persuade
	Than I am able to instruct or teach:
	And therefore, as we hither came in peace,
	So let us still continue peace and love.
	Cousin of York, we institute your grace
	To be our regent in these parts of France:
	And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite
	Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;
	And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
	Go cheerfully together and digest.
	Your angry choler on your enemies.
	Ourself, my lord protector and the rest
	After some respite will return to Calais;
	From thence to England; where I hope ere long
	To be presented, by your victories,
	With Charles, Alencon and that traitorous rout.

	[Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK, EXETER
	and VERNON]

WARWICK	My Lord of York, I promise you, the king
	Prettily, methought, did play the orator.

YORK	And so he did; but yet I like it not,
	In that he wears the badge of Somerset.

WARWICK	Tush, that was but his fancy, blame him not;
	I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.

YORK	An if I wist he did,--but let it rest;
	Other affairs must now be managed.

	[Exeunt all but EXETER]

EXETER	Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice;
	For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,
	I fear we should have seen decipher'd there
	More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,
	Than yet can be imagined or supposed.
	But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
	This jarring discord of nobility,
	This shouldering of each other in the court,
	This factious bandying of their favourites,
	But that it doth presage some ill event.
	'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands;
	But more when envy breeds unkind division;
	There comes the rain, there begins confusion.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE II	Before Bourdeaux.


	[Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum]

TALBOT	Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter:
	Summon their general unto the wall.

	[Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others, aloft]

	English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,
	Servant in arms to Harry King of England;
	And thus he would: Open your city gates;
	Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours,
	And do him homage as obedient subjects;
	And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power:
	But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,
	You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
	Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;
	Who in a moment even with the earth
	Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,
	If you forsake the offer of their love.

General	Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
	Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge!
	The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
	On us thou canst not enter but by death;
	For, I protest, we are well fortified
	And strong enough to issue out and fight:
	If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,
	Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee:
	On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd,
	To wall thee from the liberty of flight;
	And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,
	But death doth front thee with apparent spoil
	And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
	Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament
	To rive their dangerous artillery
	Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
	Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,
	Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!
	This is the latest glory of thy praise
	That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;
	For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
	Finish the process of his sandy hour,
	These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
	Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead.

	[Drum afar off]

	Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
	Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;
	And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.

	[Exeunt General, &c]

TALBOT	He fables not; I hear the enemy:
	Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.
	O, negligent and heedless discipline!
	How are we park'd and bounded in a pale,
	A little herd of England's timorous deer,
	Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs!
	If we be English deer, be then in blood;
	Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch,
	But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,
	Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel
	And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:
	Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
	And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.
	God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right,
	Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE III	Plains in Gascony.


	[Enter a Messenger that meets YORK. Enter YORK
	with trumpet and many Soldiers]

YORK	Are not the speedy scouts return'd again,
	That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?

Messenger	They are return'd, my lord, and give it out
	That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,
	To fight with Talbot: as he march'd along,
	By your espials were discovered
	Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,
	Which join'd with him and made their march for Bourdeaux.

YORK	A plague upon that villain Somerset,
	That thus delays my promised supply
	Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!
	Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,
	And I am lowted by a traitor villain
	And cannot help the noble chevalier:
	God comfort him in this necessity!
	If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.

	[Enter Sir William LUCY]

LUCY	Thou princely leader of our English strength,
	Never so needful on the earth of France,
	Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,
	Who now is girdled with a waist of iron
	And hemm'd about with grim destruction:
	To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York!
	Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.

YORK	O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart
	Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!
	So should we save a valiant gentleman
	By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
	Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep,
	That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.

LUCY	O, send some succor to the distress'd lord!

YORK	He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word;
	We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get;
	All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.

LUCY	Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul;
	And on his son young John, who two hours since
	I met in travel toward his warlike father!
	This seven years did not Talbot see his son;
	And now they meet where both their lives are done.

YORK	Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have
	To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
	Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
	That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.
	Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can,
	But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.
	Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away,
	'Long all of Somerset and his delay.

	[Exit, with his soldiers]

LUCY	Thus, while the vulture of sedition
	Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
	Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
	The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,
	That ever living man of memory,
	Henry the Fifth: whiles they each other cross,
	Lives, honours, lands and all hurry to loss.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Other plains in Gascony.


	[Enter SOMERSET, with his army; a Captain of
	TALBOT's with him]

SOMERSET	It is too late; I cannot send them now:
	This expedition was by York and Talbot
	Too rashly plotted: all our general force
	Might with a sally of the very town
	Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot
	Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour
	By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure:
	York set him on to fight and die in shame,
	That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.

Captain	Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me
	Set from our o'ermatch'd forces forth for aid.

	[Enter Sir William LUCY]

SOMERSET	How now, Sir William! whither were you sent?

LUCY	Whither, my lord? from bought and sold Lord Talbot;
	Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,
	Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
	To beat assailing death from his weak legions:
	And whiles the honourable captain there
	Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
	And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue,
	You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,
	Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
	Let not your private discord keep away
	The levied succors that should lend him aid,
	While he, renowned noble gentleman,
	Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
	Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,
	Alencon, Reignier, compass him about,
	And Talbot perisheth by your default.

SOMERSET	York set him on; York should have sent him aid.

LUCY	And York as fast upon your grace exclaims;
	Swearing that you withhold his levied host,
	Collected for this expedition.

SOMERSET	York lies; he might have sent and had the horse;
	I owe him little duty, and less love;
	And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.

LUCY	The fraud of England, not the force of France,
	Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot:
	Never to England shall he bear his life;
	But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.

SOMERSET	Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight:
	Within six hours they will be at his aid.

LUCY	Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en or slain;
	For fly he could not, if he would have fled;
	And fly would Talbot never, though he might.

SOMERSET	If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu!

LUCY	His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE V	The English camp near Bourdeaux.


	[Enter TALBOT and JOHN his son]

TALBOT	O young John Talbot! I did send for thee
	To tutor thee in stratagems of war,
	That Talbot's name might be in thee revived
	When sapless age and weak unable limbs
	Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
	But, O malignant and ill-boding stars!
	Now thou art come unto a feast of death,
	A terrible and unavoided danger:
	Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;
	And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
	By sudden flight: come, dally not, be gone.

JOHN TALBOT	Is my name Talbot? and am I your son?
	And shall I fly? O if you love my mother,
	Dishonour not her honourable name,
	To make a bastard and a slave of me!
	The world will say, he is not Talbot's blood,
	That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.

TALBOT	Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.

JOHN TALBOT	He that flies so will ne'er return again.

TALBOT	If we both stay, we both are sure to die.

JOHN TALBOT	Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly:
	Your loss is great, so your regard should be;
	My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
	Upon my death the French can little boast;
	In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
	Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;
	But mine it will, that no exploit have done:
	You fled for vantage, everyone will swear;
	But, if I bow, they'll say it was for fear.
	There is no hope that ever I will stay,
	If the first hour I shrink and run away.
	Here on my knee I beg mortality,
	Rather than life preserved with infamy.

TALBOT	Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?

JOHN TALBOT	Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.

TALBOT	Upon my blessing, I command thee go.

JOHN TALBOT	To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.

TALBOT	Part of thy father may be saved in thee.

JOHN TALBOT	No part of him but will be shame in me.

TALBOT	Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.

JOHN TALBOT	Yes, your renowned name: shall flight abuse it?

TALBOT	Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.

JOHN TALBOT	You cannot witness for me, being slain.
	If death be so apparent, then both fly.

TALBOT	And leave my followers here to fight and die?
	My age was never tainted with such shame.

JOHN TALBOT	And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?
	No more can I be sever'd from your side,
	Than can yourself yourself in twain divide:
	Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;
	For live I will not, if my father die.

TALBOT	Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,
	Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.
	Come, side by side together live and die.
	And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VI	A field of battle.


	[Alarum: excursions, wherein JOHN TALBOT is
	hemmed about, and TALBOT rescues him]

TALBOT	Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, fight.
	The regent hath with Talbot broke his word
	And left us to the rage of France his sword.
	Where is John Talbot? Pause, and take thy breath;
	I gave thee life and rescued thee from death.

JOHN TALBOT	O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!
	The life thou gavest me first was lost and done,
	Till with thy warlike sword, despite of late,
	To my determined time thou gavest new date.

TALBOT	When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire,
	It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
	Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age,
	Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage,
	Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,
	And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.
	The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood
	From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood
	Of thy first fight, I soon encountered,
	And interchanging blows I quickly shed
	Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace
	Bespoke him thus; 'Contaminated, base
	And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,
	Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine
	Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy:'
	Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy,
	Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care,
	Art thou not weary, John? how dost thou fare?
	Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
	Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?
	Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead:
	The help of one stands me in little stead.
	O, too much folly is it, well I wot,
	To hazard all our lives in one small boat!
	If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
	To-morrow I shall die with mickle age:
	By me they nothing gain an if I stay;
	'Tis but the shortening of my life one day:
	In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,
	My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame:
	All these and more we hazard by thy stay;
	All these are saved if thou wilt fly away.

JOHN TALBOT	The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart;
	These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart:
	On that advantage, bought with such a shame,
	To save a paltry life and slay bright fame,
	Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
	The coward horse that bears me fail and die!
	And like me to the peasant boys of France,
	To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance!
	Surely, by all the glory you have won,
	An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son:
	Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
	If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.

TALBOT	Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,
	Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet:
	If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;
	And, commendable proved, let's die in pride.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT IV



SCENE VII	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum: excursions. Enter TALBOT led by a Servant]

TALBOT	Where is my other life? mine own is gone;
	O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?
	Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity,
	Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee:
	When he perceived me shrink and on my knee,
	His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,
	And, like a hungry lion, did commence
	Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;
	But when my angry guardant stood alone,
	Tendering my ruin and assail'd of none,
	Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart
	Suddenly made him from my side to start
	Into the clustering battle of the French;
	And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
	His over-mounting spirit, and there died,
	My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

Servant	O, my dear lord, lo, where your son is borne!

	[Enter Soldiers, with the body of JOHN TALBOT]

TALBOT	Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,
	Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
	Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,
	Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,
	In thy despite shall 'scape mortality.
	O, thou, whose wounds become hard-favour'd death,
	Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!
	Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no;
	Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.
	Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say,
	Had death been French, then death had died to-day.
	Come, come and lay him in his father's arms:
	My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
	Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,
	Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.

	[Dies]

	[Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD OF
	ORLEANS, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces]

CHARLES	Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
	We should have found a bloody day of this.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging-wood,
	Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said:
	'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid:'
	But, with a proud majestical high scorn,
	He answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born
	To be the pillage of a giglot wench:'
	So, rushing in the bowels of the French,
	He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

BURGUNDY	Doubtless he would have made a noble knight;
	See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms
	Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!

BASTARD OF ORLEANS	Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder
	Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.

CHARLES	O, no, forbear! for that which we have fled
	During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

	[Enter Sir William LUCY, attended; Herald of the
	French preceding]

LUCY	Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,
	To know who hath obtained the glory of the day.

CHARLES	On what submissive message art thou sent?

LUCY	Submission, Dauphin! 'tis a mere French word;
	We English warriors wot not what it means.
	I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en
	And to survey the bodies of the dead.

CHARLES	For prisoners ask'st thou? hell our prison is.
	But tell me whom thou seek'st.

LUCY	But where's the great Alcides of the field,
	Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,
	Created, for his rare success in arms,
	Great Earl of Washford, Waterford and Valence;
	Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
	Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,
	Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,
	The thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge;
	Knight of the noble order of Saint George,
	Worthy Saint Michael and the Golden Fleece;
	Great marshal to Henry the Sixth
	Of all his wars within the realm of France?

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Here is a silly stately style indeed!
	The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
	Writes not so tedious a style as this.
	Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles
	Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.

LUCY	Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen's only scourge,
	Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?
	O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn'd,
	That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!
	O, that I could but call these dead to life!
	It were enough to fright the realm of France:
	Were but his picture left amongst you here,
	It would amaze the proudest of you all.
	Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence
	And give them burial as beseems their worth.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,
	He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
	For God's sake let him have 'em; to keep them here,
	They would but stink, and putrefy the air.

CHARLES	Go, take their bodies hence.

LUCY	I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be rear'd
	A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.

CHARLES	So we be rid of them, do with 'em what thou wilt.
	And now to Paris, in this conquering vein:
	All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER]

KING HENRY VI	Have you perused the letters from the pope,
	The emperor and the Earl of Armagnac?

GLOUCESTER	I have, my lord: and their intent is this:
	They humbly sue unto your excellence
	To have a godly peace concluded of
	Between the realms of England and of France.

KING HENRY VI	How doth your grace affect their motion?

GLOUCESTER	Well, my good lord; and as the only means
	To stop effusion of our Christian blood
	And 'stablish quietness on every side.

KING HENRY VI	Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought
	It was both impious and unnatural
	That such immanity and bloody strife
	Should reign among professors of one faith.

GLOUCESTER	Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect
	And surer bind this knot of amity,
	The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles,
	A man of great authority in France,
	Proffers his only daughter to your grace
	In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.

KING HENRY VI	Marriage, uncle! alas, my years are young!
	And fitter is my study and my books
	Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
	Yet call the ambassador; and, as you please,
	So let them have their answers every one:
	I shall be well content with any choice
	Tends to God's glory and my country's weal.

	[Enter CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER in Cardinal's habit,
	a Legate and two Ambassadors]

EXETER	What! is my Lord of Winchester install'd,
	And call'd unto a cardinal's degree?
	Then I perceive that will be verified
	Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy,
	'If once he come to be a cardinal,
	He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.'

KING HENRY VI	My lords ambassadors, your several suits
	Have been consider'd and debated on.
	And therefore are we certainly resolved
	To draw conditions of a friendly peace;
	Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean
	Shall be transported presently to France.

GLOUCESTER	And for the proffer of my lord your master,
	I have inform'd his highness so at large
	As liking of the lady's virtuous gifts,
	Her beauty and the value of her dower,
	He doth intend she shall be England's queen.

KING HENRY VI	In argument and proof of which contract,
	Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.
	And so, my lord protector, see them guarded
	And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd
	Commit them to the fortune of the sea.

	[Exeunt all but CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER and Legate]

CARDINAL
OF WINCHESTER	Stay, my lord legate: you shall first receive
	The sum of money which I promised
	Should be deliver'd to his holiness
	For clothing me in these grave ornaments.

Legate	I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.

CARDINAL
OF WINCHESTER	[Aside]  Now Winchester will not submit, I trow,
	Or be inferior to the proudest peer.
	Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive
	That, neither in birth or for authority,
	The bishop will be overborne by thee:
	I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee,
	Or sack this country with a mutiny.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE II	France. Plains in Anjou.


	[Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD OF
	ORLEANS, REIGNIER, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces]

CHARLES	These news, my lord, may cheer our drooping spirits:
	'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt
	And turn again unto the warlike French.

ALENCON	Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,
	And keep not back your powers in dalliance.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;
	Else, ruin combat with their palaces!

	[Enter Scout]

Scout	Success unto our valiant general,
	And happiness to his accomplices!

CHARLES	What tidings send our scouts? I prithee, speak.

Scout	The English army, that divided was
	Into two parties, is now conjoined in one,
	And means to give you battle presently.

CHARLES	Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;
	But we will presently provide for them.

BURGUNDY	I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there:
	Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Of all base passions, fear is most accursed.
	Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine,
	Let Henry fret and all the world repine.

CHARLES	Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE III	Before Angiers.


	[Alarum. Excursions. Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE]

JOAN LA PUCELLE	The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.
	Now help, ye charming spells and periapts;
	And ye choice spirits that admonish me
	And give me signs of future accidents.

	[Thunder]

	You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
	Under the lordly monarch of the north,
	Appear and aid me in this enterprise.

	[Enter Fiends]

	This speedy and quick appearance argues proof
	Of your accustom'd diligence to me.
	Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd
	Out of the powerful regions under earth,
	Help me this once, that France may get the field.

	[They walk, and speak not]

	O, hold me not with silence over-long!
	Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,
	I'll lop a member off and give it you
	In earnest of further benefit,
	So you do condescend to help me now.

	[They hang their heads]

	No hope to have redress? My body shall
	Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.

	[They shake their heads]

	Cannot my body nor blood-sacrifice
	Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?
	Then take my soul, my body, soul and all,
	Before that England give the French the foil.

	[They depart]

	See, they forsake me! Now the time is come
	That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest
	And let her head fall into England's lap.
	My ancient incantations are too weak,
	And hell too strong for me to buckle with:
	Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.

	[Exit]

	[Excursions. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE fighting hand
	to hand with YORK	JOAN LA PUCELLE is taken. The
	French fly]

YORK	Damsel of France, I think I have you fast:
	Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms
	And try if they can gain your liberty.
	A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!
	See, how the ugly wench doth bend her brows,
	As if with Circe she would change my shape!

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Changed to a worser shape thou canst not be.

YORK	O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man;
	No shape but his can please your dainty eye.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee!
	And may ye both be suddenly surprised
	By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!

YORK	Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue!

JOAN LA PUCELLE	I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile.

YORK	Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.

	[Exeunt]

	[Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK with MARGARET in his hand]

SUFFOLK	Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.

	[Gazes on her]

	O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly!
	For I will touch thee but with reverent hands;
	I kiss these fingers for eternal peace,
	And lay them gently on thy tender side.
	Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee.

MARGARET	Margaret my name, and daughter to a king,
	The King of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.

SUFFOLK	An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.
	Be not offended, nature's miracle,
	Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me:
	So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,
	Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings.
	Yet, if this servile usage once offend.
	Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend.

	[She is going]

	O, stay! I have no power to let her pass;
	My hand would free her, but my heart says no
	As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,
	Twinkling another counterfeited beam,
	So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.
	Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak:
	I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind.
	Fie, de la Pole! disable not thyself;
	Hast not a tongue? is she not here?
	Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?
	Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such,
	Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.

MARGARET	Say, Earl of Suffolk--if thy name be so--
	What ransom must I pay before I pass?
	For I perceive I am thy prisoner.

SUFFOLK	How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit,
	Before thou make a trial of her love?

MARGARET	Why speak'st thou not? what ransom must I pay?

SUFFOLK	She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd;
	She is a woman, therefore to be won.

MARGARET	Wilt thou accept of ransom? yea, or no.

SUFFOLK	Fond man, remember that thou hast a wife;
	Then how can Margaret be thy paramour?

MARGARET	I were best to leave him, for he will not hear.

SUFFOLK	There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card.

MARGARET	He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.

SUFFOLK	And yet a dispensation may be had.

MARGARET	And yet I would that you would answer me.

SUFFOLK	I'll win this Lady Margaret. For whom?
	Why, for my king: tush, that's a wooden thing!

MARGARET	He talks of wood: it is some carpenter.

SUFFOLK	Yet so my fancy may be satisfied,
	And peace established between these realms
	But there remains a scruple in that too;
	For though her father be the King of Naples,
	Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor,
	And our nobility will scorn the match.

MARGARET	Hear ye, captain, are you not at leisure?

SUFFOLK	It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much.
	Henry is youthful and will quickly yield.
	Madam, I have a secret to reveal.

MARGARET	What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a knight,
	And will not any way dishonour me.

SUFFOLK	Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.

MARGARET	Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French;
	And then I need not crave his courtesy.

SUFFOLK	Sweet madam, give me a hearing in a cause--

MARGARET	Tush, women have been captivate ere now.

SUFFOLK	Lady, wherefore talk you so?

MARGARET	I cry you mercy, 'tis but Quid for Quo.

SUFFOLK	Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose
	Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?

MARGARET	To be a queen in bondage is more vile
	Than is a slave in base servility;
	For princes should be free.

SUFFOLK	And so shall you,
	If happy England's royal king be free.

MARGARET	Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?

SUFFOLK	I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen,
	To put a golden sceptre in thy hand
	And set a precious crown upon thy head,
	If thou wilt condescend to be my--

MARGARET	What?

SUFFOLK	His love.

MARGARET	I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.

SUFFOLK	No, gentle madam; I unworthy am
	To woo so fair a dame to be his wife,
	And have no portion in the choice myself.
	How say you, madam, are ye so content?

MARGARET	An if my father please, I am content.

SUFFOLK	Then call our captains and our colours forth.
	And, madam, at your father's castle walls
	We'll crave a parley, to confer with him.

	[A parley sounded. Enter REIGNIER on the walls]

	See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner!

REIGNIER	To whom?

SUFFOLK	       To me.

REIGNIER	                  Suffolk, what remedy?
	I am a soldier, and unapt to weep,
	Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.

SUFFOLK	Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord:
	Consent, and for thy honour give consent,
	Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king;
	Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto;
	And this her easy-held imprisonment
	Hath gained thy daughter princely liberty.

REIGNIER	Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?

SUFFOLK	Fair Margaret knows
	That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.

REIGNIER	Upon thy princely warrant, I descend
	To give thee answer of thy just demand.

	[Exit from the walls]

SUFFOLK	And here I will expect thy coming.

	[Trumpets sound. Enter REIGNIER, below]

REIGNIER	Welcome, brave earl, into our territories:
	Command in Anjou what your honour pleases.

SUFFOLK	Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child,
	Fit to be made companion with a king:
	What answer makes your grace unto my suit?

REIGNIER	Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth
	To be the princely bride of such a lord;
	Upon condition I may quietly
	Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou,
	Free from oppression or the stroke of war,
	My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please.

SUFFOLK	That is her ransom; I deliver her;
	And those two counties I will undertake
	Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy.

REIGNIER	And I again, in Henry's royal name,
	As deputy unto that gracious king,
	Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith.

SUFFOLK	Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,
	Because this is in traffic of a king.

	[Aside]

	And yet, methinks, I could be well content
	To be mine own attorney in this case.
	I'll over then to England with this news,
	And make this marriage to be solemnized.
	So farewell, Reignier: set this diamond safe
	In golden palaces, as it becomes.

REIGNIER	I do embrace thee, as I would embrace
	The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here.

MARGARET	Farewell, my lord: good wishes, praise and prayers
	Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret.

	[Going]

SUFFOLK	Farewell, sweet madam: but hark you, Margaret;
	No princely commendations to my king?

MARGARET	Such commendations as becomes a maid,
	A virgin and his servant, say to him.

SUFFOLK	Words sweetly placed and modestly directed.
	But madam, I must trouble you again;
	No loving token to his majesty?

MARGARET	Yes, my good lord, a pure unspotted heart,
	Never yet taint with love, I send the king.

SUFFOLK	And this withal.

	[Kisses her]

MARGARET	That for thyself: I will not so presume
	To send such peevish tokens to a king.

	[Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET]

SUFFOLK	O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay;
	Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth;
	There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk.
	Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise:
	Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount,
	And natural graces that extinguish art;
	Repeat their semblance often on the seas,
	That, when thou comest to kneel at Henry's feet,
	Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE IV	Camp of the YORK in Anjou.


	[Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others]

YORK	Bring forth that sorceress condemn'd to burn.

	[Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a Shepherd]

Shepherd	Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart outright!
	Have I sought every country far and near,
	And, now it is my chance to find thee out,
	Must I behold thy timeless cruel death?
	Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee!

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!
	I am descended of a gentler blood:
	Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.

Shepherd	Out, out! My lords, an please you, 'tis not so;
	I did beget her, all the parish knows:
	Her mother liveth yet, can testify
	She was the first fruit of my bachelorship.

WARWICK	Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage?

YORK	This argues what her kind of life hath been,
	Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.

Shepherd	Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle!
	God knows thou art a collop of my flesh;
	And for thy sake have I shed many a tear:
	Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man,
	Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.

Shepherd	'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest
	The morn that I was wedded to her mother.
	Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.
	Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time
	Of thy nativity! I would the milk
	Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her breast,
	Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake!
	Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field,
	I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee!
	Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?
	O, burn her, burn her! hanging is too good.

	[Exit]

YORK	Take her away; for she hath lived too long,
	To fill the world with vicious qualities.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd:
	Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,
	But issued from the progeny of kings;
	Virtuous and holy; chosen from above,
	By inspiration of celestial grace,
	To work exceeding miracles on earth.
	I never had to do with wicked spirits:
	But you, that are polluted with your lusts,
	Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,
	Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,
	Because you want the grace that others have,
	You judge it straight a thing impossible
	To compass wonders but by help of devils.
	No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been
	A virgin from her tender infancy,
	Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
	Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused,
	Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.

YORK	Ay, ay: away with her to execution!

WARWICK	And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,
	Spare for no faggots, let there be enow:
	Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,
	That so her torture may be shortened.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?
	Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity,
	That warranteth by law to be thy privilege.
	I am with child, ye bloody homicides:
	Murder not then the fruit within my womb,
	Although ye hale me to a violent death.

YORK	Now heaven forfend! the holy maid with child!

WARWICK	The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought:
	Is all your strict preciseness come to this?

YORK	She and the Dauphin have been juggling:
	I did imagine what would be her refuge.

WARWICK	Well, go to; we'll have no bastards live;
	Especially since Charles must father it.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	You are deceived; my child is none of his:
	It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love.

YORK	Alencon! that notorious Machiavel!
	It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	O, give me leave, I have deluded you:
	'Twas neither Charles nor yet the duke I named,
	But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd.

WARWICK	A married man! that's most intolerable.

YORK	Why, here's a girl! I think she knows not well,
	There were so many, whom she may accuse.

WARWICK	It's sign she hath been liberal and free.

YORK	And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.
	Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee:
	Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.

JOAN LA PUCELLE	Then lead me hence; with whom I leave my curse:
	May never glorious sun reflex his beams
	Upon the country where you make abode;
	But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
	Environ you, till mischief and despair
	Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!

	[Exit, guarded]

YORK	Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes,
	Thou foul accursed minister of hell!

	[Enter CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER, attended]

CARDINAL
OF WINCHESTER	Lord regent, I do greet your excellence
	With letters of commission from the king.
	For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,
	Moved with remorse of these outrageous broils,
	Have earnestly implored a general peace
	Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French;
	And here at hand the Dauphin and his train
	Approacheth, to confer about some matter.

YORK	 Is all our travail turn'd to this effect?
	After the slaughter of so many peers,
	So many captains, gentlemen and soldiers,
	That in this quarrel have been overthrown
	And sold their bodies for their country's benefit,
	Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace?
	Have we not lost most part of all the towns,
	By treason, falsehood and by treachery,
	Our great progenitors had conquered?
	O Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief
	The utter loss of all the realm of France.

WARWICK	Be patient, York: if we conclude a peace,
	It shall be with such strict and severe covenants
	As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.

	[Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BASTARD OF ORLEANS,
	REIGNIER, and others]

CHARLES	Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed
	That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France,
	We come to be informed by yourselves
	What the conditions of that league must be.

YORK	Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes
	The hollow passage of my poison'd voice,
	By sight of these our baleful enemies.

CARDINAL
OF WINCHESTER	Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:
	That, in regard King Henry gives consent,
	Of mere compassion and of lenity,
	To ease your country of distressful war,
	And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,
	You shall become true liegemen to his crown:
	And Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear
	To pay him tribute, submit thyself,
	Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him,
	And still enjoy thy regal dignity.

ALENCON	Must he be then as shadow of himself?
	Adorn his temples with a coronet,
	And yet, in substance and authority,
	Retain but privilege of a private man?
	This proffer is absurd and reasonless.

CHARLES	'Tis known already that I am possess'd
	With more than half the Gallian territories,
	And therein reverenced for their lawful king:
	Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd,
	Detract so much from that prerogative,
	As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole?
	No, lord ambassador, I'll rather keep
	That which I have than, coveting for more,
	Be cast from possibility of all.

YORK	Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means
	Used intercession to obtain a league,
	And, now the matter grows to compromise,
	Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison?
	Either accept the title thou usurp'st,
	Of benefit proceeding from our king
	And not of any challenge of desert,
	Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.

REIGNIER	My lord, you do not well in obstinacy
	To cavil in the course of this contract:
	If once it be neglected, ten to one
	We shall not find like opportunity.

ALENCON	To say the truth, it is your policy
	To save your subjects from such massacre
	And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen
	By our proceeding in hostility;
	And therefore take this compact of a truce,
	Although you break it when your pleasure serves.

WARWICK	How say'st thou, Charles? shall our condition stand?

CHARLES	It shall;
	Only reserved, you claim no interest
	In any of our towns of garrison.

YORK	Then swear allegiance to his majesty,
	As thou art knight, never to disobey
	Nor be rebellious to the crown of England,
	Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.
	So, now dismiss your army when ye please:
	Hang up your ensign, let your drums be still,
	For here we entertain a solemn peace.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY VI


ACT V



SCENE V	London. The palace.


	[Enter SUFFOLK in conference with KING HENRY VI,
	GLOUCESTER and EXETER]

KING HENRY VI	Your wondrous rare description, noble earl,
	Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me:
	Her virtues graced with external gifts
	Do breed love's settled passions in my heart:
	And like as rigor of tempestuous gusts
	Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide,
	So am I driven by breath of her renown
	Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive
	Where I may have fruition of her love.

SUFFOLK	Tush, my good lord, this superficial tale
	Is but a preface of her worthy praise;
	The chief perfections of that lovely dame
	Had I sufficient skill to utter them,
	Would make a volume of enticing lines,
	Able to ravish any dull conceit:
	And, which is more, she is not so divine,
	So full-replete with choice of all delights,
	But with as humble lowliness of mind
	She is content to be at your command;
	Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents,
	To love and honour Henry as her lord.

KING HENRY VI	And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume.
	Therefore, my lord protector, give consent
	That Margaret may be England's royal queen.

GLOUCESTER	So should I give consent to flatter sin.
	You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd
	Unto another lady of esteem:
	How shall we then dispense with that contract,
	And not deface your honour with reproach?

SUFFOLK	As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths;
	Or one that, at a triumph having vow'd
	To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists
	By reason of his adversary's odds:
	A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds,
	And therefore may be broke without offence.

GLOUCESTER	Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than that?
	Her father is no better than an earl,
	Although in glorious titles he excel.

SUFFOLK	Yes, lord, her father is a king,
	The King of Naples and Jerusalem;
	And of such great authority in France
	As his alliance will confirm our peace
	And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.

GLOUCESTER	And so the Earl of Armagnac may do,
	Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.

EXETER	Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower,
	Where Reignier sooner will receive than give.

SUFFOLK	A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king,
	That he should be so abject, base and poor,
	To choose for wealth and not for perfect love.
	Henry is able to enrich his queen
	And not seek a queen to make him rich:
	So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,
	As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.
	Marriage is a matter of more worth
	Than to be dealt in by attorneyship;
	Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects,
	Must be companion of his nuptial bed:
	And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,
	It most of all these reasons bindeth us,
	In our opinions she should be preferr'd.
	For what is wedlock forced but a hell,
	An age of discord and continual strife?
	Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss,
	And is a pattern of celestial peace.
	Whom should we match with Henry, being a king,
	But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?
	Her peerless feature, joined with her birth,
	Approves her fit for none but for a king:
	Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit,
	More than in women commonly is seen,
	Will answer our hope in issue of a king;
	For Henry, son unto a conqueror,
	Is likely to beget more conquerors,
	If with a lady of so high resolve
	As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love.
	Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me
	That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.

KING HENRY VI	Whether it be through force of your report,
	My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that
	My tender youth was never yet attaint
	With any passion of inflaming love,
	I cannot tell; but this I am assured,
	I feel such sharp dissension in my breast,
	Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear,
	As I am sick with working of my thoughts.
	Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France;
	Agree to any covenants, and procure
	That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come
	To cross the seas to England and be crown'd
	King Henry's faithful and anointed queen:
	For your expenses and sufficient charge,
	Among the people gather up a tenth.
	Be gone, I say; for, till you do return,
	I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.
	And you, good uncle, banish all offence:
	If you do censure me by what you were,
	Not what you are, I know it will excuse
	This sudden execution of my will.
	And so, conduct me where, from company,
	I may revolve and ruminate my grief.

	[Exit]

GLOUCESTER	Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.

	[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EXETER]

SUFFOLK	Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd; and thus he goes,
	As did the youthful Paris once to Greece,
	With hope to find the like event in love,
	But prosper better than the Trojan did.
	Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king;
	But I will rule both her, the king and realm.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING EDWARD
The Fourth	(KING EDWARD IV:)


EDWARD	Prince of Wales, (PRINCE EDWARD:)	|
	afterwards King Edward V.,	|  sons to
			|  the King.
RICHARD	Duke of York, (YORK:)	|


GEORGE	Duke of Clarence, (CLARENCE:)	|
			|
RICHARD	Duke of Gloucester, (GLOUCESTER:)  	|  Brothers to
	afterwards King Richard III.,	|  the King.
	(KING RICHARD III:)		|


	A young son of Clarence. (Boy:)

HENRY	Earl of Richmond, (RICHMOND:)
	afterwards King Henry VII.

CARDINAL BOURCHIER	Archbishop of Canterbury. (CARDINAL:)

THOMAS ROTHERHAM	Archbishop of York. (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)

JOHN MORTON	Bishop of Ely. (BISHOP OF ELY:)

DUKE of BUCKINGHAM	(BUCKINGHAM:)

DUKE of NORFOLK	(NORFOLK:)

EARL of SURREY	His son. (SURREY:)

EARL RIVERS	Brother to Elizabeth. (RIVERS:)


MARQUIS OF DORSET	(DORSET:)	|
		|  Sons to Elizabeth.
LORD GREY	(GREY:)	|


EARL of OXFORD	(OXFORD:)

LORD HASTINGS	(HASTINGS:)

LORD STANLEY	(STANLEY:)  Called also EARL of DERBY. (DERBY:)

LORD LOVEL	(LOVEL:)

SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN	(VAUGHAN:)

SIR RICHARD
RATCLIFF	(RATCLIFF:)

SIR WILLIAM
CATESBY	(CATESBY:)

SIR JAMES TYRREL	(TYRREL:)

SIR JAMES BLOUNT	(BLOUNT:)

SIR WALTER HERBERT	(HERBERT:)

SIR ROBERT
BRAKENBURY	Lieutenant of the Tower. (BRAKENBURY:)

CHRISTOPHER
URSWICK	A priest. (CHRISTOPHER:)

	Another Priest. (Priest:)


TRESSEL	|
	|  Gentlemen attending on the Lady Anne.
BERKELEY	|  (Gentleman:)


	Lord Mayor of London. (Lord Mayor:)

	Sheriff of Wiltshire. (Sheriff:)

ELIZABETH	Queen to King Edward IV. (QUEEN ELIZABETH:)

MARGARET	Widow of King Henry VI. (QUEEN MARGARET:)

DUCHESS of YORK	Mother to King Edward IV.

LADY ANNE	Widow of Edward Prince of Wales, son to King Henry VI.;
	afterwards married to Richard.

	A young Daughter of Clarence [MARGARET PLANTAGENET] (Girl:)

	Ghosts of those murdered by Richard III.,
	Lords and other Attendants; a Pursuivant
	Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers
	Soldiers, &c.
	(Ghost of Prince Edward:)
	(Ghost of King Henry VI:)
	(Ghost of CLARENCE:)
	(Ghost of RIVERS:)
	(Ghost of GREY:)
	(Ghost of VAUGHAN:)
	(Ghost of HASTING:)
	(Ghosts of young Princes:)
	(Ghost of LADY ANNE:)
	(Ghost of BUCKINGHAM:)
	(Pursuivant:)
	(Scrivener:)
	(First Citizen:)
	(Second Citizen:)
	(Third Citizen:)
	(First Murderer:)
	(Second Murderer:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Second Messenger:)
	(Third Messenger:)
	(Fourth Messenger:)


SCENE	England.




	KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE I	London. A street.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER, solus]

GLOUCESTER	Now is the winter of our discontent
	Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
	And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
	In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
	Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
	Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
	Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
	Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
	Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
	And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
	To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
	He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
	To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
	But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
	Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
	I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
	To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
	I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
	Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
	Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
	Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
	And that so lamely and unfashionable
	That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
	Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
	Have no delight to pass away the time,
	Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
	And descant on mine own deformity:
	And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
	To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
	I am determined to prove a villain
	And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
	Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
	By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
	To set my brother Clarence and the king
	In deadly hate the one against the other:
	And if King Edward be as true and just
	As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
	This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
	About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
	Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
	Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
	Clarence comes.

	[Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY]

	Brother, good day; what means this armed guard
	That waits upon your grace?

CLARENCE	His majesty
	Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
	This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

GLOUCESTER	Upon what cause?

CLARENCE	                  Because my name is George.

GLOUCESTER	Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;
	He should, for that, commit your godfathers:
	O, belike his majesty hath some intent
	That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower.
	But what's the matter, Clarence?  may I know?

CLARENCE	Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest
	As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,
	He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;
	And from the cross-row plucks the letter G.
	And says a wizard told him that by G
	His issue disinherited should be;
	And, for my name of George begins with G,
	It follows in his thought that I am he.
	These, as I learn, and such like toys as these
	Have moved his highness to commit me now.

GLOUCESTER	Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women:
	'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower:
	My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she
	That tempers him to this extremity.
	Was it not she and that good man of worship,
	Anthony Woodville, her brother there,
	That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,
	From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
	We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

CLARENCE	By heaven, I think there's no man is secure
	But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds
	That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore.
	Heard ye not what an humble suppliant
	Lord hastings was to her for his delivery?

GLOUCESTER	Humbly complaining to her deity
	Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
	I'll tell you what; I think it is our way,
	If we will keep in favour with the king,
	To be her men and wear her livery:
	The jealous o'erworn widow and herself,
	Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen.
	Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

BRAKENBURY	I beseech your graces both to pardon me;
	His majesty hath straitly given in charge
	That no man shall have private conference,
	Of what degree soever, with his brother.

GLOUCESTER	Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury,
	You may partake of any thing we say:
	We speak no treason, man: we say the king
	Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
	Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;
	We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
	A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
	And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks:
	How say you sir? Can you deny all this?

BRAKENBURY	With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

GLOUCESTER	Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,
	He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
	Were best he do it secretly, alone.

BRAKENBURY	What one, my lord?

GLOUCESTER	Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me?

BRAKENBURY	I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal
	Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

CLARENCE	We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

GLOUCESTER	We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.
	Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;
	And whatsoever you will employ me in,
	Were it to call King Edward's widow sister,
	I will perform it to enfranchise you.
	Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
	Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

CLARENCE	I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

GLOUCESTER	Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
	Meantime, have patience.

CLARENCE	I must perforce. Farewell.

	[Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard]

GLOUCESTER	Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.
	Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so,
	That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
	If heaven will take the present at our hands.
	But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?

	[Enter HASTINGS]

HASTINGS	Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

GLOUCESTER	As much unto my good lord chamberlain!
	Well are you welcome to the open air.
	How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

HASTINGS	With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:
	But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
	That were the cause of my imprisonment.

GLOUCESTER	No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;
	For they that were your enemies are his,
	And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

HASTINGS	More pity that the eagle should be mew'd,
	While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

GLOUCESTER	What news abroad?

HASTINGS	No news so bad abroad as this at home;
	The King is sickly, weak and melancholy,
	And his physicians fear him mightily.

GLOUCESTER	Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
	O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
	And overmuch consumed his royal person:
	'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
	What, is he in his bed?

HASTINGS	He is.

GLOUCESTER	Go you before, and I will follow you.

	[Exit HASTINGS]

	He cannot live, I hope; and must not die
	Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.
	I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
	With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
	And, if I fall not in my deep intent,
	Clarence hath not another day to live:
	Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,
	And leave the world for me to bustle in!
	For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.
	What though I kill'd her husband and her father?
	The readiest way to make the wench amends
	Is to become her husband and her father:
	The which will I; not all so much for love
	As for another secret close intent,
	By marrying her which I must reach unto.
	But yet I run before my horse to market:
	Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns:
	When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. Another street.

	[Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen
	with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner]

LADY ANNE	Set down, set down your honourable load,
	If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,
	Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
	The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
	Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
	Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
	Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
	Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
	To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne,
	Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,
	Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds!
	Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
	I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
	Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!
	Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!
	Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
	More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
	That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
	Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
	Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
	If ever he have child, abortive be it,
	Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
	Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
	May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
	And that be heir to his unhappiness!
	If ever he have wife, let her he made
	A miserable by the death of him
	As I am made by my poor lord and thee!
	Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,
	Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
	And still, as you are weary of the weight,
	Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

LADY ANNE	What black magician conjures up this fiend,
	To stop devoted charitable deeds?

GLOUCESTER	Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,
	I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

Gentleman	My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

GLOUCESTER	Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command:
	Advance thy halbert higher than my breast,
	Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
	And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

LADY ANNE	What, do you tremble? are you all afraid?
	Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal,
	And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.
	Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!
	Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
	His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.

GLOUCESTER	Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

LADY ANNE	Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not;
	For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
	Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.
	If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
	Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.
	O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
	Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh!
	Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
	For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
	From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells;
	Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
	Provokes this deluge most unnatural.
	O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death!
	O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death!
	Either heaven with lightning strike the
	murderer dead,
	Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,
	As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood
	Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!

GLOUCESTER	Lady, you know no rules of charity,
	Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

LADY ANNE	Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man:
	No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

GLOUCESTER	But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

LADY ANNE	O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

GLOUCESTER	More wonderful, when angels are so angry.
	Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
	Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave,
	By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

LADY ANNE	Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man,
	For these known evils, but to give me leave,
	By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

GLOUCESTER	Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have
	Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

LADY ANNE	Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make
	No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

GLOUCESTER	By such despair, I should accuse myself.

LADY ANNE	And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused;
	For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
	Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

GLOUCESTER	Say that I slew them not?

LADY ANNE	Why, then they are not dead:
	But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee.

GLOUCESTER	I did not kill your husband.

LADY ANNE	Why, then he is alive.

GLOUCESTER	Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

LADY ANNE	In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw
	Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood;
	The which thou once didst bend against her breast,
	But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

GLOUCESTER	I was provoked by her slanderous tongue,
	which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

LADY ANNE	Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind.
	Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries:
	Didst thou not kill this king?

GLOUCESTER	I grant ye.

LADY ANNE	Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too
	Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!
	O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!

GLOUCESTER	The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.

LADY ANNE	He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

GLOUCESTER	Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither;
	For he was fitter for that place than earth.

LADY ANNE	And thou unfit for any place but hell.

GLOUCESTER	Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

LADY ANNE	Some dungeon.

GLOUCESTER	                             Your bed-chamber.

LADY ANNE	I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

GLOUCESTER	So will it, madam till I lie with you.

LADY ANNE	I hope so.

GLOUCESTER	I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,
	To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
	And fall somewhat into a slower method,
	Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
	Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
	As blameful as the executioner?

LADY ANNE	Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect.

GLOUCESTER	Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
	Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep
	To undertake the death of all the world,
	So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

LADY ANNE	If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
	These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

GLOUCESTER	These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck;
	You should not blemish it, if I stood by:
	As all the world is cheered by the sun,
	So I by that; it is my day, my life.

LADY ANNE	Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life!

GLOUCESTER	Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both.

LADY ANNE	I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

GLOUCESTER	It is a quarrel most unnatural,
	To be revenged on him that loveth you.

LADY ANNE	It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
	To be revenged on him that slew my husband.

GLOUCESTER	He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,
	Did it to help thee to a better husband.

LADY ANNE	His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

GLOUCESTER	He lives that loves thee better than he could.

LADY ANNE	Name him.

GLOUCESTER	        Plantagenet.

LADY ANNE	Why, that was he.

GLOUCESTER	The selfsame name, but one of better nature.

LADY ANNE	Where is he?

GLOUCESTER	                 Here.

	[She spitteth at him]

	Why dost thou spit at me?

LADY ANNE	Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!

GLOUCESTER	Never came poison from so sweet a place.

LADY ANNE	Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
	Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes.

GLOUCESTER	Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

LADY ANNE	Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!

GLOUCESTER	I would they were, that I might die at once;
	For now they kill me with a living death.
	Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
	Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops:
	These eyes that never shed remorseful tear,
	No, when my father York and Edward wept,
	To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made
	When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him;
	Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
	Told the sad story of my father's death,
	And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,
	That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks
	Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time
	My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
	And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,
	Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
	I never sued to friend nor enemy;
	My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word;
	But now thy beauty is proposed my fee,
	My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

	[She looks scornfully at him]

	Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made
	For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
	If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
	Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
	Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom.
	And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
	I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
	And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

	[He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword]

	Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry,
	But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
	Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward,
	But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

	[Here she lets fall the sword]

	Take up the sword again, or take up me.

LADY ANNE	Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death,
	I will not be the executioner.

GLOUCESTER	Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

LADY ANNE	I have already.

GLOUCESTER	                  Tush, that was in thy rage:
	Speak it again, and, even with the word,
	That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love,
	Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love;
	To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary.

LADY ANNE	I would I knew thy heart.

GLOUCESTER	'Tis figured in my tongue.

LADY ANNE	I fear me both are false.

GLOUCESTER	Then never man was true.

LADY ANNE	Well, well, put up your sword.

GLOUCESTER	Say, then, my peace is made.

LADY ANNE	That shall you know hereafter.

GLOUCESTER	But shall I live in hope?

LADY ANNE	All men, I hope, live so.

GLOUCESTER	Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

LADY ANNE	To take is not to give.

GLOUCESTER	Look, how this ring encompasseth finger.
	Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
	Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
	And if thy poor devoted suppliant may
	But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
	Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

LADY ANNE	What is it?

GLOUCESTER	That it would please thee leave these sad designs
	To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
	And presently repair to Crosby Place;
	Where, after I have solemnly interr'd
	At Chertsey monastery this noble king,
	And wet his grave with my repentant tears,
	I will with all expedient duty see you:
	For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you,
	Grant me this boon.

LADY ANNE	With all my heart; and much it joys me too,
	To see you are become so penitent.
	Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.

GLOUCESTER	Bid me farewell.

LADY ANNE	'Tis more than you deserve;
	But since you teach me how to flatter you,
	Imagine I have said farewell already.

	[Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKELEY]

GLOUCESTER	Sirs, take up the corse.

GENTLEMEN	Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

GLOUCESTER	No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining.

	[Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

	Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
	Was ever woman in this humour won?
	I'll have her; but I will not keep her long.
	What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father,
	To take her in her heart's extremest hate,
	With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
	The bleeding witness of her hatred by;
	Having God, her conscience, and these bars
	against me,
	And I nothing to back my suit at all,
	But the plain devil and dissembling looks,
	And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!
	Ha!
	Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
	Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
	Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
	A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
	Framed in the prodigality of nature,
	Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,
	The spacious world cannot again afford
	And will she yet debase her eyes on me,
	That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,
	And made her widow to a woful bed?
	On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
	On me, that halt and am unshapen thus?
	My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
	I do mistake my person all this while:
	Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
	Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
	I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,
	And entertain some score or two of tailors,
	To study fashions to adorn my body:
	Since I am crept in favour with myself,
	Will maintain it with some little cost.
	But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave;
	And then return lamenting to my love.
	Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
	That I may see my shadow as I pass.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE III	The palace.


	[Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, RIVERS, and GREY]

RIVERS	Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty
	Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

GREY	In that you brook it in, it makes him worse:
	Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,
	And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	If he were dead, what would betide of me?

RIVERS	No other harm but loss of such a lord.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	The loss of such a lord includes all harm.

GREY	The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son,
	To be your comforter when he is gone.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Oh, he is young and his minority
	Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,
	A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

RIVERS	Is it concluded that he shall be protector?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	It is determined, not concluded yet:
	But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY]

GREY	Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby.

BUCKINGHAM	Good time of day unto your royal grace!

DERBY	God make your majesty joyful as you have been!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby.
	To your good prayers will scarcely say amen.
	Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife,
	And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured
	I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

DERBY	I do beseech you, either not believe
	The envious slanders of her false accusers;
	Or, if she be accused in true report,
	Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds
	From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice.

RIVERS	Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby?

DERBY	But now the Duke of Buckingham and I
	Are come from visiting his majesty.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

BUCKINGHAM	Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	God grant him health! Did you confer with him?

BUCKINGHAM	Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement
	Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,
	And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain;
	And sent to warn them to his royal presence.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Would all were well! but that will never be
	I fear our happiness is at the highest.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET]

GLOUCESTER	They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:
	Who are they that complain unto the king,
	That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not?
	By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly
	That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.
	Because I cannot flatter and speak fair,
	Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog,
	Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
	I must be held a rancorous enemy.
	Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,
	But thus his simple truth must be abused
	By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

RIVERS	To whom in all this presence speaks your grace?

GLOUCESTER	To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.
	When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong?
	Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction?
	A plague upon you all! His royal person,--
	Whom God preserve better than you would wish!--
	Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,
	But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter.
	The king, of his own royal disposition,
	And not provoked by any suitor else;
	Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
	Which in your outward actions shows itself
	Against my kindred, brothers, and myself,
	Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather
	The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it.

GLOUCESTER	I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad,
	That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch:
	Since every Jack became a gentleman
	There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Come, come, we know your meaning, brother
	Gloucester;
	You envy my advancement and my friends':
	God grant we never may have need of you!

GLOUCESTER	Meantime, God grants that we have need of you:
	Your brother is imprison'd by your means,
	Myself disgraced, and the nobility
	Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions
	Are daily given to ennoble those
	That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	By Him that raised me to this careful height
	From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,
	I never did incense his majesty
	Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been
	An earnest advocate to plead for him.
	My lord, you do me shameful injury,
	Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.

GLOUCESTER	You may deny that you were not the cause
	Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment.

RIVERS	She may, my lord, for--

GLOUCESTER	She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so?
	She may do more, sir, than denying that:
	She may help you to many fair preferments,
	And then deny her aiding hand therein,
	And lay those honours on your high deserts.
	What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she--

RIVERS	What, marry, may she?

GLOUCESTER	What, marry, may she! marry with a king,
	A bachelor, a handsome stripling too:
	I wis your grandam had a worser match.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne
	Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs:
	By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty
	With those gross taunts I often have endured.
	I had rather be a country servant-maid
	Than a great queen, with this condition,
	To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at:

	[Enter QUEEN MARGARET, behind]

	Small joy have I in being England's queen.

QUEEN MARGARET	And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech thee!
	Thy honour, state and seat is due to me.

GLOUCESTER	What! threat you me with telling of the king?
	Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said
	I will avouch in presence of the king:
	I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.
	'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot.

QUEEN MARGARET	Out, devil! I remember them too well:
	Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower,
	And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.

GLOUCESTER	Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king,
	I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;
	A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
	A liberal rewarder of his friends:
	To royalize his blood I spilt mine own.

QUEEN MARGARET	Yea, and much better blood than his or thine.

GLOUCESTER	In all which time you and your husband Grey
	Were factious for the house of Lancaster;
	And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband
	In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain?
	Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
	What you have been ere now, and what you are;
	Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

QUEEN MARGARET	A murderous villain, and so still thou art.

GLOUCESTER	Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick;
	Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!--

QUEEN MARGARET	Which God revenge!

GLOUCESTER	To fight on Edward's party for the crown;
	And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up.
	I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's;
	Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine
	I am too childish-foolish for this world.

QUEEN MARGARET	Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world,
	Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is.

RIVERS	My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days
	Which here you urge to prove us enemies,
	We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king:
	So should we you, if you should be our king.

GLOUCESTER	If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar:
	Far be it from my heart, the thought of it!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	As little joy, my lord, as you suppose
	You should enjoy, were you this country's king,
	As little joy may you suppose in me.
	That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.

QUEEN MARGARET	A little joy enjoys the queen thereof;
	For I am she, and altogether joyless.
	I can no longer hold me patient.

	[Advancing]

	Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
	In sharing that which you have pill'd from me!
	Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
	If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects,
	Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels?
	O gentle villain, do not turn away!

GLOUCESTER	Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight?

QUEEN MARGARET	But repetition of what thou hast marr'd;
	That will I make before I let thee go.

GLOUCESTER	Wert thou not banished on pain of death?

QUEEN MARGARET	I was; but I do find more pain in banishment
	Than death can yield me here by my abode.
	A husband and a son thou owest to me;
	And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance:
	The sorrow that I have, by right is yours,
	And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.

GLOUCESTER	The curse my noble father laid on thee,
	When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper
	And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes,
	And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout
	Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland--
	His curses, then from bitterness of soul
	Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee;
	And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	So just is God, to right the innocent.

HASTINGS	O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,
	And the most merciless that e'er was heard of!

RIVERS	Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

DORSET	No man but prophesied revenge for it.

BUCKINGHAM	Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

QUEEN MARGARET	What were you snarling all before I came,
	Ready to catch each other by the throat,
	And turn you all your hatred now on me?
	Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven?
	That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
	Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment,
	Could all but answer for that peevish brat?
	Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?
	Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!
	If not by war, by surfeit die your king,
	As ours by murder, to make him a king!
	Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales,
	For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales,
	Die in his youth by like untimely violence!
	Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
	Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!
	Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss;
	And see another, as I see thee now,
	Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
	Long die thy happy days before thy death;
	And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief,
	Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!
	Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,
	And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son
	Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him,
	That none of you may live your natural age,
	But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

GLOUCESTER	Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag!

QUEEN MARGARET	And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.
	If heaven have any grievous plague in store
	Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
	O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,
	And then hurl down their indignation
	On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
	The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul!
	Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest,
	And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
	No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
	Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream
	Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
	Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!
	Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
	The slave of nature and the son of hell!
	Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb!
	Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
	Thou rag of honour! thou detested--

GLOUCESTER	Margaret.

QUEEN MARGARET	        Richard!

GLOUCESTER	                  Ha!

QUEEN MARGARET	                  I call thee not.

GLOUCESTER	I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought
	That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.

QUEEN MARGARET	Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply.
	O, let me make the period to my curse!

GLOUCESTER	'Tis done by me, and ends in 'Margaret.'

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.

QUEEN MARGARET	Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune!
	Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider,
	Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
	Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
	The time will come when thou shalt wish for me
	To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad.

HASTINGS	False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,
	Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.

QUEEN MARGARET	Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine.

RIVERS	Were you well served, you would be taught your duty.

QUEEN MARGARET	To serve me well, you all should do me duty,
	Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects:
	O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!

DORSET	Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.

QUEEN MARGARET	Peace, master marquess, you are malapert:
	Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.
	O, that your young nobility could judge
	What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable!
	They that stand high have many blasts to shake them;
	And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

GLOUCESTER	Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess.

DORSET	It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me.

GLOUCESTER	Yea, and much more: but I was born so high,
	Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top,
	And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.

QUEEN MARGARET	And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas!
	Witness my son, now in the shade of death;
	Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
	Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
	Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest.
	O God, that seest it, do not suffer it!
	As it was won with blood, lost be it so!

BUCKINGHAM	Have done! for shame, if not for charity.

QUEEN MARGARET	Urge neither charity nor shame to me:
	Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
	And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd.
	My charity is outrage, life my shame
	And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage.

BUCKINGHAM	Have done, have done.

QUEEN MARGARET	O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand,
	In sign of league and amity with thee:
	Now fair befal thee and thy noble house!
	Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,
	Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

BUCKINGHAM	Nor no one here; for curses never pass
	The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

QUEEN MARGARET	I'll not believe but they ascend the sky,
	And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.
	O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!
	Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,
	His venom tooth will rankle to the death:
	Have not to do with him, beware of him;
	Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him,
	And all their ministers attend on him.

GLOUCESTER	What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM	Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

QUEEN MARGARET	What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel?
	And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?
	O, but remember this another day,
	When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,
	And say poor Margaret was a prophetess!
	Live each of you the subjects to his hate,
	And he to yours, and all of you to God's!

	[Exit]

HASTINGS	My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.

RIVERS	And so doth mine: I muse why she's at liberty.

GLOUCESTER	I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother,
	She hath had too much wrong; and I repent
	My part thereof that I have done to her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	I never did her any, to my knowledge.

GLOUCESTER	But you have all the vantage of her wrong.
	I was too hot to do somebody good,
	That is too cold in thinking of it now.
	Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid,
	He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains
	God pardon them that are the cause of it!

RIVERS	A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,
	To pray for them that have done scathe to us.

GLOUCESTER	So do I ever:

	[Aside]

	being well-advised.
	For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself.

	[Enter CATESBY]

CATESBY	Madam, his majesty doth call for you,
	And for your grace; and you, my noble lords.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us?

RIVERS	Madam, we will attend your grace.

	[Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.
	The secret mischiefs that I set abroach
	I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
	Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness,
	I do beweep to many simple gulls
	Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham;
	And say it is the queen and her allies
	That stir the king against the duke my brother.
	Now, they believe it; and withal whet me
	To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey:
	But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture,
	Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
	And thus I clothe my naked villany
	With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ;
	And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

	[Enter two Murderers]

	But, soft! here come my executioners.
	How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates!
	Are you now going to dispatch this deed?

First Murderer	We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant
	That we may be admitted where he is.

GLOUCESTER	Well thought upon; I have it here about me.

	[Gives the warrant]

	When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.
	But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,
	Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;
	For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps
	May move your hearts to pity if you mark him.

First Murderer	Tush!
	Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate;
	Talkers are no good doers: be assured
	We come to use our hands and not our tongues.

GLOUCESTER	Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears:
	I like you, lads; about your business straight;
	Go, go, dispatch.

First Murderer	                  We will, my noble lord.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT I



SCENE IV	London. The Tower.


	[Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY]

BRAKENBURY	Why looks your grace so heavily today?

CLARENCE	O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
	So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
	That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
	I would not spend another such a night,
	Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days,
	So full of dismal terror was the time!

BRAKENBURY	What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it.

CLARENCE	Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower,
	And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
	And, in my company, my brother Gloucester;
	Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
	Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England,
	And cited up a thousand fearful times,
	During the wars of York and Lancaster
	That had befall'n us. As we paced along
	Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
	Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling,
	Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,
	Into the tumbling billows of the main.
	Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
	What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!
	What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
	Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
	Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;
	Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
	Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
	All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea:
	Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes
	Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
	As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
	Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
	And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.

BRAKENBURY	Had you such leisure in the time of death
	To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?

CLARENCE	Methought I had; and often did I strive
	To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood
	Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
	To seek the empty, vast and wandering air;
	But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
	Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

BRAKENBURY	Awaked you not with this sore agony?

CLARENCE	O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life;
	O, then began the tempest to my soul,
	Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
	With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
	Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
	The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
	Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
	Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury
	Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?'
	And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by
	A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
	Dabbled in blood; and he squeak'd out aloud,
	'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
	That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;
	Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!'
	With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends
	Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears
	Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
	I trembling waked, and for a season after
	Could not believe but that I was in hell,
	Such terrible impression made the dream.

BRAKENBURY	No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you;
	I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it.

CLARENCE	O Brakenbury, I have done those things,
	Which now bear evidence against my soul,
	For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me!
	O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
	But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
	Yet execute thy wrath in me alone,
	O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!
	I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me;
	My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

BRAKENBURY	I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest!

	[CLARENCE sleeps]

	Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,
	Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.
	Princes have but their tides for their glories,
	An outward honour for an inward toil;
	And, for unfelt imagination,
	They often feel a world of restless cares:
	So that, betwixt their tides and low names,
	There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

	[Enter the two Murderers]

First Murderer	Ho! who's here?

BRAKENBURY	In God's name what are you, and how came you hither?

First Murderer	I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.

BRAKENBURY	Yea, are you so brief?

Second Murderer	O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show
	him our commission; talk no more.

	[BRAKENBURY reads it]

BRAKENBURY	I am, in this, commanded to deliver
	The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands:
	I will not reason what is meant hereby,
	Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.
	Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep:
	I'll to the king; and signify to him
	That thus I have resign'd my charge to you.

First Murderer	Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well.

	[Exit BRAKENBURY]

Second Murderer	What, shall we stab him as he sleeps?

First Murderer	No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

Second Murderer	When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till
	the judgment-day.

First Murderer	Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping.

Second Murderer	The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind
	of remorse in me.

First Murderer	What, art thou afraid?

Second Murderer	Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be
	damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us.

First Murderer	I thought thou hadst been resolute.

Second Murderer	So I am, to let him live.

First Murderer	Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so.

Second Murderer	I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour
	will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one
	would tell twenty.

First Murderer	How dost thou feel thyself now?

Second Murderer	'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet
	within me.

First Murderer	Remember our reward, when the deed is done.

Second Murderer	'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward.

First Murderer	Where is thy conscience now?

Second Murderer	In the Duke of Gloucester's purse.

First Murderer	So when he opens his purse to give us our reward,
	thy conscience flies out.

Second Murderer	Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it.

First Murderer	How if it come to thee again?

Second Murderer	I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it
	makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it
	accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him;
	he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it
	detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that
	mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of
	obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold
	that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it
	is turned out of all towns and cities for a
	dangerous thing; and every man that means to live
	well endeavours to trust to himself and to live
	without it.

First Murderer	'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me
	not to kill the duke.

Second Murderer	Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he
	would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh.

First Murderer	Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me,
	I warrant thee.

Second Murderer	Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his
	reputation. Come, shall we to this gear?

First Murderer	Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy
	sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt
	in the next room.

Second Murderer	O excellent devise! make a sop of him.

First Murderer	Hark! he stirs: shall I strike?

Second Murderer	No, first let's reason with him.

CLARENCE	Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine.

Second murderer	You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.

CLARENCE	In God's name, what art thou?

Second Murderer	A man, as you are.

CLARENCE	But not, as I am, royal.

Second Murderer	Nor you, as we are, loyal.

CLARENCE	Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.

Second Murderer	My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own.

CLARENCE	How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!
	Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale?
	Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?

Both	To, to, to--

CLARENCE	To murder me?

Both	Ay, ay.

CLARENCE	You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,
	And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.
	Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

First Murderer	Offended us you have not, but the king.

CLARENCE	I shall be reconciled to him again.

Second Murderer	Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.

CLARENCE	Are you call'd forth from out a world of men
	To slay the innocent? What is my offence?
	Where are the evidence that do accuse me?
	What lawful quest have given their verdict up
	Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced
	The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death?
	Before I be convict by course of law,
	To threaten me with death is most unlawful.
	I charge you, as you hope to have redemption
	By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins,
	That you depart and lay no hands on me
	The deed you undertake is damnable.

First Murderer	What we will do, we do upon command.

Second Murderer	And he that hath commanded is the king.

CLARENCE	Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings
	Hath in the tables of his law commanded
	That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then,
	Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's?
	Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands,
	To hurl upon their heads that break his law.

Second Murderer	And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee,
	For false forswearing and for murder too:
	Thou didst receive the holy sacrament,
	To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster.

First Murderer	And, like a traitor to the name of God,
	Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade
	Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son.

Second Murderer	Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend.

First Murderer	How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us,
	When thou hast broke it in so dear degree?

CLARENCE	Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?
	For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs,
	He sends ye not to murder me for this
	For in this sin he is as deep as I.
	If God will be revenged for this deed.
	O, know you yet, he doth it publicly,
	Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm;
	He needs no indirect nor lawless course
	To cut off those that have offended him.

First Murderer	Who made thee, then, a bloody minister,
	When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,
	That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?

CLARENCE	My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.

First Murderer	Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault,
	Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

CLARENCE	Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me;
	I am his brother, and I love him well.
	If you be hired for meed, go back again,
	And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,
	Who shall reward you better for my life
	Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

Second Murderer	You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you.

CLARENCE	O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear:
	Go you to him from me.

Both	Ay, so we will.

CLARENCE	Tell him, when that our princely father York
	Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm,
	And charged us from his soul to love each other,
	He little thought of this divided friendship:
	Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.

First Murderer	Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep.

CLARENCE	O, do not slander him, for he is kind.

First Murderer	Right,
	As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself:
	'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee.

CLARENCE	It cannot be; for when I parted with him,
	He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs,
	That he would labour my delivery.

Second Murderer	Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee
	From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven.

First Murderer	Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.

CLARENCE	Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul,
	To counsel me to make my peace with God,
	And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind,
	That thou wilt war with God by murdering me?
	Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on
	To do this deed will hate you for the deed.

Second Murderer	What shall we do?

CLARENCE	                  Relent, and save your souls.

First Murderer	Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish.

CLARENCE	Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.
	Which of you, if you were a prince's son,
	Being pent from liberty, as I am now,
	if two such murderers as yourselves came to you,
	Would not entreat for life?
	My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks:
	O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,
	Come thou on my side, and entreat for me,
	As you would beg, were you in my distress
	A begging prince what beggar pities not?

Second Murderer	Look behind you, my lord.

First Murderer	Take that, and that: if all this will not do,

	[Stabs him]

	I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.

	[Exit, with the body]

Second Murderer	A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd!
	How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands
	Of this most grievous guilty murder done!

	[Re-enter First Murderer]

First Murderer	How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not?
	By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art!

Second Murderer	I would he knew that I had saved his brother!
	Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;
	For I repent me that the duke is slain.

	[Exit]

First Murderer	So do not I: go, coward as thou art.
	Now must I hide his body in some hole,
	Until the duke take order for his burial:
	And when I have my meed, I must away;
	For this will out, and here I must not stay.




	KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV sick, QUEEN
	ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM,
	GREY, and others]

KING EDWARD IV	Why, so: now have I done a good day's work:
	You peers, continue this united league:
	I every day expect an embassage
	From my Redeemer to redeem me hence;
	And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven,
	Since I have set my friends at peace on earth.
	Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand;
	Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.

RIVERS	By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate:
	And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.

HASTINGS	So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!

KING EDWARD IV	Take heed you dally not before your king;
	Lest he that is the supreme King of kings
	Confound your hidden falsehood, and award
	Either of you to be the other's end.

HASTINGS	So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!

RIVERS	And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!

KING EDWARD IV	Madam, yourself are not exempt in this,
	Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you;
	You have been factious one against the other,
	Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;
	And what you do, do it unfeignedly.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Here, Hastings; I will never more remember
	Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!

KING EDWARD IV	Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess.

DORSET	This interchange of love, I here protest,
	Upon my part shall be unviolable.

HASTINGS	And so swear I, my lord

	[They embrace]

KING EDWARD IV	Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league
	With thy embracements to my wife's allies,
	And make me happy in your unity.

BUCKINGHAM	Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate
	On you or yours,

	[To the Queen]

	but with all duteous love
	Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me
	With hate in those where I expect most love!
	When I have most need to employ a friend,
	And most assured that he is a friend
	Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,
	Be he unto me! this do I beg of God,
	When I am cold in zeal to yours.

KING EDWARD IV	A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,
	is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.
	There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here,
	To make the perfect period of this peace.

BUCKINGHAM	And, in good time, here comes the noble duke.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen:
	And, princely peers, a happy time of day!

KING EDWARD IV	Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.
	Brother, we done deeds of charity;
	Made peace enmity, fair love of hate,
	Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

GLOUCESTER	A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege:
	Amongst this princely heap, if any here,
	By false intelligence, or wrong surmise,
	Hold me a foe;
	If I unwittingly, or in my rage,
	Have aught committed that is hardly borne
	By any in this presence, I desire
	To reconcile me to his friendly peace:
	'Tis death to me to be at enmity;
	I hate it, and desire all good men's love.
	First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,
	Which I will purchase with my duteous service;
	Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,
	If ever any grudge were lodged between us;
	Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you;
	That without desert have frown'd on me;
	Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all.
	I do not know that Englishman alive
	With whom my soul is any jot at odds
	More than the infant that is born to-night
	I thank my God for my humility.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	A holy day shall this be kept hereafter:
	I would to God all strifes were well compounded.
	My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty
	To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

GLOUCESTER	Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this
	To be so bouted in this royal presence?
	Who knows not that the noble duke is dead?

	[They all start]

	You do him injury to scorn his corse.

RIVERS	Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	All seeing heaven, what a world is this!

BUCKINGHAM	Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?

DORSET	Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence
	But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.

KING EDWARD IV	Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed.

GLOUCESTER	But he, poor soul, by your first order died,
	And that a winged Mercury did bear:
	Some tardy cripple bore the countermand,
	That came too lag to see him buried.
	God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,
	Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood,
	Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
	And yet go current from suspicion!

	[Enter DERBY]

DORSET	A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!

KING EDWARD IV	I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow.

DORSET	I will not rise, unless your highness grant.

KING EDWARD IV	Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st.

DORSET	The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life;
	Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman
	Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

KING EDWARD IV	Have a tongue to doom my brother's death,
	And shall the same give pardon to a slave?
	My brother slew no man; his fault was thought,
	And yet his punishment was cruel death.
	Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage,
	Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised
	Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love?
	Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
	The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
	Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury
	When Oxford had me down, he rescued me,
	And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'?
	Who told me, when we both lay in the field
	Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
	Even in his own garments, and gave himself,
	All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?
	All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
	Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you
	Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
	But when your carters or your waiting-vassals
	Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced
	The precious image of our dear Redeemer,
	You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;
	And I unjustly too, must grant it you
	But for my brother not a man would speak,
	Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself
	For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
	Have been beholding to him in his life;
	Yet none of you would once plead for his life.
	O God, I fear thy justice will take hold
	On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this!
	Come, Hastings, help me to my closet.
	Oh, poor Clarence!

	[Exeunt some with KING EDWARD IV and QUEEN MARGARET]

GLOUCESTER	This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not
	How that the guilty kindred of the queen
	Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death?
	O, they did urge it still unto the king!
	God will revenge it. But come, let us in,
	To comfort Edward with our company.

BUCKINGHAM	We wait upon your grace.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE II	The palace.


	[Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with the two children of CLARENCE]

Boy	Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead?

DUCHESS OF YORK	No, boy.

Boy	Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast,
	And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!'

Girl	Why do you look on us, and shake your head,
	And call us wretches, orphans, castaways
	If that our noble father be alive?

DUCHESS OF YORK	My pretty cousins, you mistake me much;
	I do lament the sickness of the king.
	As loath to lose him, not your father's death;
	It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost.

Boy	Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.
	The king my uncle is to blame for this:
	God will revenge it; whom I will importune
	With daily prayers all to that effect.

Girl	And so will I.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well:
	Incapable and shallow innocents,
	You cannot guess who caused your father's death.

Boy	Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester
	Told me, the king, provoked by the queen,
	Devised impeachments to imprison him :
	And when my uncle told me so, he wept,
	And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my cheek;
	Bade me rely on him as on my father,
	And he would love me dearly as his child.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes,
	And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile!
	He is my son; yea, and therein my shame;
	Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

Boy	Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?

DUCHESS OF YORK	Ay, boy.

Boy	I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?

	[Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her
	ears; RIVERS, and DORSET after her]

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep,
	To chide my fortune, and torment myself?
	I'll join with black despair against my soul,
	And to myself become an enemy.

DUCHESS OF YORK	What means this scene of rude impatience?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	To make an act of tragic violence:
	Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead.
	Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd?
	Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone?
	If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,
	That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's;
	Or, like obedient subjects, follow him
	To his new kingdom of perpetual rest.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow
	As I had title in thy noble husband!
	I have bewept a worthy husband's death,
	And lived by looking on his images:
	But now two mirrors of his princely semblance
	Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death,
	And I for comfort have but one false glass,
	Which grieves me when I see my shame in him.
	Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother,
	And hast the comfort of thy children left thee:
	But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms,
	And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs,
	Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I,
	Thine being but a moiety of my grief,
	To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries!

Boy	Good aunt, you wept not for our father's death;
	How can we aid you with our kindred tears?

Girl	Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd;
	Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Give me no help in lamentation;
	I am not barren to bring forth complaints
	All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes,
	That I, being govern'd by the watery moon,
	May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!
	Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward!

Children	Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence!

DUCHESS OF YORK	Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone.

Children	What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone.

DUCHESS OF YORK	What stays had I but they? and they are gone.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Was never widow had so dear a loss!

Children	Were never orphans had so dear a loss!

DUCHESS OF YORK	Was never mother had so dear a loss!
	Alas, I am the mother of these moans!
	Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general.
	She for an Edward weeps, and so do I;
	I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she:
	These babes for Clarence weep and so do I;
	I for an Edward weep, so do not they:
	Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd,
	Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse,
	And I will pamper it with lamentations.

DORSET	Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased
	That you take with unthankfulness, his doing:
	In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful,
	With dull unwilligness to repay a debt
	Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
	Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,
	For it requires the royal debt it lent you.

RIVERS	Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,
	Of the young prince your son: send straight for him
	Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives:
	Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave,
	And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF]

GLOUCESTER	Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause
	To wail the dimming of our shining star;
	But none can cure their harms by wailing them.
	Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;
	I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee
	I crave your blessing.

DUCHESS OF YORK	God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind,
	Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  Amen; and make me die a good old man!
	That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing:
	I marvel why her grace did leave it out.

BUCKINGHAM	You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers,
	That bear this mutual heavy load of moan,
	Now cheer each other in each other's love
	Though we have spent our harvest of this king,
	We are to reap the harvest of his son.
	The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts,
	But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together,
	Must gently be preserved, cherish'd, and kept:
	Me seemeth good, that, with some little train,
	Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd
	Hither to London, to be crown'd our king.

RIVERS	Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM	Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude,
	The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out,
	Which would be so much the more dangerous
	By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd:
	Where every horse bears his commanding rein,
	And may direct his course as please himself,
	As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent,
	In my opinion, ought to be prevented.

GLOUCESTER	I hope the king made peace with all of us
	And the compact is firm and true in me.

RIVERS	And so in me; and so, I think, in all:
	Yet, since it is but green, it should be put
	To no apparent likelihood of breach,
	Which haply by much company might be urged:
	Therefore I say with noble Buckingham,
	That it is meet so few should fetch the prince.

HASTINGS	And so say I.

GLOUCESTER	Then be it so; and go we to determine
	Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.
	Madam, and you, my mother, will you go
	To give your censures in this weighty business?


QUEEN ELIZABETH	|
	|  With all our harts.
DUCHESS OF YORK	|


	[Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER]

BUCKINGHAM	My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,
	For God's sake, let not us two be behind;
	For, by the way, I'll sort occasion,
	As index to the story we late talk'd of,
	To part the queen's proud kindred from the king.

GLOUCESTER	My other self, my counsel's consistory,
	My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin,
	I, like a child, will go by thy direction.
	Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE III	London. A street.


	[Enter two Citizens meeting]

First Citizen	Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast?

Second Citizen	I promise you, I scarcely know myself:
	Hear you the news abroad?

First Citizen	Ay, that the king is dead.

Second Citizen	Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better:
	I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world.

	[Enter another Citizen]

Third Citizen	Neighbours, God speed!

First Citizen	Give you good morrow, sir.

Third Citizen	Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death?

Second Citizen	Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!

Third Citizen	Then, masters, look to see a troublous world.

First Citizen	No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign.

Third Citizen	Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child!

Second Citizen	In him there is a hope of government,
	That in his nonage council under him,
	And in his full and ripen'd years himself,
	No doubt, shall then and till then govern well.

First Citizen	So stood the state when Henry the Sixth
	Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old.

Third Citizen	Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot;
	For then this land was famously enrich'd
	With politic grave counsel; then the king
	Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace.

First Citizen	Why, so hath this, both by the father and mother.

Third Citizen	Better it were they all came by the father,
	Or by the father there were none at all;
	For emulation now, who shall be nearest,
	Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.
	O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!
	And the queen's sons and brothers haught and proud:
	And were they to be ruled, and not to rule,
	This sickly land might solace as before.

First Citizen	Come, come, we fear the worst; all shall be well.

Third Citizen	When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks;
	When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand;
	When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?
	Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.
	All may be well; but, if God sort it so,
	'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.

Second Citizen	Truly, the souls of men are full of dread:
	Ye cannot reason almost with a man
	That looks not heavily and full of fear.

Third Citizen	Before the times of change, still is it so:
	By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust
	Ensuing dangers; as by proof, we see
	The waters swell before a boisterous storm.
	But leave it all to God. whither away?

Second Citizen	Marry, we were sent for to the justices.

Third Citizen	And so was I: I'll bear you company.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT II



SCENE IV	London. The palace.


	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, young YORK, QUEEN
	ELIZABETH, and the DUCHESS OF YORK]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Last night, I hear, they lay at Northampton;
	At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night:
	To-morrow, or next day, they will be here.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I long with all my heart to see the prince:
	I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	But I hear, no; they say my son of York
	Hath almost overta'en him in his growth.

YORK	Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow.

YORK	Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper,
	My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow
	More than my brother: 'Ay,' quoth my uncle
	Gloucester,
	'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:'
	And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
	Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold
	In him that did object the same to thee;
	He was the wretched'st thing when he was young,
	So long a-growing and so leisurely,
	That, if this rule were true, he should be gracious.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Why, madam, so, no doubt, he is.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.

YORK	Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd,
	I could have given my uncle's grace a flout,
	To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine.

DUCHESS OF YORK	How, my pretty York? I pray thee, let me hear it.

YORK	Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast
	That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old
	'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.
	Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this?

YORK	Grandam, his nurse.

DUCHESS OF YORK	His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wert born.

YORK	If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	A parlous boy: go to, you are too shrewd.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Good madam, be not angry with the child.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Pitchers have ears.

	[Enter a Messenger]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Here comes a messenger. What news?

Messenger	Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	How fares the prince?

Messenger	Well, madam, and in health.

DUCHESS OF YORK	What is thy news then?

Messenger	Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to Pomfret,
	With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Who hath committed them?

Messenger	The mighty dukes
	Gloucester and Buckingham.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	For what offence?

Messenger	The sum of all I can, I have disclosed;
	Why or for what these nobles were committed
	Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ay me, I see the downfall of our house!
	The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind;
	Insulting tyranny begins to jet
	Upon the innocent and aweless throne:
	Welcome, destruction, death, and massacre!
	I see, as in a map, the end of all.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Accursed and unquiet wrangling days,
	How many of you have mine eyes beheld!
	My husband lost his life to get the crown;
	And often up and down my sons were toss'd,
	For me to joy and weep their gain and loss:
	And being seated, and domestic broils
	Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors.
	Make war upon themselves; blood against blood,
	Self against self: O, preposterous
	And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen;
	Or let me die, to look on death no more!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Come, come, my boy; we will to sanctuary.
	Madam, farewell.

DUCHESS OF YORK	                  I'll go along with you.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	You have no cause.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	                  My gracious lady, go;
	And thither bear your treasure and your goods.
	For my part, I'll resign unto your grace
	The seal I keep: and so betide to me
	As well I tender you and all of yours!
	Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE I	London. A street.


	[The trumpets sound. Enter the young PRINCE EDWARD,
	GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, CARDINAL, CATESBY, and others]

BUCKINGHAM	Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber.

GLOUCESTER	Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign
	The weary way hath made you melancholy.

PRINCE EDWARD	No, uncle; but our crosses on the way
	Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy
	I want more uncles here to welcome me.

GLOUCESTER	Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years
	Hath not yet dived into the world's deceit
	Nor more can you distinguish of a man
	Than of his outward show; which, God he knows,
	Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.
	Those uncles which you want were dangerous;
	Your grace attended to their sugar'd words,
	But look'd not on the poison of their hearts :
	God keep you from them, and from such false friends!

PRINCE EDWARD	God keep me from false friends! but they were none.

GLOUCESTER	My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you.

	[Enter the Lord Mayor and his train]

Lord Mayor	God bless your grace with health and happy days!

PRINCE EDWARD	I thank you, good my lord; and thank you all.
	I thought my mother, and my brother York,
	Would long ere this have met us on the way
	Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not
	To tell us whether they will come or no!

	[Enter HASTINGS]

BUCKINGHAM	And, in good time, here comes the sweating lord.

PRINCE EDWARD	Welcome, my lord: what, will our mother come?

HASTINGS	On what occasion, God he knows, not I,
	The queen your mother, and your brother York,
	Have taken sanctuary: the tender prince
	Would fain have come with me to meet your grace,
	But by his mother was perforce withheld.

BUCKINGHAM	Fie, what an indirect and peevish course
	Is this of hers! Lord cardinal, will your grace
	Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York
	Unto his princely brother presently?
	If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him,
	And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.

CARDINAL	My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory
	Can from his mother win the Duke of York,
	Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate
	To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid
	We should infringe the holy privilege
	Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land
	Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.

BUCKINGHAM	You are too senseless--obstinate, my lord,
	Too ceremonious and traditional
	Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,
	You break not sanctuary in seizing him.
	The benefit thereof is always granted
	To those whose dealings have deserved the place,
	And those who have the wit to claim the place:
	This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserved it;
	And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it:
	Then, taking him from thence that is not there,
	You break no privilege nor charter there.
	Oft have I heard of sanctuary men;
	But sanctuary children ne'er till now.

CARDINAL	My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once.
	Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?

HASTINGS	I go, my lord.

PRINCE EDWARD	Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.

	[Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS]

	Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,
	Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?

GLOUCESTER	Where it seems best unto your royal self.
	If I may counsel you, some day or two
	Your highness shall repose you at the Tower:
	Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit
	For your best health and recreation.

PRINCE EDWARD	I do not like the Tower, of any place.
	Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?

BUCKINGHAM	He did, my gracious lord, begin that place;
	Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.

PRINCE EDWARD	Is it upon record, or else reported
	Successively from age to age, he built it?

BUCKINGHAM	Upon record, my gracious lord.

PRINCE EDWARD	But say, my lord, it were not register'd,
	Methinks the truth should live from age to age,
	As 'twere retail'd to all posterity,
	Even to the general all-ending day.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  So wise so young, they say, do never
	live long.

PRINCE EDWARD	What say you, uncle?

GLOUCESTER	I say, without characters, fame lives long.

	[Aside]

	Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity,
	I moralize two meanings in one word.

PRINCE EDWARD	That Julius Caesar was a famous man;
	With what his valour did enrich his wit,
	His wit set down to make his valour live
	Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;
	For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
	I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham,--

BUCKINGHAM	What, my gracious lord?

PRINCE EDWARD	An if I live until I be a man,
	I'll win our ancient right in France again,
	Or die a soldier, as I lived a king.

GLOUCESTER	[Aside]  Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

	[Enter young YORK, HASTINGS, and the CARDINAL]

BUCKINGHAM	Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York.

PRINCE EDWARD	Richard of York! how fares our loving brother?

YORK	Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now.

PRINCE EDWARD	Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours:
	Too late he died that might have kept that title,
	Which by his death hath lost much majesty.

GLOUCESTER	How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?

YORK	I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord,
	You said that idle weeds are fast in growth
	The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.

GLOUCESTER	He hath, my lord.

YORK	                  And therefore is he idle?

GLOUCESTER	O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.

YORK	Then is he more beholding to you than I.

GLOUCESTER	He may command me as my sovereign;
	But you have power in me as in a kinsman.

YORK	I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.

GLOUCESTER	My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart.

PRINCE EDWARD	A beggar, brother?

YORK	Of my kind uncle, that I know will give;
	And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.

GLOUCESTER	A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.

YORK	A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it.

GLOUCESTER	A gentle cousin, were it light enough.

YORK	O, then, I see, you will part but with light gifts;
	In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.

GLOUCESTER	It is too heavy for your grace to wear.

YORK	I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.

GLOUCESTER	What, would you have my weapon, little lord?

YORK	I would, that I might thank you as you call me.

GLOUCESTER	How?

YORK	Little.

PRINCE EDWARD	My Lord of York will still be cross in talk:
	Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.

YORK	You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me:
	Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;
	Because that I am little, like an ape,
	He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.

BUCKINGHAM	With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!
	To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,
	He prettily and aptly taunts himself:
	So cunning and so young is wonderful.

GLOUCESTER	My lord, will't please you pass along?
	Myself and my good cousin Buckingham
	Will to your mother, to entreat of her
	To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.

YORK	What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?

PRINCE EDWARD	My lord protector needs will have it so.

YORK	I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.

GLOUCESTER	Why, what should you fear?

YORK	Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost:
	My grandam told me he was murdered there.

PRINCE EDWARD	I fear no uncles dead.

GLOUCESTER	Nor none that live, I hope.

PRINCE EDWARD	An if they live, I hope I need not fear.
	But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,
	Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.

	[A Sennet. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM
	and CATESBY]

BUCKINGHAM	Think you, my lord, this little prating York
	Was not incensed by his subtle mother
	To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?

GLOUCESTER	No doubt, no doubt; O, 'tis a parlous boy;
	Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable
	He is all the mother's, from the top to toe.

BUCKINGHAM	Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby.
	Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend
	As closely to conceal what we impart:
	Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way;
	What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter
	To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,
	For the instalment of this noble duke
	In the seat royal of this famous isle?

CATESBY	He for his father's sake so loves the prince,
	That he will not be won to aught against him.

BUCKINGHAM	What think'st thou, then, of Stanley? what will he?

CATESBY	He will do all in all as Hastings doth.

BUCKINGHAM	Well, then, no more but this: go, gentle Catesby,
	And, as it were far off sound thou Lord Hastings,
	How doth he stand affected to our purpose;
	And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,
	To sit about the coronation.
	If thou dost find him tractable to us,
	Encourage him, and show him all our reasons:
	If he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling,
	Be thou so too; and so break off your talk,
	And give us notice of his inclination:
	For we to-morrow hold divided councils,
	Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd.

GLOUCESTER	Commend me to Lord William: tell him, Catesby,
	His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries
	To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle;
	And bid my friend, for joy of this good news,
	Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.

BUCKINGHAM	Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly.

CATESBY	My good lords both, with all the heed I may.

GLOUCESTER	Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?

CATESBY	You shall, my lord.

GLOUCESTER	At Crosby Place, there shall you find us both.

	[Exit CATESBY]

BUCKINGHAM	Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive
	Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?

GLOUCESTER	Chop off his head, man; somewhat we will do:
	And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me
	The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables
	Whereof the king my brother stood possess'd.

BUCKINGHAM	I'll claim that promise at your grace's hands.

GLOUCESTER	And look to have it yielded with all willingness.
	Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards
	We may digest our complots in some form.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE II	Before Lord Hastings' house.


	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	What, ho! my lord!

HASTINGS	[Within]  Who knocks at the door?

Messenger	A messenger from the Lord Stanley.

	[Enter HASTINGS]

HASTINGS	What is't o'clock?

Messenger	Upon the stroke of four.

HASTINGS	Cannot thy master sleep these tedious nights?

Messenger	So it should seem by that I have to say.
	First, he commends him to your noble lordship.

HASTINGS	And then?

Messenger	And then he sends you word
	He dreamt to-night the boar had razed his helm:
	Besides, he says there are two councils held;
	And that may be determined at the one
	which may make you and him to rue at the other.
	Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure,
	If presently you will take horse with him,
	And with all speed post with him toward the north,
	To shun the danger that his soul divines.

HASTINGS	Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;
	Bid him not fear the separated councils
	His honour and myself are at the one,
	And at the other is my servant Catesby
	Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us
	Whereof I shall not have intelligence.
	Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting instance:
	And for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond
	To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers
	To fly the boar before the boar pursues,
	Were to incense the boar to follow us
	And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.
	Go, bid thy master rise and come to me
	And we will both together to the Tower,
	Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.

Messenger	My gracious lord, I'll tell him what you say.

	[Exit]

	[Enter CATESBY]

CATESBY	Many good morrows to my noble lord!

HASTINGS	Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring
	What news, what news, in this our tottering state?

CATESBY	It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord;
	And I believe twill never stand upright
	Tim Richard wear the garland of the realm.

HASTINGS	How! wear the garland! dost thou mean the crown?

CATESBY	Ay, my good lord.

HASTINGS	I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders
	Ere I will see the crown so foul misplaced.
	But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?

CATESBY	Ay, on my life; and hopes to find forward
	Upon his party for the gain thereof:
	And thereupon he sends you this good news,
	That this same very day your enemies,
	The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret.

HASTINGS	Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,
	Because they have been still mine enemies:
	But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side,
	To bar my master's heirs in true descent,
	God knows I will not do it, to the death.

CATESBY	God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!

HASTINGS	But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence,
	That they who brought me in my master's hate
	I live to look upon their tragedy.
	I tell thee, Catesby--

CATESBY	What, my lord?

HASTINGS	Ere a fortnight make me elder,
	I'll send some packing that yet think not on it.

CATESBY	'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,
	When men are unprepared and look not for it.

HASTINGS	O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out
	With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do
	With some men else, who think themselves as safe
	As thou and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear
	To princely Richard and to Buckingham.

CATESBY	The princes both make high account of you;

	[Aside]

	For they account his head upon the bridge.

HASTINGS	I know they do; and I have well deserved it.

	[Enter STANLEY]

	Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?
	Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?

STANLEY	My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby:
	You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,
	I do not like these several councils, I.

HASTINGS	My lord,
	I hold my life as dear as you do yours;
	And never in my life, I do protest,
	Was it more precious to me than 'tis now:
	Think you, but that I know our state secure,
	I would be so triumphant as I am?

STANLEY	The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London,
	Were jocund, and supposed their state was sure,
	And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;
	But yet, you see how soon the day o'ercast.
	This sudden stag of rancour I misdoubt:
	Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward!
	What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent.

HASTINGS	Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my lord?
	To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded.

LORD STANLEY	They, for their truth, might better wear their heads
	Than some that have accused them wear their hats.
	But come, my lord, let us away.

	[Enter a Pursuivant]

HASTINGS	Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow.

	[Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY]

	How now, sirrah! how goes the world with thee?

Pursuivant	The better that your lordship please to ask.

HASTINGS	I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now
	Than when I met thee last where now we meet:
	Then was I going prisoner to the Tower,
	By the suggestion of the queen's allies;
	But now, I tell thee--keep it to thyself--
	This day those enemies are put to death,
	And I in better state than e'er I was.

Pursuivant	God hold it, to your honour's good content!

HASTINGS	Gramercy, fellow: there, drink that for me.

	[Throws him his purse]

Pursuivant	God save your lordship!

	[Exit]

	[Enter a Priest]

Priest	Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.

HASTINGS	I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.
	I am in your debt for your last exercise;
	Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.

	[He whispers in his ear]

	[Enter BUCKINGHAM]

BUCKINGHAM	What, talking with a priest, lord chamberlain?
	Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest;
	Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.

HASTINGS	Good faith, and when I met this holy man,
	Those men you talk of came into my mind.
	What, go you toward the Tower?

BUCKINGHAM	I do, my lord; but long I shall not stay
	I shall return before your lordship thence.

HASTINGS	'Tis like enough, for I stay dinner there.

BUCKINGHAM	[Aside]  And supper too, although thou know'st it not.
	Come, will you go?

HASTINGS	I'll wait upon your lordship.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE III	Pomfret Castle.


	[Enter RATCLIFF, with halberds, carrying RIVERS,
	GREY, and VAUGHAN to death]

RATCLIFF	Come, bring forth the prisoners.

RIVERS	Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this:
	To-day shalt thou behold a subject die
	For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.

GREY	God keep the prince from all the pack of you!
	A knot you are of damned blood-suckers!

VAUGHAN	You live that shall cry woe for this after.

RATCLIFF	Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.

RIVERS	O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,
	Fatal and ominous to noble peers!
	Within the guilty closure of thy walls
	Richard the second here was hack'd to death;
	And, for more slander to thy dismal seat,
	We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink.

GREY	Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads,
	For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.

RIVERS	Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed she Buckingham,
	Then cursed she Richard. O, remember, God
	To hear her prayers for them, as now for us
	And for my sister and her princely sons,
	Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,
	Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt.

RATCLIFF	Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.

RIVERS	Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us all embrace:
	And take our leave, until we meet in heaven.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE IV	The Tower of London.


	[Enter BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP OF
	ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL, with others, and take their
	seats at a table]

HASTINGS	My lords, at once: the cause why we are met
	Is, to determine of the coronation.
	In God's name, speak: when is the royal day?

BUCKINGHAM	Are all things fitting for that royal time?

DERBY	It is, and wants but nomination.

BISHOP OF ELY	To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day.

BUCKINGHAM	Who knows the lord protector's mind herein?
	Who is most inward with the royal duke?

BISHOP OF ELY	Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind.

BUCKINGHAM	Who, I, my lord I we know each other's faces,
	But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine,
	Than I of yours;
	Nor I no more of his, than you of mine.
	Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.

HASTINGS	I thank his grace, I know he loves me well;
	But, for his purpose in the coronation.
	I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd
	His gracious pleasure any way therein:
	But you, my noble lords, may name the time;
	And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice,
	Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER]

BISHOP OF ELY	Now in good time, here comes the duke himself.

GLOUCESTER	My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow.
	I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope,
	My absence doth neglect no great designs,
	Which by my presence might have been concluded.

BUCKINGHAM	Had not you come upon your cue, my lord
	William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part,--
	I mean, your voice,--for crowning of the king.

GLOUCESTER	Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder;
	His lordship knows me well, and loves me well.

HASTINGS	I thank your grace.

GLOUCESTER	My lord of Ely!

BISHOP OF ELY	My lord?

GLOUCESTER	When I was last in Holborn,
	I saw good strawberries in your garden there
	I do beseech you send for some of them.

BISHOP OF ELY	Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart.

	[Exit]

GLOUCESTER	Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.

	[Drawing him aside]

	Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business,
	And finds the testy gentleman so hot,
	As he will lose his head ere give consent
	His master's son, as worshipful as he terms it,
	Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.

BUCKINGHAM	Withdraw you hence, my lord, I'll follow you.

	[Exit GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM following]

DERBY	We have not yet set down this day of triumph.
	To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden;
	For I myself am not so well provided
	As else I would be, were the day prolong'd.

	[Re-enter BISHOP OF ELY]

BISHOP OF ELY	Where is my lord protector? I have sent for these
	strawberries.

HASTINGS	His grace looks cheerfully and smooth to-day;
	There's some conceit or other likes him well,
	When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit.
	I think there's never a man in Christendom
	That can less hide his love or hate than he;
	For by his face straight shall you know his heart.

DERBY	What of his heart perceive you in his face
	By any likelihood he show'd to-day?

HASTINGS	Marry, that with no man here he is offended;
	For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.

DERBY	I pray God he be not, I say.

	[Re-enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM]

GLOUCESTER	I pray you all, tell me what they deserve
	That do conspire my death with devilish plots
	Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd
	Upon my body with their hellish charms?

HASTINGS	The tender love I bear your grace, my lord,
	Makes me most forward in this noble presence
	To doom the offenders, whatsoever they be
	I say, my lord, they have deserved death.

GLOUCESTER	Then be your eyes the witness of this ill:
	See how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm
	Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up:
	And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch,
	Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore,
	That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.

HASTINGS	If they have done this thing, my gracious lord--

GLOUCESTER	If I thou protector of this damned strumpet--
	Tellest thou me of 'ifs'?  Thou art a traitor:
	Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear,
	I will not dine until I see the same.
	Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done:
	The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.

	[Exeunt all but HASTINGS, RATCLIFF, and LOVEL]

HASTINGS	Woe, woe for England! not a whit for me;
	For I, too fond, might have prevented this.
	Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm;
	But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly:
	Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,
	And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower,
	As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.
	O, now I want the priest that spake to me:
	I now repent I told the pursuivant
	As 'twere triumphing at mine enemies,
	How they at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd,
	And I myself secure in grace and favour.
	O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse
	Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head!

RATCLIFF	Dispatch, my lord; the duke would be at dinner:
	Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.

HASTINGS	O momentary grace of mortal men,
	Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
	Who builds his hopes in air of your good looks,
	Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,
	Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
	Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

LOVEL	Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim.

HASTINGS	O bloody Richard! miserable England!
	I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee
	That ever wretched age hath look'd upon.
	Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head.
	They smile at me that shortly shall be dead.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE V	The Tower-walls.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, in rotten armour,
	marvellous ill-favoured]

GLOUCESTER	Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change thy colour,
	Murder thy breath in the middle of a word,
	And then begin again, and stop again,
	As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror?

BUCKINGHAM	Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;
	Speak and look back, and pry on every side,
	Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,
	Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks
	Are at my service, like enforced smiles;
	And both are ready in their offices,
	At any time, to grace my stratagems.
	But what, is Catesby gone?

GLOUCESTER	He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.

	[Enter the Lord Mayor and CATESBY]

BUCKINGHAM	Lord mayor,--

GLOUCESTER	Look to the drawbridge there!

BUCKINGHAM	Hark! a drum.

GLOUCESTER	Catesby, o'erlook the walls.

BUCKINGHAM	Lord mayor, the reason we have sent--

GLOUCESTER	Look back, defend thee, here are enemies.

BUCKINGHAM	God and our innocency defend and guard us!

GLOUCESTER	Be patient, they are friends, Ratcliff and Lovel.

	[Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS' head]

LOVEL	Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,
	The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.

GLOUCESTER	So dear I loved the man, that I must weep.
	I took him for the plainest harmless creature
	That breathed upon this earth a Christian;
	Made him my book wherein my soul recorded
	The history of all her secret thoughts:
	So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue,
	That, his apparent open guilt omitted,
	I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife,
	He lived from all attainder of suspect.

BUCKINGHAM	Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd traitor
	That ever lived.
	Would you imagine, or almost believe,
	Were't not that, by great preservation,
	We live to tell it you, the subtle traitor
	This day had plotted, in the council-house
	To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester?

Lord Mayor	What, had he so?

GLOUCESTER	What, think You we are Turks or infidels?
	Or that we would, against the form of law,
	Proceed thus rashly to the villain's death,
	But that the extreme peril of the case,
	The peace of England and our persons' safety,
	Enforced us to this execution?

Lord Mayor	Now, fair befall you! he deserved his death;
	And you my good lords, both have well proceeded,
	To warn false traitors from the like attempts.
	I never look'd for better at his hands,
	After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.

GLOUCESTER	Yet had not we determined he should die,
	Until your lordship came to see his death;
	Which now the loving haste of these our friends,
	Somewhat against our meaning, have prevented:
	Because, my lord, we would have had you heard
	The traitor speak, and timorously confess
	The manner and the purpose of his treason;
	That you might well have signified the same
	Unto the citizens, who haply may
	Misconstrue us in him and wail his death.

Lord Mayor	But, my good lord, your grace's word shall serve,
	As well as I had seen and heard him speak
	And doubt you not, right noble princes both,
	But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens
	With all your just proceedings in this cause.

GLOUCESTER	And to that end we wish'd your lord-ship here,
	To avoid the carping censures of the world.

BUCKINGHAM	But since you come too late of our intents,
	Yet witness what you hear we did intend:
	And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell.

	[Exit Lord Mayor]

GLOUCESTER	Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.
	The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post:
	There, at your meet'st advantage of the time,
	Infer the bastardy of Edward's children:
	Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen,
	Only for saying he would make his son
	Heir to the crown; meaning indeed his house,
	Which, by the sign thereof was termed so.
	Moreover, urge his hateful luxury
	And bestial appetite in change of lust;
	Which stretched to their servants, daughters, wives,
	Even where his lustful eye or savage heart,
	Without control, listed to make his prey.
	Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:
	Tell them, when that my mother went with child
	Of that unsatiate Edward, noble York
	My princely father then had wars in France
	And, by just computation of the time,
	Found that the issue was not his begot;
	Which well appeared in his lineaments,
	Being nothing like the noble duke my father:
	But touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off,
	Because you know, my lord, my mother lives.

BUCKINGHAM	Fear not, my lord, I'll play the orator
	As if the golden fee for which I plead
	Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu.

GLOUCESTER	If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's Castle;
	Where you shall find me well accompanied
	With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops.

BUCKINGHAM	I go: and towards three or four o'clock
	Look for the news that the Guildhall affords.

	[Exit BUCKINGHAM]

GLOUCESTER	Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw;

	[To CATESBY]

	Go thou to Friar Penker; bid them both
	Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle.

	[Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER]

	Now will I in, to take some privy order,
	To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight;
	And to give notice, that no manner of person
	At any time have recourse unto the princes.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE VI	The same.


	[Enter a Scrivener, with a paper in his hand]

Scrivener	This is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;
	Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd,
	That it may be this day read over in Paul's.
	And mark how well the sequel hangs together:
	Eleven hours I spent to write it over,
	For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me;
	The precedent was full as long a-doing:
	And yet within these five hours lived Lord Hastings,
	Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty
	Here's a good world the while! Why who's so gross,
	That seeth not this palpable device?
	Yet who's so blind, but says he sees it not?
	Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,
	When such bad dealings must be seen in thought.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT III



SCENE VII	Baynard's Castle.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors]

GLOUCESTER	How now, my lord, what say the citizens?

BUCKINGHAM	Now, by the holy mother of our Lord,
	The citizens are mum and speak not a word.

GLOUCESTER	Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children?

BUCKINGHAM	I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,
	And his contract by deputy in France;
	The insatiate greediness of his desires,
	And his enforcement of the city wives;
	His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,
	As being got, your father then in France,
	His resemblance, being not like the duke;
	Withal I did infer your lineaments,
	Being the right idea of your father,
	Both in your form and nobleness of mind;
	Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
	Your dicipline in war, wisdom in peace,
	Your bounty, virtue, fair humility:
	Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose
	Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse
	And when mine oratory grew to an end
	I bid them that did love their country's good
	Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal king!'

GLOUCESTER	Ah! and did they so?

BUCKINGHAM	No, so God help me, they spake not a word;
	But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,
	Gazed each on other, and look'd deadly pale.
	Which when I saw, I reprehended them;
	And ask'd the mayor what meant this wilful silence:
	His answer was, the people were not wont
	To be spoke to but by the recorder.
	Then he was urged to tell my tale again,
	'Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd;'
	But nothing spake in warrant from himself.
	When he had done, some followers of mine own,
	At the lower end of the hall, hurl'd up their caps,
	And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!'
	And thus I took the vantage of those few,
	'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I;
	'This general applause and loving shout
	Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard:'
	And even here brake off, and came away.

GLOUCESTER	What tongueless blocks were they! would not they speak?

BUCKINGHAM	No, by my troth, my lord.

GLOUCESTER	Will not the mayor then and his brethren come?

BUCKINGHAM	The mayor is here at hand: intend some fear;
	Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit:
	And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,
	And stand betwixt two churchmen, good my lord;
	For on that ground I'll build a holy descant:
	And be not easily won to our request:
	Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it.

GLOUCESTER	I go; and if you plead as well for them
	As I can say nay to thee for myself,
	No doubt well bring it to a happy issue.

BUCKINGHAM	Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor knocks.

	[Exit GLOUCESTER]

	[Enter the Lord Mayor and Citizens]

	Welcome my lord; I dance attendance here;
	I think the duke will not be spoke withal.

	[Enter CATESBY]

	Here comes his servant: how now, Catesby,
	What says he?

CATESBY	             My lord: he doth entreat your grace;
	To visit him to-morrow or next day:
	He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
	Divinely bent to meditation;
	And no worldly suit would he be moved,
	To draw him from his holy exercise.

BUCKINGHAM	Return, good Catesby, to thy lord again;
	Tell him, myself, the mayor and citizens,
	In deep designs and matters of great moment,
	No less importing than our general good,
	Are come to have some conference with his grace.

CATESBY	I'll tell him what you say, my lord.

	[Exit]

BUCKINGHAM	Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!
	He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed,
	But on his knees at meditation;
	Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,
	But meditating with two deep divines;
	Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,
	But praying, to enrich his watchful soul:
	Happy were England, would this gracious prince
	Take on himself the sovereignty thereof:
	But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it.

Lord Mayor	Marry, God forbid his grace should say us nay!

BUCKINGHAM	I fear he will.

	[Re-enter CATESBY]

	How now, Catesby, what says your lord?

CATESBY	My lord,
	He wonders to what end you have assembled
	Such troops of citizens to speak with him,
	His grace not being warn'd thereof before:
	My lord, he fears you mean no good to him.

BUCKINGHAM	Sorry I am my noble cousin should
	Suspect me, that I mean no good to him:
	By heaven, I come in perfect love to him;
	And so once more return and tell his grace.

	[Exit CATESBY]

	When holy and devout religious men
	Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence,
	So sweet is zealous contemplation.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two Bishops.
	CATESBY returns]

Lord Mayor	See, where he stands between two clergymen!

BUCKINGHAM	Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,
	To stay him from the fall of vanity:
	And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,
	True ornaments to know a holy man.
	Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince,
	Lend favourable ears to our request;
	And pardon us the interruption
	Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.

GLOUCESTER	My lord, there needs no such apology:
	I rather do beseech you pardon me,
	Who, earnest in the service of my God,
	Neglect the visitation of my friends.
	But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure?

BUCKINGHAM	Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,
	And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.

GLOUCESTER	I do suspect I have done some offence
	That seems disgracious in the city's eyes,
	And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.

BUCKINGHAM	You have, my lord: would it might please your grace,
	At our entreaties, to amend that fault!

GLOUCESTER	Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?

BUCKINGHAM	Then know, it is your fault that you resign
	The supreme seat, the throne majestical,
	The scepter'd office of your ancestors,
	Your state of fortune and your due of birth,
	The lineal glory of your royal house,
	To the corruption of a blemished stock:
	Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
	Which here we waken to our country's good,
	This noble isle doth want her proper limbs;
	Her face defaced with scars of infamy,
	Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
	And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf
	Of blind forgetfulness and dark oblivion.
	Which to recure, we heartily solicit
	Your gracious self to take on you the charge
	And kingly government of this your land,
	Not as protector, steward, substitute,
	Or lowly factor for another's gain;
	But as successively from blood to blood,
	Your right of birth, your empery, your own.
	For this, consorted with the citizens,
	Your very worshipful and loving friends,
	And by their vehement instigation,
	In this just suit come I to move your grace.

GLOUCESTER	I know not whether to depart in silence,
	Or bitterly to speak in your reproof.
	Best fitteth my degree or your condition
	If not to answer, you might haply think
	Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
	To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,
	Which fondly you would here impose on me;
	If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
	So season'd with your faithful love to me.
	Then, on the other side, I cheque'd my friends.
	Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first,
	And then, in speaking, not to incur the last,
	Definitively thus I answer you.
	Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert
	Unmeritable shuns your high request.
	First if all obstacles were cut away,
	And that my path were even to the crown,
	As my ripe revenue and due by birth
	Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,
	So mighty and so many my defects,
	As I had rather hide me from my greatness,
	Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,
	Than in my greatness covet to be hid,
	And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.
	But, God be thank'd, there's no need of me,
	And much I need to help you, if need were;
	The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
	Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
	Will well become the seat of majesty,
	And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.
	On him I lay what you would lay on me,
	The right and fortune of his happy stars;
	Which God defend that I should wring from him!

BUCKINGHAM	My lord, this argues conscience in your grace;
	But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,
	All circumstances well considered.
	You say that Edward is your brother's son:
	So say we too, but not by Edward's wife;
	For first he was contract to Lady Lucy--
	Your mother lives a witness to that vow--
	And afterward by substitute betroth'd
	To Bona, sister to the King of France.
	These both put by a poor petitioner,
	A care-crazed mother of a many children,
	A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
	Even in the afternoon of her best days,
	Made prize and purchase of his lustful eye,
	Seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts
	To base declension and loathed bigamy
	By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
	This Edward, whom our manners term the prince.
	More bitterly could I expostulate,
	Save that, for reverence to some alive,
	I give a sparing limit to my tongue.
	Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
	This proffer'd benefit of dignity;
	If non to bless us and the land withal,
	Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry
	From the corruption of abusing times,
	Unto a lineal true-derived course.

Lord Mayor	Do, good my lord, your citizens entreat you.

BUCKINGHAM	Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.

CATESBY	O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!

GLOUCESTER	Alas, why would you heap these cares on me?
	I am unfit for state and majesty;
	I do beseech you, take it not amiss;
	I cannot nor I will not yield to you.

BUCKINGHAM	If you refuse it,--as, in love and zeal,
	Loath to depose the child, Your brother's son;
	As well we know your tenderness of heart
	And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
	Which we have noted in you to your kin,
	And egally indeed to all estates,--
	Yet whether you accept our suit or no,
	Your brother's son shall never reign our king;
	But we will plant some other in the throne,
	To the disgrace and downfall of your house:
	And in this resolution here we leave you.--
	Come, citizens: 'zounds! I'll entreat no more.

GLOUCESTER	O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.

	[Exit BUCKINGHAM with the Citizens]

CATESBY	Call them again, my lord, and accept their suit.

ANOTHER	Do, good my lord, lest all the land do rue it.

GLOUCESTER	Would you enforce me to a world of care?
	Well, call them again. I am not made of stone,
	But penetrable to your. kind entreats,
	Albeit against my conscience and my soul.

	[Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and the rest]

	Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men,
	Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
	To bear her burthen, whether I will or no,
	I must have patience to endure the load:
	But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach
	Attend the sequel of your imposition,
	Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
	From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
	For God he knows, and you may partly see,
	How far I am from the desire thereof.

Lord Mayor	God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it.

GLOUCESTER	In saying so, you shall but say the truth.

BUCKINGHAM	Then I salute you with this kingly title:
	Long live Richard, England's royal king!


Lord Mayor	|
	|  Amen.
Citizens	|


BUCKINGHAM	To-morrow will it please you to be crown'd?

GLOUCESTER	Even when you please, since you will have it so.

BUCKINGHAM	To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace:
	And so most joyfully we take our leave.

GLOUCESTER	Come, let us to our holy task again.
	Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE I	Before the Tower.


	[Enter, on one side, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS OF
	YORK, and DORSET; on the other, ANNE, Duchess of
	Gloucester, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet,
	CLARENCE's young Daughter]

DUCHESS OF YORK	Who meets us here?  my niece Plantagenet
	Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?
	Now, for my life, she's wandering to the Tower,
	On pure heart's love to greet the tender princes.
	Daughter, well met.

LADY ANNE	God give your graces both
	A happy and a joyful time of day!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	As much to you, good sister! Whither away?

LADY ANNE	No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,
	Upon the like devotion as yourselves,
	To gratulate the gentle princes there.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Kind sister, thanks: we'll enter all together.

	[Enter BRAKENBURY]

	And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.
	Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
	How doth the prince, and my young son of York?

BRAKENBURY	Right well, dear madam. By your patience,
	I may not suffer you to visit them;
	The king hath straitly charged the contrary.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	The king! why, who's that?

BRAKENBURY	I cry you mercy: I mean the lord protector.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	The Lord protect him from that kingly title!
	Hath he set bounds betwixt their love and me?
	I am their mother; who should keep me from them?

DUCHESS OF YORK	I am their fathers mother; I will see them.

LADY ANNE	Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:
	Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame
	And take thy office from thee, on my peril.

BRAKENBURY	No, madam, no; I may not leave it so:
	I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.

	[Exit]

	[Enter LORD STANLEY]

LORD STANLEY	Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
	And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,
	And reverend looker on, of two fair queens.

	[To LADY ANNE]

	Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,
	There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O, cut my lace in sunder, that my pent heart
	May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon
	With this dead-killing news!

LADY ANNE	Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!

DORSET	Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your grace?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee hence!
	Death and destruction dog thee at the heels;
	Thy mother's name is ominous to children.
	If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
	And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell
	Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,
	Lest thou increase the number of the dead;
	And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,
	Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.

LORD STANLEY	Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.
	Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
	You shall have letters from me to my son
	To meet you on the way, and welcome you.
	Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

DUCHESS OF YORK	O ill-dispersing wind of misery!
	O my accursed womb, the bed of death!
	A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
	Whose unavoided eye is murderous.

LORD STANLEY	Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.

LADY ANNE	And I in all unwillingness will go.
	I would to God that the inclusive verge
	Of golden metal that must round my brow
	Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain!
	Anointed let me be with deadly venom,
	And die, ere men can say, God save the queen!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory
	To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.

LADY ANNE	No! why?  When he that is my husband now
	Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse,
	When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands
	Which issued from my other angel husband
	And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd;
	O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
	This was my wish: 'Be thou,' quoth I, ' accursed,
	For making me, so young, so old a widow!
	And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
	And be thy wife--if any be so mad--
	As miserable by the life of thee
	As thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!
	Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
	Even in so short a space, my woman's heart
	Grossly grew captive to his honey words
	And proved the subject of my own soul's curse,
	Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest;
	For never yet one hour in his bed
	Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep,
	But have been waked by his timorous dreams.
	Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
	And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.

LADY ANNE	No more than from my soul I mourn for yours.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory!

LADY ANNE	Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave of it!

DUCHESS OF YORK	[To DORSET]

	Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!

	[To LADY ANNE]

	Go thou to Richard, and good angels guard thee!

	[To QUEEN ELIZABETH]

	Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee!
	I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!
	Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,
	And each hour's joy wrecked with a week of teen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower.
	Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
	Whom envy hath immured within your walls!
	Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
	Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
	For tender princes, use my babies well!
	So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE II	London. The palace.


	[Sennet. Enter KING RICHARD III, in pomp, crowned;
	BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, a page, and others]

KING RICHARD III	Stand all apart Cousin of Buckingham!

BUCKINGHAM	My gracious sovereign?

KING RICHARD III	Give me thy hand.

	[Here he ascendeth his throne]

	Thus high, by thy advice
	And thy assistance, is King Richard seated;
	But shall we wear these honours for a day?
	Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

BUCKINGHAM	Still live they and for ever may they last!

KING RICHARD III	O Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
	To try if thou be current gold indeed
	Young Edward lives: think now what I would say.

BUCKINGHAM	Say on, my loving lord.

KING RICHARD III	Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king,

BUCKINGHAM	Why, so you are, my thrice renowned liege.

KING RICHARD III	Ha! am I king? 'tis so: but Edward lives.

BUCKINGHAM	True, noble prince.

KING RICHARD III	O bitter consequence,
	That Edward still should live! 'True, noble prince!'
	Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull:
	Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead;
	And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
	What sayest thou? speak suddenly; be brief.

BUCKINGHAM	Your grace may do your pleasure.

KING RICHARD III	Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezeth:
	Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?

BUCKINGHAM	Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord
	Before I positively herein:
	I will resolve your grace immediately.

	[Exit]

CATESBY	[Aside to a stander by]

	The king is angry: see, he bites the lip.

KING RICHARD III	I will converse with iron-witted fools
	And unrespective boys: none are for me
	That look into me with considerate eyes:
	High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
	Boy!

Page	My lord?

KING RICHARD III	Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold
	Would tempt unto a close exploit of death?

Page	My lord, I know a discontented gentleman,
	Whose humble means match not his haughty mind:
	Gold were as good as twenty orators,
	And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.

KING RICHARD III	What is his name?

Page	                His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.

KING RICHARD III	I partly know the man: go, call him hither.

	[Exit Page]

	The deep-revolving witty Buckingham
	No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel:
	Hath he so long held out with me untired,
	And stops he now for breath?

	[Enter STANLEY]

	How now! what news with you?

STANLEY	My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorset's fled
	To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea
	Where he abides.

	[Stands apart]

KING RICHARD III	Catesby!

CATESBY	       My lord?

KING RICHARD III	                         Rumour it abroad
	That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die:
	I will take order for her keeping close.
	Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman,
	Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter:
	The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.
	Look, how thou dream'st! I say again, give out
	That Anne my wife is sick and like to die:
	About it; for it stands me much upon,
	To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.

	[Exit CATESBY]

	I must be married to my brother's daughter,
	Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
	Murder her brothers, and then marry her!
	Uncertain way of gain! But I am in
	So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin:
	Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

	[Re-enter Page, with TYRREL]

	Is thy name Tyrrel?

TYRREL	James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

KING RICHARD III	Art thou, indeed?

TYRREL	           Prove me, my gracious sovereign.

KING RICHARD III	Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

TYRREL	Ay, my lord;
	But I had rather kill two enemies.

KING RICHARD III	Why, there thou hast it: two deep enemies,
	Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep's disturbers
	Are they that I would have thee deal upon:
	Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

TYRREL	Let me have open means to come to them,
	And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.

KING RICHARD III	Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel
	Go, by this token: rise, and lend thine ear:

	[Whispers]

	There is no more but so: say it is done,
	And I will love thee, and prefer thee too.

TYRREL	'Tis done, my gracious lord.

KING RICHARD III	Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep?

TYRREL	Ye shall, my Lord.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter BUCKINGHAM]

BUCKINGHAM	My Lord, I have consider'd in my mind
	The late demand that you did sound me in.

KING RICHARD III	Well, let that pass. Dorset is fled to Richmond.

BUCKINGHAM	I hear that news, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	Stanley, he is your wife's son well, look to it.

BUCKINGHAM	My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise,
	For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd;
	The earldom of Hereford and the moveables
	The which you promised I should possess.

KING RICHARD III	Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey
	Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

BUCKINGHAM	What says your highness to my just demand?

KING RICHARD III	As I remember, Henry the Sixth
	Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,
	When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
	A king, perhaps, perhaps,--

BUCKINGHAM	My lord!

KING RICHARD III	How chance the prophet could not at that time
	Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

BUCKINGHAM	My lord, your promise for the earldom,--

KING RICHARD III	Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,
	The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle,
	And call'd it Rougemont: at which name I started,
	Because a bard of Ireland told me once
	I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

BUCKINGHAM	My Lord!

KING RICHARD III	       Ay, what's o'clock?

BUCKINGHAM	I am thus bold to put your grace in mind
	Of what you promised me.

KING RICHARD III	Well, but what's o'clock?

BUCKINGHAM	Upon the stroke of ten.

KING RICHARD III	Well, let it strike.

BUCKINGHAM	Why let it strike?

KING RICHARD III	Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke
	Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
	I am not in the giving vein to-day.

BUCKINGHAM	Why, then resolve me whether you will or no.

KING RICHARD III	Tut, tut,
	Thou troublest me; am not in the vein.

	[Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM]

BUCKINGHAM	Is it even so? rewards he my true service
	With such deep contempt made I him king for this?
	O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone
	To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on!

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE III	The same.


	[Enter TYRREL]

TYRREL	The tyrannous and bloody deed is done.
	The most arch of piteous massacre
	That ever yet this land was guilty of.
	Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn
	To do this ruthless piece of butchery,
	Although they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
	Melting with tenderness and kind compassion
	Wept like two children in their deaths' sad stories.
	'Lo, thus' quoth Dighton, 'lay those tender babes:'
	'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest, 'girdling one another
	Within their innocent alabaster arms:
	Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
	Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.
	A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
	Which once,' quoth Forrest, 'almost changed my mind;
	But O! the devil'--there the villain stopp'd
	Whilst Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered
	The most replenished sweet work of nature,
	That from the prime creation e'er she framed.'
	Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse;
	They could not speak; and so I left them both,
	To bring this tidings to the bloody king.
	And here he comes.

	[Enter KING RICHARD III]

	All hail, my sovereign liege!

KING RICHARD III	Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?

TYRREL	If to have done the thing you gave in charge
	Beget your happiness, be happy then,
	For it is done, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	But didst thou see them dead?

TYRREL	I did, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	                 And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

TYRREL	The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
	But how or in what place I do not know.

KING RICHARD III	Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,
	And thou shalt tell the process of their death.
	Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,
	And be inheritor of thy desire.
	Farewell till soon.

	[Exit TYRREL]

	The son of Clarence have I pent up close;
	His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;
	The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
	And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
	Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims
	At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
	And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the crown,
	To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer.

	[Enter CATESBY]

CATESBY	My lord!

KING RICHARD III	Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly?

CATESBY	Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Richmond;
	And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,
	Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

KING RICHARD III	Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
	Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army.
	Come, I have heard that fearful commenting
	Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
	Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary
	Then fiery expedition be my wing,
	Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!
	Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield;
	We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Before the palace.


	[Enter QUEEN MARGARET]

QUEEN MARGARET	So, now prosperity begins to mellow
	And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
	Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,
	To watch the waning of mine adversaries.
	A dire induction am I witness to,
	And will to France, hoping the consequence
	Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
	Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here?

	[Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK]

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ah, my young princes! ah, my tender babes!
	My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
	If yet your gentle souls fly in the air
	And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,
	Hover about me with your airy wings
	And hear your mother's lamentation!

QUEEN MARGARET	Hover about her; say, that right for right
	Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.

DUCHESS OF YORK	So many miseries have crazed my voice,
	That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb,
	Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

QUEEN MARGARET	Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet.
	Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,
	And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
	When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?

QUEEN MARGARET	When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal living ghost,
	Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,
	Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
	Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,

	[Sitting down]

	Unlawfully made drunk with innocents' blood!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O, that thou wouldst as well afford a grave
	As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!
	Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.
	O, who hath any cause to mourn but I?

	[Sitting down by her]

QUEEN MARGARET	If ancient sorrow be most reverend,
	Give mine the benefit of seniory,
	And let my woes frown on the upper hand.
	If sorrow can admit society,

	[Sitting down with them]

	Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine:
	I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
	I had a Harry, till a Richard kill'd him:
	Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
	Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him;

DUCHESS OF YORK	I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;
	I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.

QUEEN MARGARET	Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him.
	From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
	A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death:
	That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
	To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,
	That foul defacer of God's handiwork,
	That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
	That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
	Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.
	O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
	How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
	Preys on the issue of his mother's body,
	And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!

DUCHESS OF YORK	O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes!
	God witness with me, I have wept for thine.

QUEEN MARGARET	Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,
	And now I cloy me with beholding it.
	Thy Edward he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward:
	Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
	Young York he is but boot, because both they
	Match not the high perfection of my loss:
	Thy Clarence he is dead that kill'd my Edward;
	And the beholders of this tragic play,
	The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
	Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
	Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer,
	Only reserved their factor, to buy souls
	And send them thither: but at hand, at hand,
	Ensues his piteous and unpitied end:
	Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray.
	To have him suddenly convey'd away.
	Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I prey,
	That I may live to say, The dog is dead!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O, thou didst prophesy the time would come
	That I should wish for thee to help me curse
	That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad!

QUEEN MARGARET	I call'd thee then vain flourish of my fortune;
	I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen;
	The presentation of but what I was;
	The flattering index of a direful pageant;
	One heaved a-high, to be hurl'd down below;
	A mother only mock'd with two sweet babes;
	A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble,
	A sign of dignity, a garish flag,
	To be the aim of every dangerous shot,
	A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
	Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
	Where are thy children? wherein dost thou, joy?
	Who sues to thee and cries 'God save the queen'?
	Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
	Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
	Decline all this, and see what now thou art:
	For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
	For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
	For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
	For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
	For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
	For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
	For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
	Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
	And left thee but a very prey to time;
	Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
	To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
	Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not
	Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
	Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd yoke;
	From which even here I slip my weary neck,
	And leave the burthen of it all on thee.
	Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance:
	These English woes will make me smile in France.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile,
	And teach me how to curse mine enemies!

QUEEN MARGARET	Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days;
	Compare dead happiness with living woe;
	Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
	And he that slew them fouler than he is:
	Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse:
	Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine!

QUEEN MARGARET	Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.

	[Exit]

DUCHESS OF YORK	Why should calamity be full of words?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Windy attorneys to their client woes,
	Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
	Poor breathing orators of miseries!
	Let them have scope: though what they do impart
	Help not all, yet do they ease the heart.

DUCHESS OF YORK	If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me.
	And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
	My damned son, which thy two sweet sons smother'd.
	I hear his drum: be copious in exclaims.

	[Enter KING RICHARD III, marching, with drums and trumpets]

KING RICHARD III	Who intercepts my expedition?

DUCHESS OF YORK	O, she that might have intercepted thee,
	By strangling thee in her accursed womb
	From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Hidest thou that forehead with a golden crown,
	Where should be graven, if that right were right,
	The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown,
	And the dire death of my two sons and brothers?
	Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?

DUCHESS OF YORK	Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence?
	And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

KING RICHARD III	A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, drums!
	Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
	Rail on the Lord's enointed: strike, I say!

	[Flourish. Alarums]

	Either be patient, and entreat me fair,
	Or with the clamorous report of war
	Thus will I drown your exclamations.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Art thou my son?

KING RICHARD III	Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Then patiently hear my impatience.

KING RICHARD III	Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
	Which cannot brook the accent of reproof.

DUCHESS OF YORK	O, let me speak!

KING RICHARD III	                  Do then: but I'll not hear.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I will be mild and gentle in my speech.

KING RICHARD III	And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee,
	God knows, in anguish, pain and agony.

KING RICHARD III	And came I not at last to comfort you?

DUCHESS OF YORK	No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well,
	Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell.
	A grievous burthen was thy birth to me;
	Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
	Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious,
	Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous,
	Thy age confirm'd, proud, subdued, bloody,
	treacherous,
	More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:
	What comfortable hour canst thou name,
	That ever graced me in thy company?

KING RICHARD III	Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd
	your grace
	To breakfast once forth of my company.
	If I be so disgracious in your sight,
	Let me march on, and not offend your grace.
	Strike the drum.

DUCHESS OF YORK	                  I prithee, hear me speak.

KING RICHARD III	You speak too bitterly.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Hear me a word;
	For I shall never speak to thee again.

KING RICHARD III	So.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance,
	Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror,
	Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish
	And never look upon thy face again.
	Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse;
	Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more
	Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
	My prayers on the adverse party fight;
	And there the little souls of Edward's children
	Whisper the spirits of thine enemies
	And promise them success and victory.
	Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end;
	Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.

	[Exit]

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse
	Abides in me; I say amen to all.

KING RICHARD III	Stay, madam; I must speak a word with you.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	I have no more sons of the royal blood
	For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,
	They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;
	And therefore level not to hit their lives.

KING RICHARD III	You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth,
	Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	And must she die for this? O, let her live,
	And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;
	Slander myself as false to Edward's bed;
	Throw over her the veil of infamy:
	So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
	I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.

KING RICHARD III	Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	To save her life, I'll say she is not so.

KING RICHARD III	Her life is only safest in her birth.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	And only in that safety died her brothers.

KING RICHARD III	Lo, at their births good stars were opposite.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.

KING RICHARD III	All unavoided is the doom of destiny.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	True, when avoided grace makes destiny:
	My babes were destined to a fairer death,
	If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.

KING RICHARD III	You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd
	Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
	Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts,
	Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:
	No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt
	Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
	To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
	But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
	My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys
	Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
	And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
	Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
	Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

KING RICHARD III	Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise
	And dangerous success of bloody wars,
	As I intend more good to you and yours,
	Than ever you or yours were by me wrong'd!

QUEEN ELIZABETH	What good is cover'd with the face of heaven,
	To be discover'd, that can do me good?

KING RICHARD III	The advancement of your children, gentle lady.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?

KING RICHARD III	No, to the dignity and height of honour
	The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Flatter my sorrows with report of it;
	Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
	Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

KING RICHARD III	Even all I have; yea, and myself and all,
	Will I withal endow a child of thine;
	So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
	Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs
	Which thou supposest I have done to thee.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Be brief, lest that be process of thy kindness
	Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.

KING RICHARD III	Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.

KING RICHARD III	What do you think?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul:
	So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers;
	And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it.

KING RICHARD III	Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:
	I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
	And mean to make her queen of England.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

KING RICHARD III	Even he that makes her queen who should be else?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	What, thou?

KING RICHARD III	I, even I: what think you of it, madam?

QUEEN ELIZABETH	How canst thou woo her?

KING RICHARD III	That would I learn of you,
	As one that are best acquainted with her humour.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	And wilt thou learn of me?

KING RICHARD III	Madam, with all my heart.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,
	A pair of bleeding-hearts; thereon engrave
	Edward and York; then haply she will weep:
	Therefore present to her--as sometime Margaret
	Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,--
	A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
	The purple sap from her sweet brother's body
	And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith.
	If this inducement force her not to love,
	Send her a story of thy noble acts;
	Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence,
	Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake,
	Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.

KING RICHARD III	Come, come, you mock me; this is not the way
	To win our daughter.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	There is no other way
	Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,
	And not be Richard that hath done all this.

KING RICHARD III	Say that I did all this for love of her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,
	Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

KING RICHARD III	Look, what is done cannot be now amended:
	Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
	Which after hours give leisure to repent.
	If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
	To make amends, Ill give it to your daughter.
	If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,
	To quicken your increase, I will beget
	Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter
	A grandam's name is little less in love
	Than is the doting title of a mother;
	They are as children but one step below,
	Even of your mettle, of your very blood;
	Of an one pain, save for a night of groans
	Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.
	Your children were vexation to your youth,
	But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
	The loss you have is but a son being king,
	And by that loss your daughter is made queen.
	I cannot make you what amends I would,
	Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
	Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul
	Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
	This fair alliance quickly shall call home
	To high promotions and great dignity:
	The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife.
	Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;
	Again shall you be mother to a king,
	And all the ruins of distressful times
	Repair'd with double riches of content.
	What! we have many goodly days to see:
	The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
	Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl,
	Advantaging their loan with interest
	Of ten times double gain of happiness.
	Go, then my mother, to thy daughter go
	Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
	Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale
	Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
	Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess
	With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys
	And when this arm of mine hath chastised
	The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
	Bound with triumphant garlands will I come
	And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
	To whom I will retail my conquest won,
	And she shall be sole victress, Caesar's Caesar.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	What were I best to say? her father's brother
	Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle?
	Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
	Under what title shall I woo for thee,
	That God, the law, my honour and her love,
	Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?

KING RICHARD III	Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

KING RICHARD III	Say that the king, which may command, entreats.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	That at her hands which the king's King forbids.

KING RICHARD III	Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	To wail the tide, as her mother doth.

KING RICHARD III	Say, I will love her everlastingly.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	But how long shall that title 'ever' last?

KING RICHARD III	Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	But how long fairly shall her sweet lie last?

KING RICHARD III	So long as heaven and nature lengthens it.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	So long as hell and Richard likes of it.

KING RICHARD III	Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject love.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.

KING RICHARD III	Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

KING RICHARD III	Then in plain terms tell her my loving tale.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

KING RICHARD III	Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	O no, my reasons are too deep and dead;
	Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave.

KING RICHARD III	Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break.

KING RICHARD III	Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Profaned, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.

KING RICHARD III	I swear--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	        By nothing; for this is no oath:
	The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour;
	The garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
	The crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory.
	if something thou wilt swear to be believed,
	Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

KING RICHARD III	Now, by the world--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

KING RICHARD III	My father's death--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Thy life hath that dishonour'd.

KING RICHARD III	Then, by myself--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	                  Thyself thyself misusest.

KING RICHARD III	Why then, by God--

QUEEN ELIZABETH	                  God's wrong is most of all.
	If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
	The unity the king thy brother made
	Had not been broken, nor my brother slain:
	If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
	The imperial metal, circling now thy brow,
	Had graced the tender temples of my child,
	And both the princes had been breathing here,
	Which now, two tender playfellows to dust,
	Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
	What canst thou swear by now?

KING RICHARD III	The time to come.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast;
	For I myself have many tears to wash
	Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee.
	The children live, whose parents thou hast
	slaughter'd,
	Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age;
	The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd,
	Old wither'd plants, to wail it with their age.
	Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
	Misused ere used, by time misused o'erpast.

KING RICHARD III	As I intend to prosper and repent,
	So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
	Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!
	Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!
	Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!
	Be opposite all planets of good luck
	To my proceedings, if, with pure heart's love,
	Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,
	I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter!
	In her consists my happiness and thine;
	Without her, follows to this land and me,
	To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul,
	Death, desolation, ruin and decay:
	It cannot be avoided but by this;
	It will not be avoided but by this.
	Therefore, good mother,--I must can you so--
	Be the attorney of my love to her:
	Plead what I will be, not what I have been;
	Not my deserts, but what I will deserve:
	Urge the necessity and state of times,
	And be not peevish-fond in great designs.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

KING RICHARD III	Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Shall I forget myself to be myself?

KING RICHARD III	Ay, if yourself's remembrance wrong yourself.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	But thou didst kill my children.

KING RICHARD III	But in your daughter's womb I bury them:
	Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed
	Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

KING RICHARD III	And be a happy mother by the deed.

QUEEN ELIZABETH	I go. Write to me very shortly.
	And you shall understand from me her mind.

KING RICHARD III	Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell.

	[Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH]

	Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!

	[Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following]

	How now! what news?

RATCLIFF	My gracious sovereign, on the western coast
	Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore
	Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
	Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back:
	'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;
	And there they hull, expecting but the aid
	Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

KING RICHARD III	Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk:
	Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he?

CATESBY	Here, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	Fly to the duke:

	[To RATCLIFF]

	Post thou to Salisbury
	When thou comest thither--

	[To CATESBY]

		     Dull, unmindful villain,
	Why stand'st thou still, and go'st not to the duke?

CATESBY	First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind,
	What from your grace I shall deliver to him.

KING RICHARD III	O, true, good Catesby: bid him levy straight
	The greatest strength and power he can make,
	And meet me presently at Salisbury.

CATESBY	I go.

	[Exit]

RATCLIFF	What is't your highness' pleasure I shall do at
	Salisbury?

KING RICHARD III	Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?

RATCLIFF	Your highness told me I should post before.

KING RICHARD III	My mind is changed, sir, my mind is changed.

	[Enter STANLEY]

	How now, what news with you?

STANLEY	None good, my lord, to please you with the hearing;
	Nor none so bad, but it may well be told.

KING RICHARD III	Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!
	Why dost thou run so many mile about,
	When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way?
	Once more, what news?

STANLEY	Richmond is on the seas.

KING RICHARD III	There let him sink, and be the seas on him!
	White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?

STANLEY	I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

KING RICHARD III	Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess?

STANLEY	Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely,
	He makes for England, there to claim the crown.

KING RICHARD III	Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway'd?
	Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd?
	What heir of York is there alive but we?
	And who is England's king but great York's heir?
	Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea?

STANLEY	Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.

KING RICHARD III	Unless for that he comes to be your liege,
	You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.
	Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.

STANLEY	No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not.

KING RICHARD III	Where is thy power, then, to beat him back?
	Where are thy tenants and thy followers?
	Are they not now upon the western shore.
	Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships!

STANLEY	No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.

KING RICHARD III	Cold friends to Richard: what do they in the north,
	When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

STANLEY	They have not been commanded, mighty sovereign:
	Please it your majesty to give me leave,
	I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace
	Where and what time your majesty shall please.

KING RICHARD III	Ay, ay. thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond:
	I will not trust you, sir.

STANLEY	Most mighty sovereign,
	You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful:
	I never was nor never will be false.

KING RICHARD III	Well,
	Go muster men; but, hear you, leave behind
	Your son, George Stanley: look your faith be firm.
	Or else his head's assurance is but frail.

STANLEY	So deal with him as I prove true to you.

	[Exit]

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
	As I by friends am well advertised,
	Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate
	Bishop of Exeter, his brother there,
	With many more confederates, are in arms.

	[Enter another Messenger]

Second Messenger	My liege, in Kent the Guildfords are in arms;
	And every hour more competitors
	Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth.

	[Enter another Messenger]

Third Messenger	My lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham--

KING RICHARD III	Out on you, owls! nothing but songs of death?

	[He striketh him]

	Take that, until thou bring me better news.

Third Messenger	The news I have to tell your majesty
	Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters,
	Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd;
	And he himself wander'd away alone,
	No man knows whither.

KING RICHARD III	I cry thee mercy:
	There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.
	Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd
	Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

Third Messenger	Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.

	[Enter another Messenger]

Fourth Messenger	Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset,
	'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
	Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace,
	The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest:
	Richmond, in Yorkshire, sent out a boat
	Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks
	If they were his assistants, yea or no;
	Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham.
	Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
	Hoisted sail and made away for Brittany.

KING RICHARD III	March on, march on, since we are up in arms;
	If not to fight with foreign enemies,
	Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.

	[Re-enter CATESBY]

CATESBY	My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken;
	That is the best news: that the Earl of Richmond
	Is with a mighty power landed at Milford,
	Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.

KING RICHARD III	Away towards Salisbury! while we reason here,
	A royal battle might be won and lost
	Some one take order Buckingham be brought
	To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT IV



SCENE V	Lord Derby's house.


	[Enter DERBY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK]

DERBY	Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:
	That in the sty of this most bloody boar
	My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold:
	If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
	The fear of that withholds my present aid.
	But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?

CHRISTOPHER	At Pembroke, or at Harford-west, in Wales.

DERBY	What men of name resort to him?

CHRISTOPHER	Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;
	Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley;
	Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,
	And Rice ap Thomas with a valiant crew;
	And many more of noble fame and worth:
	And towards London they do bend their course,
	If by the way they be not fought withal.

DERBY	Return unto thy lord; commend me to him:
	Tell him the queen hath heartily consented
	He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
	These letters will resolve him of my mind. Farewell.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE I	Salisbury. An open place.


	[Enter the Sheriff, and BUCKINGHAM, with halberds,
	led to execution]

BUCKINGHAM	Will not King Richard let me speak with him?

Sheriff	No, my good lord; therefore be patient.

BUCKINGHAM	Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey,
	Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
	Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
	By underhand corrupted foul injustice,
	If that your moody discontented souls
	Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
	Even for revenge mock my destruction!
	This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not?

Sheriff	It is, my lord.

BUCKINGHAM	Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday.
	This is the day that, in King Edward's time,
	I wish't might fall on me, when I was found
	False to his children or his wife's allies
	This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall
	By the false faith of him I trusted most;
	This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul
	Is the determined respite of my wrongs:
	That high All-Seer that I dallied with
	Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head
	And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
	Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men
	To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms:
	Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon my head;
	'When he,' quoth she, 'shall split thy heart with sorrow,
	Remember Margaret was a prophetess.'
	Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame;
	Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE II	The camp near Tamworth.


	[Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, BLUNT, HERBERT, and others,
	with drum and colours]

RICHMOND	Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,
	Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny,
	Thus far into the bowels of the land
	Have we march'd on without impediment;
	And here receive we from our father Stanley
	Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
	The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,
	That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines,
	Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough
	In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine
	Lies now even in the centre of this isle,
	Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn
	From Tamworth thither is but one day's march.
	In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends,
	To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
	By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

OXFORD	Every man's conscience is a thousand swords,
	To fight against that bloody homicide.

HERBERT	I doubt not but his friends will fly to us.

BLUNT	He hath no friends but who are friends for fear.
	Which in his greatest need will shrink from him.

RICHMOND	All for our vantage. Then, in God's name, march:
	True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings:
	Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE III	Bosworth Field.


	[Enter KING RICHARD III in arms, with NORFOLK,
	SURREY, and others]

KING RICHARD III	Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.
	My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

SURREY	My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.

KING RICHARD III	My Lord of Norfolk,--

NORFOLK	Here, most gracious liege.


KING RICHARD III	Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we not?

NORFOLK	We must both give and take, my gracious lord.

KING RICHARD III	Up with my tent there! here will I lie tonight;
	But where to-morrow?  Well, all's one for that.
	Who hath descried the number of the foe?

NORFOLK	Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.

KING RICHARD III	Why, our battalion trebles that account:
	Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength,
	Which they upon the adverse party want.
	Up with my tent there! Valiant gentlemen,
	Let us survey the vantage of the field
	Call for some men of sound direction
	Let's want no discipline, make no delay,
	For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter, on the other side of the field, RICHMOND,
	Sir William Brandon, OXFORD, and others. Some of
	the Soldiers pitch RICHMOND's tent]

RICHMOND	The weary sun hath made a golden set,
	And by the bright track of his fiery car,
	Gives signal, of a goodly day to-morrow.
	Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.
	Give me some ink and paper in my tent
	I'll draw the form and model of our battle,
	Limit each leader to his several charge,
	And part in just proportion our small strength.
	My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir William Brandon,
	And you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me.
	The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment:
	Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him
	And by the second hour in the morning
	Desire the earl to see me in my tent:
	Yet one thing more, good Blunt, before thou go'st,
	Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, dost thou know?

BLUNT	Unless I have mista'en his colours much,
	Which well I am assured I have not done,
	His regiment lies half a mile at least
	South from the mighty power of the king.

RICHMOND	If without peril it be possible,
	Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him,
	And give him from me this most needful scroll.

BLUNT	Upon my life, my lord, I'll under-take it;
	And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!

RICHMOND	Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come gentlemen,
	Let us consult upon to-morrow's business
	In to our tent; the air is raw and cold.

	[They withdraw into the tent]

	[Enter, to his tent, KING RICHARD III, NORFOLK,
	RATCLIFF, CATESBY, and others]

KING RICHARD III	What is't o'clock?

CATESBY	                  It's supper-time, my lord;
	It's nine o'clock.

KING RICHARD III	                  I will not sup to-night.
	Give me some ink and paper.
	What, is my beaver easier than it was?
	And all my armour laid into my tent?

CATESBY	If is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.

KING RICHARD III	Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;
	Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.

NORFOLK	I go, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.

NORFOLK	I warrant you, my lord.

	[Exit]

KING RICHARD III	Catesby!

CATESBY	My lord?

KING RICHARD III	Send out a pursuivant at arms
	To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power
	Before sunrising, lest his son George fall
	Into the blind cave of eternal night.

	[Exit CATESBY]

	Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.
	Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.
	Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.
	Ratcliff!

RATCLIFF	My lord?

KING RICHARD III	Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

RATCLIFF	Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself,
	Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop
	Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.

KING RICHARD III	So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine:
	I have not that alacrity of spirit,
	Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have.
	Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?

RATCLIFF	It is, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	                  Bid my guard watch; leave me.
	Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent
	And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.

	[Exeunt RATCLIFF and the other Attendants]

	[Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent, Lords and
	others attending]

DERBY	Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!

RICHMOND	All comfort that the dark night can afford
	Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!
	Tell me, how fares our loving mother?

DERBY	I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother
	Who prays continually for Richmond's good:
	So much for that. The silent hours steal on,
	And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
	In brief,--for so the season bids us be,--
	Prepare thy battle early in the morning,
	And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
	Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.
	I, as I may--that which I would I cannot,--
	With best advantage will deceive the time,
	And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms:
	But on thy side I may not be too forward
	Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,
	Be executed in his father's sight.
	Farewell: the leisure and the fearful time
	Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love
	And ample interchange of sweet discourse,
	Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon:
	God give us leisure for these rites of love!
	Once more, adieu: be valiant, and speed well!

RICHMOND	Good lords, conduct him to his regiment:
	I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap,
	Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow,
	When I should mount with wings of victory:
	Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.

	[Exeunt all but RICHMOND]

	O Thou, whose captain I account myself,
	Look on my forces with a gracious eye;
	Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath,
	That they may crush down with a heavy fall
	The usurping helmets of our adversaries!
	Make us thy ministers of chastisement,
	That we may praise thee in the victory!
	To thee I do commend my watchful soul,
	Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes:
	Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still!

	[Sleeps]

	[Enter the Ghost of Prince Edward, son to King Henry VI]

Ghost
of Prince Edward	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!
	Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth
	At Tewksbury: despair, therefore, and die!

	[To RICHMOND]

	Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls
	Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf
	King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee.

	[Enter the Ghost of King Henry VI]

Ghost
of King Henry VI	[To KING RICHARD III]

	When I was mortal, my anointed body
	By thee was punched full of deadly holes
	Think on the Tower and me: despair, and die!
	Harry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die!

	[To RICHMOND]

	Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!
	Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king,
	Doth comfort thee in thy sleep: live, and flourish!

	[Enter the Ghost of CLARENCE]

Ghost of CLARENCE	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!
	I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine,
	Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death!
	To-morrow in the battle think on me,
	And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!--

	[To RICHMOND]

	Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster
	The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee
	Good angels guard thy battle! live, and flourish!

	[Enter the Ghosts of RIVERS, GRAY, and VAUGHAN]

Ghost of RIVERS	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow,
	Rivers. that died at Pomfret! despair, and die!

Ghost of GREY	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair!

Ghost of VAUGHAN	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Think upon Vaughan, and, with guilty fear,
	Let fall thy lance: despair, and die!

All	[To RICHMOND]

	Awake, and think our wrongs in Richard's bosom
	Will conquer him! awake, and win the day!

	[Enter the Ghost of HASTINGS]

Ghost of HASTINGS	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,
	And in a bloody battle end thy days!
	Think on Lord Hastings: despair, and die!

	[To RICHMOND]

	Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!
	Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake!

	[Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes]

Ghosts
of young Princes	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the Tower:
	Let us be led within thy bosom, Richard,
	And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!
	Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die!

	[To RICHMOND]

	Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy;
	Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy!
	Live, and beget a happy race of kings!
	Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.

	[Enter the Ghost of LADY ANNE]

Ghost of LADY ANNE	[To KING RICHARD III]

	Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife,
	That never slept a quiet hour with thee,
	Now fills thy sleep with perturbations
	To-morrow in the battle think on me,
	And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!

	[To RICHMOND]

	Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep
	Dream of success and happy victory!
	Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.

	[Enter the Ghost of BUCKINGHAM]

Ghost
of BUCKINGHAM	[To KING RICHARD III]

	The last was I that helped thee to the crown;
	The last was I that felt thy tyranny:
	O, in the battle think on Buckingham,
	And die in terror of thy guiltiness!
	Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death:
	Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!

	[To RICHMOND]

	I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid:
	But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd:
	God and good angel fight on Richmond's side;
	And Richard falls in height of all his pride.

	[The Ghosts vanish]

	[KING RICHARD III starts out of his dream]

KING RICHARD III	Give me another horse: bind up my wounds.
	Have mercy, Jesu!--Soft! I did but dream.
	O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
	The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
	Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
	What do I fear?  myself?  there's none else by:
	Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
	Is there a murderer here?  No. Yes, I am:
	Then fly. What, from myself?   Great reason why:
	Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself?
	Alack. I love myself. Wherefore?  for any good
	That I myself have done unto myself?
	O, no! alas, I rather hate myself
	For hateful deeds committed by myself!
	I am a villain: yet I lie. I am not.
	Fool, of thyself speak well: fool, do not flatter.
	My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
	And every tongue brings in a several tale,
	And every tale condemns me for a villain.
	Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree
	Murder, stem murder, in the direst degree;
	All several sins, all used in each degree,
	Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty!
	I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
	And if I die, no soul shall pity me:
	Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself
	Find in myself no pity to myself?
	Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd
	Came to my tent; and every one did threat
	To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

	[Enter RATCLIFF]

RATCLIFF	My lord!

KING RICHARD III	'Zounds! who is there?

RATCLIFF	Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock
	Hath twice done salutation to the morn;
	Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.

KING RICHARD III	O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream!
	What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true?

RATCLIFF	No doubt, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	                  O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,--

RATCLIFF	Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.

KING RICHARD III	By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
	Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
	Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
	Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
	It is not yet near day. Come, go with me;
	Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
	To see if any mean to shrink from me.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter the Lords to RICHMOND, sitting in his tent]

LORDS	Good morrow, Richmond!

RICHMOND	Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,
	That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.

LORDS	How have you slept, my lord?

RICHMOND	The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams
	That ever enter'd in a drowsy head,
	Have I since your departure had, my lords.
	Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd,
	Came to my tent, and cried on victory:
	I promise you, my soul is very jocund
	In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
	How far into the morning is it, lords?

LORDS	Upon the stroke of four.

RICHMOND	Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction.

	[His oration to his soldiers]

	More than I have said, loving countrymen,
	The leisure and enforcement of the time
	Forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this,
	God and our good cause fight upon our side;
	The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,
	Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces;
	Richard except, those whom we fight against
	Had rather have us win than him they follow:
	For what is he they follow?  truly, gentlemen,
	A bloody tyrant and a homicide;
	One raised in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
	One that made means to come by what he hath,
	And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him;
	Abase foul stone, made precious by the foil
	Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;
	One that hath ever been God's enemy:
	Then, if you fight against God's enemy,
	God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;
	If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
	You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;
	If you do fight against your country's foes,
	Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire;
	If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
	Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;
	If you do free your children from the sword,
	Your children's children quit it in your age.
	Then, in the name of God and all these rights,
	Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.
	For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
	Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;
	But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
	The least of you shall share his part thereof.
	Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;
	God and Saint George! Richmond and victory!

	[Exeunt]

	[Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, Attendants
	and Forces]

KING RICHARD III	What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?

RATCLIFF	That he was never trained up in arms.

KING RICHARD III	He said the truth: and what said Surrey then?

RATCLIFF	He smiled and said 'The better for our purpose.'

KING RICHARD III	He was in the right; and so indeed it is.

	[Clock striketh]

	Ten the clock there. Give me a calendar.
	Who saw the sun to-day?

RATCLIFF	Not I, my lord.

KING RICHARD III	Then he disdains to shine; for by the book
	He should have braved the east an hour ago
	A black day will it be to somebody. Ratcliff!

RATCLIFF	        My lord?

KING RICHARD III	The sun will not be seen to-day;
	The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.
	I would these dewy tears were from the ground.
	Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me
	More than to Richmond?  for the selfsame heaven
	That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.

	[Enter NORFOLK]

NORFOLK	Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.

KING RICHARD III	Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse.
	Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power:
	I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,
	And thus my battle shall be ordered:
	My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,
	Consisting equally of horse and foot;
	Our archers shall be placed in the midst
	John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
	Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.
	They thus directed, we will follow
	In the main battle, whose puissance on either side
	Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.
	This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou, Norfolk?

NORFOLK	A good direction, warlike sovereign.
	This found I on my tent this morning.

	[He sheweth him a paper]

KING RICHARD III	[Reads]

	'Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold,
	For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.'
	A thing devised by the enemy.
	Go, gentleman, every man unto his charge
	Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls:
	Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
	Devised at first to keep the strong in awe:
	Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
	March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell
	If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.

	[His oration to his Army]

	What shall I say more than I have inferr'd?
	Remember whom you are to cope withal;
	A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,
	A scum of Bretons, and base lackey peasants,
	Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth
	To desperate ventures and assured destruction.
	You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;
	You having lands, and blest with beauteous wives,
	They would restrain the one, distain the other.
	And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,
	Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost?
	A milk-sop, one that never in his life
	Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?
	Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again;
	Lash hence these overweening rags of France,
	These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives;
	Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
	For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves:
	If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us,
	And not these bastard Bretons; whom our fathers
	Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd,
	And in record, left them the heirs of shame.
	Shall these enjoy our lands?  lie with our wives?
	Ravish our daughters?

	[Drum afar off]

		Hark! I hear their drum.
	Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yoemen!
	Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
	Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;
	Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!

	[Enter a Messenger]

	What says Lord Stanley? will he bring his power?

Messenger	My lord, he doth deny to come.

KING RICHARD III	Off with his son George's head!

NORFOLK	My lord, the enemy is past the marsh
	After the battle let George Stanley die.

KING RICHARD III	A thousand hearts are great within my bosom:
	Advance our standards, set upon our foes
	Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
	Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
	Upon them! victory sits on our helms.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE IV	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum: excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces
	fighting; to him CATESBY]

CATESBY	Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!
	The king enacts more wonders than a man,
	Daring an opposite to every danger:
	His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
	Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
	Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!

	[Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD III]

KING RICHARD III	A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

CATESBY	Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to a horse.

KING RICHARD III	Slave, I have set my life upon a cast,
	And I will stand the hazard of the die:
	I think there be six Richmonds in the field;
	Five have I slain to-day instead of him.
	A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD III


ACT V



SCENE V	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum. Enter KING RICHARD III and RICHMOND; they
	fight. KING RICHARD III is slain. Retreat and
	flourish. Re-enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the
	crown, with divers other Lords]

RICHMOND	God and your arms be praised, victorious friends,
	The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.

DERBY	Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee.
	Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty
	From the dead temples of this bloody wretch
	Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal:
	Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.

RICHMOND	Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!
	But, tell me, is young George Stanley living?

DERBY	He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town;
	Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.

RICHMOND	What men of name are slain on either side?

DERBY	John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,
	Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.

RICHMOND	Inter their bodies as becomes their births:
	Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled
	That in submission will return to us:
	And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament,
	We will unite the white rose and the red:
	Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,
	That long have frown'd upon their enmity!
	What traitor hears me, and says not amen?
	England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself;
	The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,
	The father rashly slaughter'd his own son,
	The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire:
	All this divided York and Lancaster,
	Divided in their dire division,
	O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth,
	The true succeeders of each royal house,
	By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!
	And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so.
	Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace,
	With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days!
	Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
	That would reduce these bloody days again,
	And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
	Let them not live to taste this land's increase
	That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!
	Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again:
	That she may long live here, God say amen!

	[Exeunt]




	VENUS AND ADONIS



'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'

TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.
RIGHT HONORABLE,

I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my
unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will
censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a
burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account
myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle
hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if
the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be
sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so
barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest.
I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your
heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish
and the world's hopeful expectation.

Your honour's in all duty,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.



EVEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.

'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;

'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'

He burns with bashful shame: she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:
He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss;
What follows more she murders with a kiss.

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone;
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin.

Forced to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace;
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.

Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
Rain added to a river that is rank
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale:
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears,
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in summer's heat
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:
'O, pity,' 'gan she cry, 'flint-hearted boy!
'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?

'I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar;
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.

'Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest,
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.

'Thus he that overruled I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:
Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.
O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight!

'Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,--
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red--
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head:
Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies;
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?
'Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels where they are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

'The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted:
Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted:
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.

'Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice,
Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee
But having no defects, why dost abhor me?

'Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;
Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in turning:
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.

'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

'Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie;
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me:
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?

'Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?
Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom and complain on theft.
Narcissus so himself himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.

'Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear:
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse:
Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth beauty;
Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty.

'Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?
By law of nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live when thou thyself art dead;
And so, in spite of death, thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.'

By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,
And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him and by Venus' side.

And now Adonis, with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His louring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,
Souring his cheeks cries 'Fie, no more of love!
The sun doth burn my face: I must remove.'

'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind?
What bare excuses makest thou to be gone!
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun:
I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;
If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.

'The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,
And, lo, I lie between that sun and thee:
The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me;
And were I not immortal, life were done
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.

'Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth?
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth?
O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.

'What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this?
Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?
Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:
Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again,
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.

'Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well-painted idol, image dun and dead,
Statue contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred!
Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion,
For men will kiss even by their own direction.'

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth he wrong;
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause:
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,
And now her sobs do her intendments break.

Sometimes she shakes her head and then his hand,
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band:
She would, he will not in her arms be bound;
And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers one in one.

'Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here
Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain
Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.'

At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple:
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple;
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,
Why, there Love lived and there he could not die.

These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking.
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes are more increasing;
The time is spent, her object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing.
'Pity,' she cries, 'some favour, some remorse!'
Away he springs and hasteth to his horse.

But, lo, from forth a copse that neighbors by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud,
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder;
The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.

Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who should say 'Lo, thus my strength is tried,
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.'

What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering 'Holla,' or his 'Stand, I say'?
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur?
For rich caparisons or trapping gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.

Look, when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed;
So did this horse excel a common one
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.

Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;
To bid the wind a base he now prepares,
And whether he run or fly they know not whether;
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.

He looks upon his love and neighs unto her;
She answers him as if she knew his mind:
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,
Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.

Then, like a melancholy malcontent,
He veils his tail that, like a falling plume,
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent:
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume.
His love, perceiving how he is enraged,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.

His testy master goeth about to take him;
When, lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there:
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.

All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast:
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said;
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;
But when the heart's attorney once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.

He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
Even as a dying coal revives with wind,
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow;
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind,
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askance he holds her in his eye.

O, what a sight it was, wistly to view
How she came stealing to the wayward boy!
To note the fighting conflict of her hue,
How white and red each other did destroy!
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels:
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print,
As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.

O, what a war of looks was then between them!
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing;
His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them;
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing:
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.

Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band;
So white a friend engirts so white a foe:
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing.

Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
'O fairest mover on this mortal round,
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound;
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee!

'Give me my hand,' saith he, 'why dost thou feel it?'
'Give me my heart,' saith she, 'and thou shalt have it:
O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it,
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it:
Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.'

'For shame,' he cries, 'let go, and let me go;
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,
And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so:
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone;
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.'

Thus she replies: 'Thy palfrey, as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire:
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire:
The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.

'How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree,
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain;
Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

'Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight?
Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold
To touch the fire, the weather being cold?

'Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;
And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,
To take advantage on presented joy;
Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee;
O, learn to love; the lesson is but plain,
And once made perfect, never lost again.'

I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will not know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it;
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;
My love to love is love but to disgrace it;
For I have heard it is a life in death,
That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.

'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd?
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
If springing things be any jot diminish'd,
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth:
The colt that's back'd and burden'd being young
Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong.

'You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part,
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;
To love's alarms it will not ope the gate:
Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery;
For where a heart is hard they make no battery.'

'What! canst thou talk?' quoth she, 'hast thou a tongue?
O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing!
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;
I had my load before, now press'd with bearing:
Melodious discord, heavenly tune harshsounding,
Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding.

'Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love
That inward beauty and invisible;
Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part in me that were but sensible:
Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,
Yet should I be in love by touching thee.

'Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much;
For from the stillitory of thy face excelling
Comes breath perfumed that breedeth love by
smelling.

'But, O, what banquet wert thou to the taste,
Being nurse and feeder of the other four!
Would they not wish the feast might ever last,
And bid Suspicion double-lock the door,
Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast?'

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,
Which to his speech did honey passage yield;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

This ill presage advisedly she marketh:
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,
His meaning struck her ere his words begun.

And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth;
A smile recures the wounding of a frown;
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The silly boy, believing she is dead,
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;

And all amazed brake off his late intent,
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!
For on the grass she lies as she were slain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,
He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd:
He kisses her; and she, by her good will,
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day:
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth;
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumined with her eye;

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd,
Had not his clouded with his brow's repine;
But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light,
Shone like the moon in water seen by night.

'O, where am I?' quoth she, 'in earth or heaven,
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire?
What hour is this? or morn or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or life desire?
But now I lived, and life was death's annoy;
But now I died, and death was lively joy.

'O, thou didst kill me: kill me once again:
Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
Hath taught them scornful tricks and such disdain
That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine;
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.

'Long may they kiss each other, for this cure!
O, never let their crimson liveries wear!
And as they last, their verdure still endure,
To drive infection from the dangerous year!
That the star-gazers, having writ on death,
May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath.

'Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing?
To sell myself I can be well contented,
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing;
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.

'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches unto thee?
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?

'Fair queen,' quoth he, 'if any love you owe me,
Measure my strangeness with my unripe years:
Before I know myself, seek not to know me;
No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:
The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste.

'Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,
His day's hot task hath ended in the west;
The owl, night's herald, shrieks, ''Tis very late;'
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest,
And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light
Do summon us to part and bid good night.

'Now let me say 'Good night,' and so say you;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.'
'Good night,' quoth she, and, ere he says 'Adieu,'
The honey fee of parting tender'd is:
Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;
Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face.

Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth:
He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth
Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.

Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth;
Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry:

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,
With blindfold fury she begins to forage;
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage,
Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
Forgetting shame's pure blush and honour's wrack.

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,
Like a wild bird being tamed with too much handling,
Or as the fleet-foot roe that's tired with chasing,
Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling,
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.

What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering,
And yields at last to every light impression?
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing,
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission:
Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward,
But then woos best when most his choice is froward.

When he did frown, O, had she then gave over,
Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd.
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd:
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.

For pity now she can no more detain him;
The poor fool prays her that he may depart:
She is resolved no longer to restrain him;
Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart,
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest,
He carries thence incaged in his breast.

'Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I'll waste in sorrow,
For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
Tell me, Love's master, shall we meet to-morrow?
Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?'
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.

'The boar!' quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws:
She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,
He on her belly falls, she on her back.

Now is she in the very lists of love,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter:
All is imaginary she doth prove,
He will not manage her, although he mount her;
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy,
To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.

Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw,
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.
The warm effects which she in him finds missing
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.

But all in vain; good queen, it will not be:
She hath assay'd as much as may be proved;
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee;
She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved.
'Fie, fie,' he says, 'you crush me; let me go;
You have no reason to withhold me so.'

'Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweet boy, ere this,
But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.
O, be advised! thou know'st not what it is
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,
Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill.

'On his bow-back he hath a battle set
Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes;
His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret;
His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;
Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way,
And whom he strikes his cruel tushes slay.

'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,
Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter;
His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd;
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture:
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.

'Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine,
To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes;
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne,
Whose full perfection all the world amazes;
But having thee at vantage,--wondrous dread!--
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.

'O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still;
Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends:
Come not within his danger by thy will;
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,
I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.

'Didst thou not mark my face? was it not white?
Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye?
Grew I not faint? and fell I not downright?
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.

'For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy
Doth call himself Affection's sentinel;
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry 'Kill, kill!'
Distempering gentle Love in his desire,
As air and water do abate the fire.

'This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker that eats up Love's tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy,
That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,
Knocks at my heat and whispers in mine ear
That if I love thee, I thy death should fear:

'And more than so, presenteth to mine eye
The picture of an angry-chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore;
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed
Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.

'What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
That tremble at the imagination?
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,
And fear doth teach it divination:
I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.

'But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me;
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at the fox which lives by subtlety,
Or at the roe which no encounter dare:
Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs,
And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy
hounds.

'And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles
How he outruns the wind and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:
The many musets through the which he goes
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

'Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell,
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer:
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:

'For there his smell with others being mingled,
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out;
Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies,
As if another chase were in the skies.

'By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear,
To harken if his foes pursue him still:
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;
And now his grief may be compared well
To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.

'Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
Turn, and return, indenting with the way;
Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch,
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:
For misery is trodden on by many,
And being low never relieved by any.

'Lie quietly, and hear a little more;
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize,
Applying this to that, and so to so;
For love can comment upon every woe.

'Where did I leave?' 'No matter where,' quoth he,
'Leave me, and then the story aptly ends:
The night is spent.' 'Why, what of that?' quoth she.
'I am,' quoth he, 'expected of my friends;
And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.'
'In night,' quoth she, 'desire sees best of all

'But if thou fall, O, then imagine this,
The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss.
Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,
Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.

'Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine,
Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason,
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine;
Wherein she framed thee in high heaven's despite,
To shame the sun by day and her by night.

'And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies
To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature,
Making it subject to the tyranny
Of mad mischances and much misery;

'As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,
Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood,
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood:
Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despair,
Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair.

'And not the least of all these maladies
But in one minute's fight brings beauty under:
Both favour, savour, hue and qualities,
Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder,
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done,
As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun.

'Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,
Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.

'What is thy body but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.

'So in thyself thyself art made away;
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife,
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,
Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life.
Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets,
But gold that's put to use more gold begets.'

'Nay, then,' quoth Adon, 'you will fall again
Into your idle over-handled theme:
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream;
For, by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse,
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.

'If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,
And every tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown
For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,
And will not let a false sound enter there;

'Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into the quiet closure of my breast;
And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.
No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.

'What have you urged that I cannot reprove?
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger:
I hate not love, but your device in love,
That lends embracements unto every stranger.
You do it for increase: O strange excuse,
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse!

'Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name;
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;
Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,
As caterpillars do the tender leaves.

'Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But Lust's effect is tempest after sun;
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done;
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies;
Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.

'More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
The text is old, the orator too green.
Therefore, in sadness, now I will away;
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen:
Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended,
Do burn themselves for having so offended.'

With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace,
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast,
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace;
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.
Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye.

Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend,
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend:
So did the merciless and pitchy night
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.

Whereat amazed, as one that unaware
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,
Or stonish'd as night-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood,
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:
'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times 'Woe, woe!'
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.

She marking them begins a wailing note
And sings extemporally a woeful ditty;
How love makes young men thrall and old men dote;
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty:
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
And still the choir of echoes answer so.

Her song was tedious and outwore the night,
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:
If pleased themselves, others, they think, delight
In such-like circumstance, with suchlike sport:
Their copious stories oftentimes begun
End without audience and are never done.

For who hath she to spend the night withal
But idle sounds resembling parasites,
Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call,
Soothing the humour of fantastic wits?
She says ''Tis so:' they answer all ''Tis so;'
And would say after her, if she said 'No.'

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow:
'O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
There lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.'

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn,
And yet she hears no tidings of her love:
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn:
Anon she hears them chant it lustily,
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.

And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay:
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake.

By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay;
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder
Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder;
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses and her spirit confounds.

For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:
Finding their enemy to be so curst,
They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first.

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart;
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield,
They basely fly and dare not stay the field.

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy;
Till, cheering up her senses all dismay'd,
She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy,
And childish error, that they are afraid;
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:--
And with that word she spied the hunted boar,

Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither:
This way runs, and now she will no further,
But back retires to rate the boar for murther.

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;
She treads the path that she untreads again;
Her more than haste is mated with delays,
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,
Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting;
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.

Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound,
And asks the weary caitiff for his master,
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;
And here she meets another sadly scowling,
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.

When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise,
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin volleys out his voice;
Another and another answer him,
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,
Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go.

Look, how the world's poor people are amazed
At apparitions, signs and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;
So she at these sad signs draws up her breath
And sighing it again, exclaims on Death.

'Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love,'--thus chides she Death,--
'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath,
Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?

'If he be dead,--O no, it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it:--
O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.
Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart.

'Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke;
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower:
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike dead.

'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest such weeping?
What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.'

Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt;
But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
And with his strong course opens them again.

O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow,
Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry;
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.

Variable passions throng her constant woe,
As striving who should best become her grief;
All entertain'd, each passion labours so,
That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
But none is best: then join they all together,
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.

By this, far off she hears some huntsman hollo;
A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well:
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expel;
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
Being prison'd in her eye like pearls in glass;
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass,
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd.

O hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous!
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous:
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought;
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;
It was not she that call'd him, all-to naught:
Now she adds honours to his hateful name;
She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings,
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.

'No, no,' quoth she, 'sweet Death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me I felt a kind of fear
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe;
Then, gentle shadow,--truth I must confess,--
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.

''Tis not my fault: the boar provoked my tongue;
Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander;
'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;
I did but act, he's author of thy slander:
Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
Could rule them both without ten women's wit.'

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate;
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With Death she humbly doth insinuate;
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories
His victories, his triumphs and his glories.

'O Jove,' quoth she, 'how much a fool was I
To be of such a weak and silly mind
To wail his death who lives and must not die
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!
For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

'Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd thieves;
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.'
Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.

As falcon to the lure, away she flies;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view,
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew;

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again;
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head:

Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain;
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again;
Who like a king perplexed in his throne,
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,

Whereat each tributary subject quakes;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound.
This mutiny each part doth so surprise
That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes;

And, being open'd, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd
In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd:
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
But stole his blood and seem'd with him to bleed.

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead:
Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow;
Her eyes are mad that they have wept til now.

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,
That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,
That makes more gashes where no breach should be:
His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled;
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.

'My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
And yet,' quoth she, 'behold two Adons dead!
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead:
Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire!
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

'Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim;
But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him.

'Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear!
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;
The sun doth scorn you and the wind doth hiss you:
But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair:

'And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;
The wind would blow it off and, being gone,
Play with his locks: then would Adonis weep;
And straight, in pity of his tender years,
They both would strive who first should dry his tears.

'To see his face the lion walk'd along
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him;
To recreate himself when he hath sung,
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him;
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey
And never fright the silly lamb that day.

'When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took,
That some would sing, some other in their bills
Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries;
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

'But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;
Witness the entertainment that he gave:
If he did see his face, why then I know
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so.

''Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain:
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there;
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.

'Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess,
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first;
But he is dead, and never did he bless
My youth with his; the more am I accurst.'
With this, she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold;
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,
As if they heard the woeful words she told;
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies;

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd,
And every beauty robb'd of his effect:
'Wonder of time,' quoth she, 'this is my spite,
That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.

'Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy:
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:
It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end,
Ne'er settled equally, but high or low,
That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.

'It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud,
Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while;
The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd
With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile:
The strongest body shall it make most weak,
Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak.

'It shall be sparing and too full of riot,
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;
It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild,
Make the young old, the old become a child.

'It shall suspect where is no cause of fear;
It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;
It shall be merciful and too severe,
And most deceiving when it seems most just;
Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward,
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.

'It shall be cause of war and dire events,
And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire;
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustious matter is to fire:
Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy,
They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.'

By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white,
Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath,
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell,
Since he himself is reft from her by death:
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears.

'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy fathers guise--
Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire--
For every little grief to wet his eyes:
To grow unto himself was his desire,
And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good
To wither in my breast as in his blood.

'Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
There shall not be one minute in an hour
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.'

Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;
Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
Means to immure herself and not be seen.




	THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.


The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; whereof
this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety.
The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth
of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I
have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in
all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would
show greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship,
to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness.

Your lordship's in all duty,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.



	THE RAPE OF LUCRECE


	THE ARGUMENT


Lucius Tarquinius, for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus,
after he had caused his own father-in-law Servius Tullius to be
cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs,
not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had
possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons
and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege
the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of
Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after
supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife: among
whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife
Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they posted to Rome; and
intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of
that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds
his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her
maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or
in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus
the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus
Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering
his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the
camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and
was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by
Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth
into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the
morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight,
hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father,
another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one
accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius;
and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause
of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her
revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and
withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent
they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the
Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted
the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a
bitter invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the
people were so moved, that with one consent and a general
acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state
government changed from kings to consuls.



	THE RAPE OF LUCRECE



FROM the besieged Ardea all in post,
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

Haply that name of 'chaste' unhappily set
This bateless edge on his keen appetite;
When Collatine unwisely did not let
To praise the clear unmatched red and white
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight,
Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties,
With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state;
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate;
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,
That kings might be espoused to more fame,
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.

O happiness enjoy'd but of a few!
And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done
As is the morning's silver-melting dew
Against the golden splendor of the sun!
An expired date, cancell'd ere well begun:
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms,
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
The eyes of men without an orator;
What needeth then apologies be made,
To set forth that which is so singular?
Or why is Collatine the publisher
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is his own?

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty
Suggested this proud issue of a king;
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing,
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting
His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt
That golden hap which their superiors want.

But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those:
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver glows.
O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold,
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old!

When at Collatium this false lord arrived,
Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived
Which of them both should underprop her fame:
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame;
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white.

But beauty, in that white intituled,
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field:
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white.

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen,
Argued by beauty's red and virtue's white
Of either's colour was the other queen,
Proving from world's minority their right:
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight;
The sovereignty of either being so great,
That oft they interchange each other's seat.

Their silent war of lilies and of roses,
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;
Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd,
The coward captive vanquished doth yield
To those two armies that would let him go,
Rather than triumph in so false a foe.

Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue,--
The niggard prodigal that praised her so,--
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show:
Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,
In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.

This earthly saint, adored by this devil,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper;
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil;
Birds never limed no secret bushes fear:
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd:

For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty;
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate,
Save something too much wonder of his eye,
Which, having all, all could not satisfy;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,
That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

But she, that never coped with stranger eyes,
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks,
Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books:
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks;
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,
More than his eyes were open'd to the light.

He stories to her ears her husband's fame,
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;
And decks with praises Collatine's high name,
Made glorious by his manly chivalry
With bruised arms and wreaths of victory:
Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express,
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.

Far from the purpose of his coming hither,
He makes excuses for his being there:
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear;
Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,
Upon the world dim darkness doth display,
And in her vaulty prison stows the Day.

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,
Intending weariness with heavy spright;
For, after supper, long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:
Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight;
And every one to rest themselves betake,
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake.

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining;
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:
Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;
And when great treasure is the meed proposed,
Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed.

Those that much covet are with gain so fond,
For what they have not, that which they possess
They scatter and unloose it from their bond,
And so, by hoping more, they have but less;
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

The aim of all is but to nurse the life
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage;
As life for honour in fell battle's rage;
Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and all together lost.

So that in venturing ill we leave to be
The things we are for that which we expect;
And this ambitious foul infirmity,
In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have: so then we do neglect
The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing by augmenting it.

Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make,
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust;
And for himself himself be must forsake:
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust?
When shall he think to find a stranger just,
When he himself himself confounds, betrays
To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days?

Now stole upon the time the dead of night,
When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes:
No comfortable star did lend his light,
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries;
Now serves the season that they may surprise
The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead and still,
While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.

And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed,
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm;
Is madly toss'd between desire and dread;
Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm;
But honest fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm,
Doth too too oft betake him to retire,
Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire.

His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye;
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly,
'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire,
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.'

Here pale with fear he doth premeditate
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise,
And in his inward mind he doth debate
What following sorrow may on this arise:
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise
His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust,
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:

'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not
To darken her whose light excelleth thine:
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot
With your uncleanness that which is divine;
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine:
Let fair humanity abhor the deed
That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed.

'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!
O foul dishonour to my household's grave!
O impious act, including all foul harms!
A martial man to be soft fancy's slave!
True valour still a true respect should have;
Then my digression is so vile, so base,
That it will live engraven in my face.

'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,
And be an eye-sore in my golden coat;
Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive,
To cipher me how fondly I did dote;
That my posterity, shamed with the note
Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin
To wish that I their father had not bin.

'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?

'If Collatinus dream of my intent,
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent?
This siege that hath engirt his marriage,
This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,
This dying virtue, this surviving shame,
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?

'O, what excuse can my invention make,
When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?
Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake,
Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed?
The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed;
And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,
But coward-like with trembling terror die.


'Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire,
Or lain in ambush to betray my life,
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire
Might have excuse to work upon his wife,
As in revenge or quittal of such strife:
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.

'Shameful it is; ay, if the fact be known:
Hateful it is; there is no hate in loving:
I'll beg her love; but she is own:
The worst is but denial and reproving:
My will is strong, past reason's weak removing.
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.'

Thus, graceless, holds he disputation
'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will,
And with good thoughts make dispensation,
Urging the worser sense for vantage still;
Which in a moment doth confound and kill
All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.

Quoth he, 'She took me kindly by the hand,
And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes,
Fearing some hard news from the warlike band,
Where her beloved Collatinus lies.
O, how her fear did make her colour rise!
First red as roses that on lawn we lay,
Then white as lawn, the roses took away.

'And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd
Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear!
Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd,
Until her husband's welfare she did hear;
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood.

'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?
All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;
Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;
Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:
Affection is my captain, and he leadeth;
And when his gaudy banner is display'd,
The coward fights and will not be dismay'd.

'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die!
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age!
My heart shall never countermand mine eye:
Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;
My part is youth, and beats these from the stage:
Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;
Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?'

As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear
Is almost choked by unresisted lust.
Away he steals with open listening ear,
Full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust;
Both which, as servitors to the unjust,
So cross him with their opposite persuasion,
That now he vows a league, and now invasion.

Within his thought her heavenly image sits,
And in the self-same seat sits Collatine:
That eye which looks on her confounds his wits;
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,
Unto a view so false will not incline;
But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,
Which once corrupted takes the worser part;

And therein heartens up his servile powers,
Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show,
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow,
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.
By reprobate desire thus madly led,
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed.

The locks between her chamber and his will,
Each one by him enforced, retires his ward;
But, as they open, they all rate his ill,
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard:
The threshold grates the door to have him heard;
Night-wandering weasels shriek to see him there;
They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.

As each unwilling portal yields him way,
Through little vents and crannies of the place
The wind wars with his torch to make him stay,
And blows the smoke of it into his face,
Extinguishing his conduct in this case;
But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch:

And being lighted, by the light he spies
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks:
He takes it from the rushes where it lies,
And griping it, the needle his finger pricks;
As who should say 'This glove to wanton tricks
Is not inured; return again in haste;
Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are chaste.'

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;
He in the worst sense construes their denial:
The doors, the wind, the glove, that did delay him,
He takes for accidental things of trial;
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial,
Who with a lingering slay his course doth let,
Till every minute pays the hour his debt.

'So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend the time,
Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring,
To add a more rejoicing to the prime,
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.
Pain pays the income of each precious thing;
Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands,
The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.'

Now is he come unto the chamber-door,
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought,
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more,
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing be sought.
So from himself impiety hath wrought,
That for his prey to pray he doth begin,
As if the heavens should countenance his sin.

But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,
Having solicited th' eternal power
That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair,
And they would stand auspicious to the hour,
Even there he starts: quoth he, 'I must deflower:
The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,
How can they then assist me in the act?

'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!
My will is back'd with resolution:
Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried;
The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution;
Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution.
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.'

This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch,
And with his knee the door he opens wide.
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch:
Thus treason works ere traitors be espied.
Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside;
But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,
Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.

Into the chamber wickedly he stalks,
And gazeth on her yet unstained bed.
The curtains being close, about he walks,
Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head:
By their high treason is his heart misled;
Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon
To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.

Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun,
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
To wink, being blinded with a greater light:
Whether it is that she reflects so bright,
That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;
But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.

O, had they in that darksome prison died!
Then had they seen the period of their ill;
Then Collatine again, by Lucrece' side,
In his clear bed might have reposed still:
But they must ope, this blessed league to kill;
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight.

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;
Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,
Swelling on either side to want his bliss;
Between whose hills her head entombed is:
Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,
To be admired of lewd unhallow'd eyes.

Without the bed her other fair hand was,
On the green coverlet; whose perfect white
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass,
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night.
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their light,
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,
Till they might open to adorn the day.

Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath;
O modest wantons! wanton modesty!
Showing life's triumph in the map of death,
And death's dim look in life's mortality:
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify,
As if between them twain there were no strife,
But that life lived in death, and death in life.

Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered,
Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,
And him by oath they truly honoured.
These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred;
Who, like a foul ursurper, went about
From this fair throne to heave the owner out.

What could he see but mightily he noted?
What did he note but strongly he desired?
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,
And in his will his wilful eye he tired.
With more than admiration he admired
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.

As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey,
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,
So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,
His rage of lust by gazing qualified;
Slack'd, not suppress'd; for standing by her side,
His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:

And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,
Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting,
In bloody death and ravishment delighting,
Nor children's tears nor mothers' groans respecting,
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting:
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,
Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking.

His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,
His eye commends the leading to his hand;
His hand, as proud of such a dignity,
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land;
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,
Left there round turrets destitute and pale.

They, mustering to the quiet cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies,
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset,
And fright her with confusion of their cries:
She, much amazed, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes,
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd.

Imagine her as one in dead of night
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking;
What terror or 'tis! but she, in worser taking,
From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
The sight which makes supposed terror true.

Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies;
She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes:
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries;
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.

His hand, that yet remains upon her breast,--
Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!--
May feel her heart-poor citizen!--distress'd,
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall,
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage and lesser pity,
To make the breach and enter this sweet city.

First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin
To sound a parley to his heartless foe;
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,
The reason of this rash alarm to know,
Which he by dumb demeanor seeks to show;
But she with vehement prayers urgeth still
Under what colour he commits this ill.

Thus he replies: 'The colour in thy face,
That even for anger makes the lily pale,
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace,
Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale:
Under that colour am I come to scale
Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is thine,
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.

'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide:
Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,
Where thou with patience must my will abide;
My will that marks thee for my earth's delight,
Which I to conquer sought with all my might;
But as reproof and reason beat it dead,
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.

'I see what crosses my attempt will bring;
I know what thorns the growing rose defends;
I think the honey guarded with a sting;
All this beforehand counsel comprehends:
But will is deaf and hears no heedful friends;
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,
And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty.

'I have debated, even in my soul,
What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed;
But nothing can affection's course control,
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears ensue the deed,
Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;
Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.'

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,
Which, like a falcon towering in the skies,
Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade,
Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies:
So under his insulting falchion lies
Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells.

'Lucrece,' quoth he,'this night I must enjoy thee:
If thou deny, then force must work my way,
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee:
That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay,
To kill thine honour with thy life's decay;
And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.

'So thy surviving husband shall remain
The scornful mark of every open eye;
Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,
Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy:
And thou, the author of their obloquy,
Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes,
And sung by children in succeeding times.

'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend:
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted;
A little harm done to a great good end
For lawful policy remains enacted.
The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted
In a pure compound; being so applied,
His venom in effect is purified.

'Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake,
Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot
The shame that from them no device can take,
The blemish that will never be forgot;
Worse than a slavish wipe or birth-hour's blot:
For marks descried in men's nativity
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.'

Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye
He rouseth up himself and makes a pause;
While she, the picture of pure piety,
Like a white hind under the gripe's sharp claws,
Pleads, in a wilderness where are no laws,
To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,
Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.

But when a black-faced cloud the world doth threat,
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get,
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their bidding,
Hindering their present fall by this dividing;
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays,
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.

Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally,
While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth:
Her sad behavior feeds his vulture folly,
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth
No penetrable entrance to her plaining:
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.

Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face;
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd,
Which to her oratory adds more grace.
She puts the period often from his place;
And midst the sentence so her accent breaks,
That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.

She conjures him by high almighty Jove,
By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath,
By her untimely tears, her husband's love,
By holy human law, and common troth,
By heaven and earth, and all the power of both,
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire,
And stoop to honour, not to foul desire.

Quoth she, 'Reward not hospitality
With such black payment as thou hast pretended;
Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;
Mar not the thing that cannot be amended;
End thy ill aim before thy shoot be ended;
He is no woodman that doth bend his bow
To strike a poor unseasonable doe.

'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me:
Thyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me:
Myself a weakling; do not then ensnare me:
Thou look'st not like deceit; do not deceive me.
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee:
If ever man were moved with woman moans,
Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans:

'All which together, like a troubled ocean,
Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart,
To soften it with their continual motion;
For stones dissolved to water do convert.
O, if no harder than a stone thou art,
Melt at my tears, and be compassionate!
Soft pity enters at an iron gate.

'In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee:
Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame?
To all the host of heaven I complain me,
Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely name.
Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same,
Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king;
For kings like gods should govern everything.

'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age,
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring!
If in thy hope thou darest do such outrage,
What darest thou not when once thou art a king?
O, be remember'd, no outrageous thing
From vassal actors can be wiped away;
Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.

'This deed will make thee only loved for fear;
But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love:
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
When they in thee the like offences prove:
If but for fear of this, thy will remove;
For princes are the glass, the school, the book,
Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look.

'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn?
Must he in thee read lectures of such shame?
Wilt thou be glass wherein it shall discern
Authority for sin, warrant for blame,
To privilege dishonour in thy name?
Thou black'st reproach against long-living laud,
And makest fair reputation but a bawd.

'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee,
From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity,
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill.
Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil,
When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul sin may say,
He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way?

'Think but how vile a spectacle it were,
To view thy present trespass in another.
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear;
Their own transgressions partially they smother:
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.
O, how are they wrapp'd in with infamies
That from their own misdeeds askance their eyes!

'To thee, to thee, my heaved-up hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier:
I sue for exiled majesty's repeal;
Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire:
His true respect will prison false desire,
And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,
That thou shalt see thy state and pity mine.'

'Have done,' quoth he: 'my uncontrolled tide
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let.
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide,
And with the wind in greater fury fret:
The petty streams that pay a daily debt
To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.'

'Thou art,' quoth she, 'a sea, a sovereign king;
And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.
If all these pretty ills shall change thy good,
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hearsed,
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed.

'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified;
Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave:
Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:
The lesser thing should not the greater hide;
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot,
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.

'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state'--
No more,' quoth he; 'by heaven, I will not hear thee:
Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate,
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee;
That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,
To be thy partner in this shameful doom.'

This said, he sets his foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb cries;
Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold:

For with the nightly linen that she wears
He pens her piteous clamours in her head;
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed!
The spots whereof could weeping purify,
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life,
And he hath won what he would lose again:
This forced league doth force a further strife;
This momentary joy breeds months of pain;
This hot desire converts to cold disdain:
Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,
And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before.

Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight,
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk
The prey wherein by nature they delight;
So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:
His taste delicious, in digestion souring,
Devours his will, that lived by foul devouring.

O, deeper sin than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination!
Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt,
Ere he can see his own abomination.
While Lust is in his pride, no exclamation
Can curb his heat or rein his rash desire,
Till like a jade Self-will himself doth tire.

And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace,
Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:
The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with Grace,
For there it revels; and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission prays.

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased;
For now against himself he sounds this doom,
That through the length of times he stands disgraced:
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced;
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,
To ask the spotted princess how she fares.

She says, her subjects with foul insurrection
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall,
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To living death and pain perpetual:
Which in her prescience she controlled still,
But her foresight could not forestall their will.

Even in this thought through the dark night he stealeth,
A captive victor that hath lost in gain;
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain;
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of lust he left behind,
And he the burden of a guilty mind.

He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence;
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there;
He scowls and hates himself for his offence;
She, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;
He faintly flies, sneaking with guilty fear;
She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;
He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loathed delight.

He thence departs a heavy convertite;
She there remains a hopeless castaway;
He in his speed looks for the morning light;
She prays she never may behold the day,
'For day,' quoth she, 'nights scapes doth open lay,
And my true eyes have never practised how
To cloak offences with a cunning brow.

'They think not but that every eye can see
The same disgrace which they themselves behold;
And therefore would they still in darkness be,
To have their unseen sin remain untold;
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,
Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.'

Here she exclaims against repose and rest,
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast,
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer chest to close so pure a mind.
Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite
Against the unseen secrecy of night:

'O comfort-killing Night, image of hell!
Dim register and notary of shame!
Black stage for tragedies and murders fell!
Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!
Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!
Grim cave of death! whispering conspirator
With close-tongued treason and the ravisher!

'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy Night!
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportion'd course of time;
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.

'With rotten damps ravish the morning air;
Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick
The life of purity, the supreme fair,
Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick;
And let thy misty vapours march so thick,
That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light
May set at noon and make perpetual night.

'Were Tarquin Night, as he is but Night's child,
The silver-shining queen he would distain;
Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defiled,
Through Night's black bosom should not peep again:
So should I have co-partners in my pain;
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage.

'Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,
To mask their brows and hide their infamy;
But I alone alone must sit and pine,
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.

'O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke,
Let not the jealous Day behold that face
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace!
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place,
That all the faults which in thy reign are made
May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade!

'Make me not object to the tell-tale Day!
The light will show, character'd in my brow,
The story of sweet chastity's decay,
The impious breach of holy wedlock vow:
Yea the illiterate, that know not how
To cipher what is writ in learned books,
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.

'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story,
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name;
The orator, to deck his oratory,
Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame;
Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,
Will tie the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.

'Let my good name, that senseless reputation,
For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted:
If that be made a theme for disputation,
The branches of another root are rotted,
And undeserved reproach to him allotted
That is as clear from this attaint of mine
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.

'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace!
O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar!
Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face,
And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar,
How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,
Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows!

'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,
From me by strong assault it is bereft.
My honour lost, and I, a drone-like bee,
Have no perfection of my summer left,
But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft:
In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept,
And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept.

'Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack;
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
For it had been dishonour to disdain him:
Besides, of weariness he did complain him,
And talk'd of virtue: O unlook'd-for evil,
When virtue is profaned in such a devil!

'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests?
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud?
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?
Or kings be breakers of their own behests?
But no perfection is so absolute,
That some impurity doth not pollute.

'The aged man that coffers-up his gold
Is plagued with cramps and gouts and painful fits;
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits,
And useless barns the harvest of his wits;
Having no other pleasure of his gain
But torment that it cannot cure his pain.

'So then he hath it when he cannot use it,
And leaves it to be master'd by his young;
Who in their pride do presently abuse it:
Their father was too weak, and they too strong,
To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.
The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours
Even in the moment that we call them ours.

'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;
The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;
What virtue breeds iniquity devours:
We have no good that we can say is ours,
But ill-annexed Opportunity
Or kills his life or else his quality.

'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great!
'Tis thou that executest the traitor's treason:
Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season;
'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason;
And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him,
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.

'Thou makest the vestal violate her oath;
Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd;
Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth;
Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd!
Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud:
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!

'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
Thy private feasting to a public fast,
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name,
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste:
Thy violent vanities can never last.
How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?

'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend,
And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd?
When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end?
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chain'd?
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd?
The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;
But they ne'er meet with Opportunity.

'The patient dies while the physician sleeps;
The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;
Justice is feasting while the widow weeps;
Advice is sporting while infection breeds:
Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds:
Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages,
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.

'When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee,
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid:
They buy thy help; but Sin ne'er gives a fee,
He gratis comes; and thou art well appaid
As well to hear as grant what he hath said.
My Collatine would else have come to me
When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee.

Guilty thou art of murder and of theft,
Guilty of perjury and subornation,
Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift,
Guilty of incest, that abomination;
An accessary by thine inclination
To all sins past, and all that are to come,
From the creation to the general doom.

'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly Night,
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care,
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare;
Thou nursest all and murder'st all that are:
O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!
Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.

'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,
Betray'd the hours thou gavest me to repose,
Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me
To endless date of never-ending woes?
Time's office is to fine the hate of foes;
To eat up errors by opinion bred,
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.

'Time's glory is to calm contending kings,
To unmask falsehood and bring truth to light,
To stamp the seal of time in aged things,
To wake the morn and sentinel the night,
To wrong the wronger till he render right,
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,
And smear with dust their glittering golden towers;

'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,
To feed oblivion with decay of things,
To blot old books and alter their contents,
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings,
To dry the old oak's sap and cherish springs,
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel,
And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel;

'To show the beldam daughters of her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child,
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild,
To mock the subtle in themselves beguiled,
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,
And waste huge stones with little water drops.

'Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,
Unless thou couldst return to make amends?
One poor retiring minute in an age
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,
Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends:
O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back,
I could prevent this storm and shun thy wrack!

'Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:
Devise extremes beyond extremity,
To make him curse this cursed crimeful night:
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;
And the dire thought of his committed evil
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.

'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances,
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;
Let there bechance him pitiful mischances,
To make him moan; but pity not his moans:
Stone him with harden'd hearts harder than stones;
And let mild women to him lose their mildness,
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.

'Let him have time to tear his curled hair,
Let him have time against himself to rave,
Let him have time of Time's help to despair,
Let him have time to live a loathed slave,
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave,
And time to see one that by alms doth live
Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.

'Let him have time to see his friends his foes,
And merry fools to mock at him resort;
Let him have time to mark how slow time goes
In time of sorrow, and how swift and short
His time of folly and his time of sport;
And ever let his unrecalling crime
Have time to wail th' abusing of his time.

'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,
Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill!
At his own shadow let the thief run mad,
Himself himself seek every hour to kill!
Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill;
For who so base would such an office have
As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave?

'The baser is he, coming from a king,
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate:
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate;
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
The moon being clouded presently is miss'd,
But little stars may hide them when they list.

'The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire,
And unperceived fly with the filth away;
But if the like the snow-white swan desire,
The stain upon his silver down will stay.
Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day:
Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly,
But eagles gazed upon with every eye.

'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools!
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!
Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools;
Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters;
To trembling clients be you mediators:
For me, I force not argument a straw,
Since that my case is past the help of law.

'In vain I rail at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful Night;
In vain I cavil with mine infamy,
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite:
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right.
The remedy indeed to do me good
Is to let forth my foul-defiled blood.

'Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree?
Honour thyself to rid me of this shame:
For if I die, my honour lives in thee;
But if I live, thou livest in my defame:
Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame,
And wast afeard to scratch her wicked foe,
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.'

This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth,
To find some desperate instrument of death:
But this no slaughterhouse no tool imparteth
To make more vent for passage of her breath;
Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth
As smoke from AEtna, that in air consumes,
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.

'In vain,' quoth she, 'I live, and seek in vain
Some happy mean to end a hapless life.
I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain,
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife:
But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife:
So am I now: O no, that cannot be;
Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.

'O, that is gone for which I sought to live,
And therefore now I need not fear to die.
To clear this spot by death, at least I give
A badge of fame to slander's livery;
A dying life to living infamy:
Poor helpless help, the treasure stol'n away,
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!

'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know
The stained taste of violated troth;
I will not wrong thy true affection so,
To flatter thee with an infringed oath;
This bastard graff shall never come to growth:
He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute
That thou art doting father of his fruit.

'Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state:
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought
Basely with gold, but stol'n from forth thy gate.
For me, I am the mistress of my fate,
And with my trespass never will dispense,
Till life to death acquit my forced offence.

'I will not poison thee with my attaint,
Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses;
My sable ground of sin I will not paint,
To hide the truth of this false night's abuses:
My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices,
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.'

By this, lamenting Philomel had ended
The well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow,
And solemn night with slow sad gait descended
To ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow:
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be.

Revealing day through every cranny spies,
And seems to point her out where she sits weeping;
To whom she sobbing speaks: 'O eye of eyes,
Why pry'st thou through my window? leave thy peeping:
Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping:
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,
For day hath nought to do what's done by night.'

Thus cavils she with every thing she sees:
True grief is fond and testy as a child,
Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees:
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild;
Continuance tames the one; the other wild,
Like an unpractised swimmer plunging still,
With too much labour drowns for want of skill.

So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,
Holds disputation with each thing she views,
And to herself all sorrow doth compare;
No object but her passion's strength renews;
And as one shifts, another straight ensues:
Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words;
Sometime 'tis mad and too much talk affords.

The little birds that tune their morning's joy
Make her moans mad with their sweet melody:
For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;
Sad souls are slain in merry company;
Grief best is pleased with grief's society:
True sorrow then is feelingly sufficed
When with like semblance it is sympathized.

'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore;
He ten times pines that pines beholding food;
To see the salve doth make the wound ache more;
Great grief grieves most at that would do it good;
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood,
Who being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows;
Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.

'You mocking-birds,' quoth she, 'your tunes entomb
Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts,
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb:
My restless discord loves no stops nor rests;
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;
Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.

'Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment,
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair:
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear,
And with deep groans the diapason bear;
For burden-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still,
While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill.

'And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part,
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,
To imitate thee well, against my heart
Will fix a sharp knife to affright mine eye;
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.
These means, as frets upon an instrument,
Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment.

'And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day,
As shaming any eye should thee behold,
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way,
That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold,
Will we find out; and there we will unfold
To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds:
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.'

As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,
Wildly determining which way to fly,
Or one encompass'd with a winding maze,
That cannot tread the way out readily;
So with herself is she in mutiny,
To live or die which of the twain were better,
When life is shamed, and death reproach's debtor.

'To kill myself,' quoth she, 'alack, what were it,
But with my body my poor soul's pollution?
They that lose half with greater patience bear it
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion.
That mother tries a merciless conclusion
Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one,
Will slay the other and be nurse to none.

'My body or my soul, which was the dearer,
When the one pure, the other made divine?
Whose love of either to myself was nearer,
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine?
Ay me! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine,
His leaves will wither and his sap decay;
So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away.

'Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted,
Her mansion batter'd by the enemy;
Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted,
Grossly engirt with daring infamy:
Then let it not be call'd impiety,
If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole
Through which I may convey this troubled soul.

'Yet die I will not till my Collatine
Have heard the cause of my untimely death;
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath.
My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath,
Which by him tainted shall for him be spent,
And as his due writ in my testament.

'My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife
That wounds my body so dishonoured.
'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life;
The one will live, the other being dead:
So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred;
For in my death I murder shameful scorn:
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born.

'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee?
My resolution, love, shall be thy boast,
By whose example thou revenged mayest be.
How Tarquin must be used, read it in me:
Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,
And for my sake serve thou false Tarquin so.

'This brief abridgement of my will I make:
My soul and body to the skies and ground;
My resolution, husband, do thou take;
Mine honour be the knife's that makes my wound;
My shame be his that did my fame confound;
And all my fame that lives disbursed be
To those that live, and think no shame of me.

'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will;
How was I overseen that thou shalt see it!
My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;
My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it.
Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say 'So be it:'
Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee:
Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.'

This Plot of death when sadly she had laid,
And wiped the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,
With untuned tongue she hoarsely calls her maid,
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies;
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies.
Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so
As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow.

Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,
With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty,
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow,
For why her face wore sorrow's livery;
But durst not ask of her audaciously
Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so,
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe.

But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye;
Even so the maid with swelling drops gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy
Of those fair suns set in her mistress' sky,
Who in a salt-waved ocean quench their light,
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.

A pretty while these pretty creatures stand,
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:
One justly weeps; the other takes in hand
No cause, but company, of her drops spilling:
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing;
Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts,
And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts.

For men have marble, women waxen, minds,
And therefore are they form'd as marble will;
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill:
Then call them not the authors of their ill,
No more than wax shall be accounted evil
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil.

Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,
Lays open all the little worms that creep;
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep:
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep:
Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks,
Poor women's faces are their own fault's books.

No man inveigh against the wither'd flower,
But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd:
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour,
Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild
Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfill'd
With men's abuses: those proud lords, to blame,
Make weak-made women tenants to their shame.

The precedent whereof in Lucrece view,
Assail'd by night with circumstances strong
Of present death, and shame that might ensue
By that her death, to do her husband wrong:
Such danger to resistance did belong,
That dying fear through all her body spread;
And who cannot abuse a body dead?

By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining:
'My girl,' quoth she, 'on what occasion break
Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are
raining?
If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining,
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood:
If tears could help, mine own would do me good.

'But tell me, girl, when went'--and there she stay'd
Till after a deep groan--'Tarquin from hence?'
'Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid,
'The more to blame my sluggard negligence:
Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense;
Myself was stirring ere the break of day,
And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.

'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold,
She would request to know your heaviness.'
'O, peace!' quoth Lucrece: 'if it should be told,
The repetition cannot make it less;
For more it is than I can well express:
And that deep torture may be call'd a hell
When more is felt than one hath power to tell.

'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen:
Yet save that labour, for I have them here.
What should I say? One of my husband's men
Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear
A letter to my lord, my love, my dear;
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it;
The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.'

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write,
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill:
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight;
What wit sets down is blotted straight with will;
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill:
Much like a press of people at a door,
Throng her inventions, which shall go before.

At last she thus begins: 'Thou worthy lord
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,
Health to thy person! next vouchsafe t' afford--
If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see--
Some present speed to come and visit me.
So, I commend me from our house in grief:
My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.'

Here folds she up the tenor of her woe,
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.
By this short schedule Collatine may know
Her grief, but not her grief's true quality:
She dares not thereof make discovery,
Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,
Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd excuse.

Besides, the life and feeling of her passion
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her:
When sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her
From that suspicion which the world might bear her.
To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter
With words, till action might become them better.

To see sad sights moves more than hear them told;
For then eye interprets to the ear
The heavy motion that it doth behold,
When every part a part of woe doth bear.
'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:
Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords,
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.

Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ
'At Ardea to my lord with more than haste.'
The post attends, and she delivers it,
Charging the sour-faced groom to hie as fast
As lagging fowls before the northern blast:
Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems:
Extremity still urgeth such extremes.

The homely villain court'sies to her low;
And, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye
Receives the scroll without or yea or no,
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie.
But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie
Imagine every eye beholds their blame;
For Lucrece thought he blush'd to her see shame:

When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect
Of spirit, Life, and bold audacity.
Such harmless creatures have a true respect
To talk in deeds, while others saucily
Promise more speed, but do it leisurely:
Even so this pattern of the worn-out age
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage.

His kindled duty kindled her mistrust,
That two red fires in both their faces blazed;
She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust,
And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed;
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed:
The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish,
The more she thought he spied in her some blemish.

But long she thinks till he return again,
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.
The weary time she cannot entertain,
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan:
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan,
That she her plaints a little while doth stay,
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy:
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece.
For Helen's rape the city to destroy,
Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy;
Which the conceited painter drew so proud,
As heaven, it seem'd, to kiss the turrets bow'd.

A thousand lamentable objects there,
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life:
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear,
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife:
The red blood reek'd, to show the painter's strife;
And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights,
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.

There might you see the labouring pioner
Begrimed with sweat, and smeared all with dust;
And from the towers of Troy there would appear
The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust,
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust:
Such sweet observance in this work was had,
That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.

In great commanders grace and majesty
You might behold, triumphing in their faces;
In youth, quick bearing and dexterity;
Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces;
Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,
That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble.

In Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art
Of physiognomy might one behold!
The face of either cipher'd either's heart;
Their face their manners most expressly told:
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigor roll'd;
But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent
Show'd deep regard and smiling government.

There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight;
Making such sober action with his hand,
That it beguiled attention, charm'd the sight:
In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white,
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky.

About him were a press of gaping faces,
Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice;
All jointly listening, but with several graces,
As if some mermaid did their ears entice,
Some high, some low, the painter was so nice;
The scalps of many, almost hid behind,
To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind.

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head,
His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear;
Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n and
red;
Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear;
And in their rage such signs of rage they bear,
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words,
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords.

For much imaginary work was there;
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,
That for Achilles' image stood his spear,
Griped in an armed hand; himself, behind,
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind:
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,
Stood for the whole to be imagined.

And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to
field,
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;
And to their hope they such odd action yield,
That through their light joy seemed to appear,
Like bright things stain'd, a kind of heavy fear.

And from the strand of Dardan, where they fought,
To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran,
Whose waves to imitate the battle sought
With swelling ridges; and their ranks began
To break upon the galled shore, and than
Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks,
They join and shoot their foam at Simois' banks.

To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,
To find a face where all distress is stell'd.
Many she sees where cares have carved some,
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd,
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld,
Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes,
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies.

In her the painter had anatomized
Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign:
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguised;
Of what she was no semblance did remain:
Her blue blood changed to black in every vein,
Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed,
Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead.

On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,
And shapes her sorrow to the beldam's woes,
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries,
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes:
The painter was no god to lend her those;
And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong,
To give her so much grief and not a tongue.

'Poor instrument,' quoth she,'without a sound,
I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue;
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound,
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong;
And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.

'Show me the strumpet that began this stir,
That with my nails her beauty I may tear.
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear:
Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here;
And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die.

'Why should the private pleasure of some one
Become the public plague of many moe?
Let sin, alone committed, light alone
Upon his head that hath transgressed so;
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe:
For one's offence why should so many fall,
To plague a private sin in general?

'Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds,
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies,
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,
And one man's lust these many lives confounds:
Had doting Priam cheque'd his son's desire,
Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.'

Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes:
For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes;
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell:
So Lucrece, set a-work, sad tales doth tell
To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow;
She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.

She throws her eyes about the painting round,
And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament.
At last she sees a wretched image bound,
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent:
His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content;
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes,
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes.

In him the painter labour'd with his skill
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe;
Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red no guilty instance gave,
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.

But, like a constant and confirmed devil,
He entertain'd a show so seeming just,
And therein so ensconced his secret evil,
That jealousy itself could not mistrust
False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust
Into so bright a day such black-faced storms,
Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms.

The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew
For perjured Sinon, whose enchanting story
The credulous old Priam after slew;
Whose words like wildfire burnt the shining glory
Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry,
And little stars shot from their fixed places,
When their glass fell wherein they view'd their faces.

This picture she advisedly perused,
And chid the painter for his wondrous skill,
Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abused;
So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill:
And still on him she gazed; and gazing still,
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied,
That she concludes the picture was belied.

'It cannot be,' quoth she,'that so much guile'--
She would have said 'can lurk in such a look;'
But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while,
And from her tongue 'can lurk' from 'cannot' took:
'It cannot be' she in that sense forsook,
And turn'd it thus,' It cannot be, I find,
But such a face should bear a wicked mind.

'For even as subtle Sinon here is painted.
So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,
As if with grief or travail he had fainted,
To me came Tarquin armed; so beguiled
With outward honesty, but yet defiled
With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,
So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.

'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,
To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds!
Priam, why art thou old and yet not wise?
For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds:
His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds;
Those round clear pearls of his, that move thy pity,
Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.

'Such devils steal effects from lightless hell;
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,
And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell;
These contraries such unity do hold,
Only to flatter fools and make them bold:
So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter,
That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.'

Here, all enraged, such passion her assails,
That patience is quite beaten from her breast.
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails,
Comparing him to that unhappy guest
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest:
At last she smilingly with this gives o'er;
'Fool, fool!' quoth she, 'his wounds will not be sore.'

Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow,
And time doth weary time with her complaining.
She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow,
And both she thinks too long with her remaining:
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining:
Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps,
And they that watch see time how slow it creeps.

Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought,
That she with painted images hath spent;
Being from the feeling of her own grief brought
By deep surmise of others' detriment;
Losing her woes in shows of discontent.
It easeth some, though none it ever cured,
To think their dolour others have endured.

But now the mindful messenger, come back,
Brings home his lord and other company;
Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black:
And round about her tear-stained eye
Blue circles stream'd; like rainbows in the sky:
These water-galls in her dim element
Foretell new storms to those already spent.

Which when her sad-beholding husband saw,
Amazedly in her sad face he stares:
Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw,
Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares.
He hath no power to ask her how she fares:
Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance,
Met far from home, wondering each other's chance.

At last he takes her by the bloodless hand,
And thus begins: 'What uncouth ill event
Hath thee befall'n, that thou dost trembling stand?
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?
Why art thou thus attired in discontent?
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,
And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.'

Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire,
Ere once she can discharge one word of woe:
At length address'd to answer his desire,
She modestly prepares to let them know
Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe;
While Collatine and his consorted lords
With sad attention long to hear her words.

And now this pale swan in her watery nest
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending;
'Few words,' quoth she, 'Shall fit the trespass best,
Where no excuse can give the fault amending:
In me moe woes than words are now depending;
And my laments would be drawn out too long,
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.

'Then be this all the task it hath to say
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed
A stranger came, and on that pillow lay
Where thou was wont to rest thy weary head;
And what wrong else may be imagined
By foul enforcement might be done to me,
From that, alas, thy Lucrece is not free.

'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,
With shining falchion in my chamber came
A creeping creature, with a flaming light,
And softly cried 'Awake, thou Roman dame,
And entertain my love; else lasting shame
On thee and thine this night I will inflict,
If thou my love's desire do contradict.

' 'For some hard-favour'd groom of thine,' quoth he,
'Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,
I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee
And swear I found you where you did fulfil
The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill
The lechers in their deed: this act will be
My fame and thy perpetual infamy.'

'With this, I did begin to start and cry;
And then against my heart he sets his sword,
Swearing, unless I took all patiently,
I should not live to speak another word;
So should my shame still rest upon record,
And never be forgot in mighty Rome
Th' adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.

'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,
And far the weaker with so strong a fear:
My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;
No rightful plea might plead for justice there:
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear
That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes;
And when the judge is robb'd the prisoner dies.

'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse!
Or at the least this refuge let me find;
Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse,
Immaculate and spotless is my mind;
That was not forced; that never was inclined
To accessary yieldings, but still pure
Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.'

Lo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,
With head declined, and voice damm'd up with woe,
With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across,
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow
The grief away that stops his answer so:
But, wretched as he is, he strives in vain;
What he breathes out his breath drinks up again.

As through an arch the violent roaring tide
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste,
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride
Back to the strait that forced him on so fast;
In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past:
Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw,
To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.

Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth,
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:
'Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth
Another power; no flood by raining slaketh.
My woe too sensible thy passion maketh
More feeling-painful: let it then suffice
To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.

'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,
For she that was thy Lucrece, now attend me:
Be suddenly revenged on my foe,
Thine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me
From what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me
Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;
For sparing justice feeds iniquity.

'But ere I name him, you fair lords,' quoth she,
Speaking to those that came with Collatine,
'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,
With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;
For 'tis a meritorious fair design
To chase injustice with revengeful arms:
Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' harms.'

At this request, with noble disposition
Each present lord began to promise aid,
As bound in knighthood to her imposition,
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd.
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said,
The protestation stops. 'O, speak, ' quoth she,
'How may this forced stain be wiped from me?

'What is the quality of mine offence,
Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance?
May my pure mind with the foul act dispense,
My low-declined honour to advance?
May any terms acquit me from this chance?
The poison'd fountain clears itself again;
And why not I from this compelled stain?'

With this, they all at once began to say,
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears;
While with a joyless smile she turns away
The face, that map which deep impression bears
Of hard misfortune, carved in it with tears.
'No, no,' quoth she, 'no dame, hereafter living,
By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.'

Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break,
She throws forth Tarquin's name; 'He, he,' she says,
But more than 'he' her poor tongue could not speak;
Till after many accents and delays,
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays,
She utters this, 'He, he, fair lords, 'tis he,
That guides this hand to give this wound to me.'

Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed:
That blow did that it from the deep unrest
Of that polluted prison where it breathed:
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd
Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly
Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny.

Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed,
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew;
Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed,
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw;
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew
The murderous knife, and, as it left the place,
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;

And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
Circles her body in on every side,
Who, like a late-sack'd island, vastly stood
Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood.
Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd,
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin stain'd.

About the mourning and congealed face
Of that black blood a watery rigol goes,
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place:
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes,
Corrupted blood some watery token shows;
And blood untainted still doth red abide,
Blushing at that which is so putrified.

'Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius cries,
'That life was mine which thou hast here deprived.
If in the child the father's image lies,
Where shall I live now Lucrece is unlived?
Thou wast not to this end from me derived.
If children predecease progenitors,
We are their offspring, and they none of ours.

'Poor broken glass, I often did behold
In thy sweet semblance my old age new born;
But now that fresh fair mirror, dim and old,
Shows me a bare-boned death by time out-worn:
O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn,
And shivered all the beauty of my glass,
That I no more can see what once I was!

'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer,
If they surcease to be that should survive.
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger
And leave the faltering feeble souls alive?
The old bees die, the young possess their hive:
Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again and see
Thy father die, and not thy father thee!

By this, starts Collatine as from a dream,
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;
And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream
He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,
And counterfeits to die with her a space;
Till manly shame bids him possess his breath
And live to be revenged on her death.

The deep vexation of his inward soul
Hath served a dumb arrest upon his tongue;
Who, mad that sorrow should his use control,
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long,
Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng
Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's aid,
That no man could distinguish what he said.

Yet sometime 'Tarquin' was pronounced plain,
But through his teeth, as if the name he tore.
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain,
Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more;
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er:
Then son and father weep with equal strife
Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife.

The one doth call her his, the other his,
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay.
The father says 'She's mine.' 'O, mine she is,'
Replies her husband: 'do not take away
My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say
He weeps for her, for she was only mine,
And only must be wail'd by Collatine.'

'O,' quoth Lucretius,' I did give that life
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.'
'Woe, woe,' quoth Collatine, 'she was my wife,
I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.'
'My daughter' and 'my wife' with clamours fill'd
The dispersed air, who, holding Lucrece' life,
Answer'd their cries, 'my daughter' and 'my wife.'

Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side,
Seeing such emulation in their woe,
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride,
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show.
He with the Romans was esteemed so
As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,
For sportive words and uttering foolish things:

But now he throws that shallow habit by,
Wherein deep policy did him disguise;
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,
To cheque the tears in Collatinus' eyes.
'Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth be, 'arise:
Let my unsounded self, supposed a fool,
Now set thy long-experienced wit to school.

'Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?
Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?
Is it revenge to give thyself a blow
For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?
Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds:
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,
To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.

'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart
In such relenting dew of lamentations;
But kneel with me and help to bear thy part,
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations,
That they will suffer these abominations,
Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced,
By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased.

'Now, by the Capitol that we adore,
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd,
By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's
store,
By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd,
And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complain'd
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,
We will revenge the death of this true wife.'

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast,
And kiss'd the fatal knife, to end his vow;
And to his protestation urged the rest,
Who, wondering at him, did his words allow:
Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow;
And that deep vow, which Brutus made before,
He doth again repeat, and that they swore.

When they had sworn to this advised doom,
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome,
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence:
Which being done with speedy diligence,
The Romans plausibly did give consent
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.




	KING RICHARD II


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING RICHARD	the Second. (KING RICHARD II:)


JOHN OF GAUNT	Duke of Lancaster		|
			|  uncles to the King.
EDMUND OF LANGLEY	Duke of York  (DUKE OF YORK:)	|


HENRY, surnamed
BOLINGBROKE	(HENRY BOLINGBROKE:)  Duke of Hereford,
	son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	son to the Duke of York.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Duke of Norfolk.

DUKE OF SURREY:

EARL OF SALISBURY:

LORD BERKELEY:


BUSHY	|
	|
BAGOT	|  servants to King Richard.
	|
GREEN	|


EARL
OF NORTHUMBERLAND	(NORTHUMBERLAND:)

HENRY PERCY,
surnamed HOTSPUR	his son. (HENRY PERCY:)

LORD ROSS:

LORD WILLOUGHBY:

LORD FITZWATER:

BISHOP OF CARLISLE:

Abbot Of
Westminster	(Abbot:)

LORD MARSHAL	(Lord Marshal:)

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:

SIR
PIERCE OF EXTON	(EXTON:)

	Captain of a band of Welshmen. (Captain:)

QUEEN
to King Richard	(QUEEN:)

DUCHESS OF YORK	(DUCHESS OF YORK:)

DUCHESS
OF GLOUCESTER	(DUCHESS:)

	Lady attending on the Queen. (Lady:)

	Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners,
	Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. (Lord:)
	(First Herald:)
	(Second Herald:)
	(Gardener:)
	(Keeper:)
	(Groom:)
	(Servant:)


SCENE	England and Wales.




	KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE I	London. KING RICHARD II's palace.


	[Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other
	Nobles and Attendants]

KING RICHARD II	Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
	Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,
	Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son,
	Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
	Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
	Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

JOHN OF GAUNT	I have, my liege.

KING RICHARD II	Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
	If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
	Or worthily, as a good subject should,
	On some known ground of treachery in him?

JOHN OF GAUNT	As near as I could sift him on that argument,
	On some apparent danger seen in him
	Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice.

KING RICHARD II	Then call them to our presence; face to face,
	And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
	The accuser and the accused freely speak:
	High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
	In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

	[Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Many years of happy days befal
	My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Each day still better other's happiness;
	Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
	Add an immortal title to your crown!

KING RICHARD II	We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,
	As well appeareth by the cause you come;
	Namely to appeal each other of high treason.
	Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
	Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	First, heaven be the record to my speech!
	In the devotion of a subject's love,
	Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
	And free from other misbegotten hate,
	Come I appellant to this princely presence.
	Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
	And mark my greeting well; for what I speak
	My body shall make good upon this earth,
	Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
	Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,
	Too good to be so and too bad to live,
	Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
	The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
	Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
	With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
	And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,
	What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:
	'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
	The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
	Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;
	The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this:
	Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
	As to be hush'd and nought at all to say:
	First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
	From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
	Which else would post until it had return'd
	These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
	Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
	And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
	I do defy him, and I spit at him;
	Call him a slanderous coward and a villain:
	Which to maintain I would allow him odds,
	And meet him, were I tied to run afoot
	Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
	Or any other ground inhabitable,
	Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
	Mean time let this defend my loyalty,
	By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
	Disclaiming here the kindred of the king,
	And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
	Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
	If guilty dread have left thee so much strength
	As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop:
	By that and all the rites of knighthood else,
	Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
	What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	I take it up; and by that sword I swear
	Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
	I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
	Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
	And when I mount, alive may I not light,
	If I be traitor or unjustly fight!

KING RICHARD II	What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?
	It must be great that can inherit us
	So much as of a thought of ill in him.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true;
	That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles
	In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,
	The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
	Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
	Besides I say and will in battle prove,
	Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
	That ever was survey'd by English eye,
	That all the treasons for these eighteen years
	Complotted and contrived in this land
	Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
	Further I say and further will maintain
	Upon his bad life to make all this good,
	That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,
	Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,
	And consequently, like a traitor coward,
	Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood:
	Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
	Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
	To me for justice and rough chastisement;
	And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
	This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

KING RICHARD II	How high a pitch his resolution soars!
	Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?

THOMAS MOWBRAY	O, let my sovereign turn away his face
	And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
	Till I have told this slander of his blood,
	How God and good men hate so foul a liar.

KING RICHARD II	Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:
	Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
	As he is but my father's brother's son,
	Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow,
	Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
	Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
	The unstooping firmness of my upright soul:
	He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:
	Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
	Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.
	Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais
	Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;
	The other part reserved I by consent,
	For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
	Upon remainder of a dear account,
	Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:
	Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death,
	I slew him not; but to my own disgrace
	Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
	For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
	The honourable father to my foe
	Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
	A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul
	But ere I last received the sacrament
	I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
	Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.
	This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd,
	It issues from the rancour of a villain,
	A recreant and most degenerate traitor
	Which in myself I boldly will defend;
	And interchangeably hurl down my gage
	Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
	To prove myself a loyal gentleman
	Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.
	In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
	Your highness to assign our trial day.

KING RICHARD II	Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me;
	Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
	This we prescribe, though no physician;
	Deep malice makes too deep incision;
	Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed;
	Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
	Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
	We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.

JOHN OF GAUNT	To be a make-peace shall become my age:
	Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

KING RICHARD II	And, Norfolk, throw down his.

JOHN OF GAUNT	When, Harry, when?
	Obedience bids I should not bid again.

KING RICHARD II	Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
	My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
	The one my duty owes; but my fair name,
	Despite of death that lives upon my grave,
	To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
	I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here,
	Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear,
	The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
	Which breathed this poison.

KING RICHARD II	Rage must be withstood:
	Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame.
	And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,
	The purest treasure mortal times afford
	Is spotless reputation: that away,
	Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
	A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
	Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
	Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:
	Take honour from me, and my life is done:
	Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
	In that I live and for that will I die.

KING RICHARD II	Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!
	Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight?
	Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
	Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue
	Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong,
	Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
	The slavish motive of recanting fear,
	And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,
	Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.

	[Exit JOHN OF GAUNT]

KING RICHARD II	We were not born to sue, but to command;
	Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
	Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
	At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day:
	There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
	The swelling difference of your settled hate:
	Since we can not atone you, we shall see
	Justice design the victor's chivalry.
	Lord marshal, command our officers at arms
	Be ready to direct these home alarms.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE II	The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace.


	[Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with DUCHESS]

JOHN OF GAUNT	Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood
	Doth more solicit me than your exclaims,
	To stir against the butchers of his life!
	But since correction lieth in those hands
	Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
	Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;
	Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,
	Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

DUCHESS	Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
	Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
	Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
	Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,
	Or seven fair branches springing from one root:
	Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
	Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;
	But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,
	One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,
	One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
	Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt,
	Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
	By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.
	Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb,
	That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee
	Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,
	Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent
	In some large measure to thy father's death,
	In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
	Who was the model of thy father's life.
	Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair:
	In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
	Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,
	Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
	That which in mean men we intitle patience
	Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
	What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,
	The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death.

JOHN OF GAUNT	God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,
	His deputy anointed in His sight,
	Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully,
	Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
	An angry arm against His minister.

DUCHESS	Where then, alas, may I complain myself?

JOHN OF GAUNT	To God, the widow's champion and defence.

DUCHESS	Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
	Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold
	Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:
	O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
	That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
	Or, if misfortune miss the first career,
	Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,
	They may break his foaming courser's back,
	And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
	A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!
	Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife
	With her companion grief must end her life.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry:
	As much good stay with thee as go with me!

DUCHESS	Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls,
	Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:
	I take my leave before I have begun,
	For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
	Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.
	Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so;
	Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
	I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?--
	With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
	Alack, and what shall good old York there see
	But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,
	Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
	And what hear there for welcome but my groans?
	Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
	To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.
	Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die:
	The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE III	The lists at Coventry.


	[Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE]

Lord Marshal	My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.

Lord Marshal	The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,
	Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay
	For nothing but his majesty's approach.

	[The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD enters with
	his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and
	others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in
	arms, defendant, with a Herald]

KING RICHARD II	Marshal, demand of yonder champion
	The cause of his arrival here in arms:
	Ask him his name and orderly proceed
	To swear him in the justice of his cause.

Lord Marshal	In God's name and the king's, say who thou art
	And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,
	Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel:
	Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath;
	As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!

THOMAS MOWBRAY	My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;
	Who hither come engaged by my oath--
	Which God defend a knight should violate!--
	Both to defend my loyalty and truth
	To God, my king and my succeeding issue,
	Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me
	And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
	To prove him, in defending of myself,
	A traitor to my God, my king, and me:
	And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

	[The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE,
	appellant, in armour, with a Herald]

KING RICHARD II	Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
	Both who he is and why he cometh hither
	Thus plated in habiliments of war,
	And formally, according to our law,
	Depose him in the justice of his cause.

Lord Marshal	What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither,
	Before King Richard in his royal lists?
	Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?
	Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby
	Am I; who ready here do stand in arms,
	To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour,
	In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
	That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,
	To God of heaven, King Richard and to me;
	And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

Lord Marshal	On pain of death, no person be so bold
	Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,
	Except the marshal and such officers
	Appointed to direct these fair designs.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand,
	And bow my knee before his majesty:
	For Mowbray and myself are like two men
	That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
	Then let us take a ceremonious leave
	And loving farewell of our several friends.

Lord Marshal	The appellant in all duty greets your highness,
	And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

KING RICHARD II	We will descend and fold him in our arms.
	Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
	So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
	Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,
	Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	O let no noble eye profane a tear
	For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear:
	As confident as is the falcon's flight
	Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
	My loving lord, I take my leave of you;
	Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;
	Not sick, although I have to do with death,
	But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
	Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
	The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:
	O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
	Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
	Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up
	To reach at victory above my head,
	Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers;
	And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,
	That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,
	And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt,
	Even in the lusty havior of his son.

JOHN OF GAUNT	God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
	Be swift like lightning in the execution;
	And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
	Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
	Of thy adverse pernicious enemy:
	Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive!

THOMAS MOWBRAY	However God or fortune cast my lot,
	There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne,
	A loyal, just and upright gentleman:
	Never did captive with a freer heart
	Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace
	His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
	More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
	This feast of battle with mine adversary.
	Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,
	Take from my mouth the wish of happy years:
	As gentle and as jocund as to jest
	Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.

KING RICHARD II	Farewell, my lord: securely I espy
	Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
	Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

Lord Marshal	Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
	Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.

Lord Marshal	Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.

First Herald	Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
	Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself,
	On pain to be found false and recreant,
	To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
	A traitor to his God, his king and him;
	And dares him to set forward to the fight.

Second Herald	Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
	On pain to be found false and recreant,
	Both to defend himself and to approve
	Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
	To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal;
	Courageously and with a free desire
	Attending but the signal to begin.

Lord Marshal	Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants.

	[A charge sounded]

	Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.

KING RICHARD II	Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
	And both return back to their chairs again:
	Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound
	While we return these dukes what we decree.

	[A long flourish]

	Draw near,
	And list what with our council we have done.
	For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd
	With that dear blood which it hath fostered;
	And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
	Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword;
	And for we think the eagle-winged pride
	Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
	With rival-hating envy, set on you
	To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
	Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
	Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums,
	With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
	And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
	Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace
	And make us wade even in our kindred's blood,
	Therefore, we banish you our territories:
	You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,
	Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields
	Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
	But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Your will be done: this must my comfort be,
	Sun that warms you here shall shine on me;
	And those his golden beams to you here lent
	Shall point on me and gild my banishment.

KING RICHARD II	Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
	Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
	The sly slow hours shall not determinate
	The dateless limit of thy dear exile;
	The hopeless word of 'never to return'
	Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
	And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:
	A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
	As to be cast forth in the common air,
	Have I deserved at your highness' hands.
	The language I have learn'd these forty years,
	My native English, now I must forego:
	And now my tongue's use is to me no more
	Than an unstringed viol or a harp,
	Or like a cunning instrument cased up,
	Or, being open, put into his hands
	That knows no touch to tune the harmony:
	Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,
	Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips;
	And dull unfeeling barren ignorance
	Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
	I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
	Too far in years to be a pupil now:
	What is thy sentence then but speechless death,
	Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

KING RICHARD II	It boots thee not to be compassionate:
	After our sentence plaining comes too late.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	Then thus I turn me from my country's light,
	To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.

KING RICHARD II	Return again, and take an oath with thee.
	Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
	Swear by the duty that you owe to God--
	Our part therein we banish with yourselves--
	To keep the oath that we administer:
	You never shall, so help you truth and God!
	Embrace each other's love in banishment;
	Nor never look upon each other's face;
	Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
	This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;
	Nor never by advised purpose meet
	To plot, contrive, or complot any ill
	'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I swear.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	And I, to keep all this.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:--
	By this time, had the king permitted us,
	One of our souls had wander'd in the air.
	Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
	As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:
	Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;
	Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
	The clogging burthen of a guilty soul.

THOMAS MOWBRAY	No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor,
	My name be blotted from the book of life,
	And I from heaven banish'd as from hence!
	But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know;
	And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.
	Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;
	Save back to England, all the world's my way.

	[Exit]

KING RICHARD II	Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
	I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect
	Hath from the number of his banish'd years
	Pluck'd four away.

	[To HENRY BOLINGBROKE]

	Six frozen winter spent,
	Return with welcome home from banishment.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	How long a time lies in one little word!
	Four lagging winters and four wanton springs
	End in a word: such is the breath of kings.

JOHN OF GAUNT	I thank my liege, that in regard of me
	He shortens four years of my son's exile:
	But little vantage shall I reap thereby;
	For, ere the six years that he hath to spend
	Can change their moons and bring their times about
	My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light
	Shall be extinct with age and endless night;
	My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
	And blindfold death not let me see my son.

KING RICHARD II	Why uncle, thou hast many years to live.

JOHN OF GAUNT	But not a minute, king, that thou canst give:
	Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
	And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;
	Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
	But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
	Thy word is current with him for my death,
	But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

KING RICHARD II	Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,
	Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave:
	Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour?

JOHN OF GAUNT	Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
	You urged me as a judge; but I had rather
	You would have bid me argue like a father.
	O, had it been a stranger, not my child,
	To smooth his fault I should have been more mild:
	A partial slander sought I to avoid,
	And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.
	Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
	I was too strict to make mine own away;
	But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
	Against my will to do myself this wrong.

KING RICHARD II	Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so:
	Six years we banish him, and he shall go.

	[Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train]

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know,
	From where you do remain let paper show.

Lord Marshal	My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,
	As far as land will let me, by your side.

JOHN OF GAUNT	O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
	That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I have too few to take my leave of you,
	When the tongue's office should be prodigal
	To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Joy absent, grief is present for that time.

JOHN OF GAUNT	What is six winters? they are quickly gone.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
	Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.

JOHN OF GAUNT	The sullen passage of thy weary steps
	Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set
	The precious jewel of thy home return.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
	Will but remember me what a deal of world
	I wander from the jewels that I love.
	Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
	To foreign passages, and in the end,
	Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
	But that I was a journeyman to grief?

JOHN OF GAUNT	All places that the eye of heaven visits
	Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
	Teach thy necessity to reason thus;
	There is no virtue like necessity.
	Think not the king did banish thee,
	But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit,
	Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
	Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour
	And not the king exiled thee; or suppose
	Devouring pestilence hangs in our air
	And thou art flying to a fresher clime:
	Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
	To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest:
	Suppose the singing birds musicians,
	The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd,
	The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more
	Than a delightful measure or a dance;
	For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
	The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	O, who can hold a fire in his hand
	By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
	Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
	By bare imagination of a feast?
	Or wallow naked in December snow
	By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
	O, no! the apprehension of the good
	Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
	Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more
	Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way:
	Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;
	My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!
	Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,
	Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT I



SCENE IV	The court.


	[Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and GREEN at one
	door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another]

KING RICHARD II	We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,
	How far brought you high Hereford on his way?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
	But to the next highway, and there I left him.

KING RICHARD II	And say, what store of parting tears were shed?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,
	Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
	Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
	Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

KING RICHARD II	What said our cousin when you parted with him?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	'Farewell:'
	And, for my heart disdained that my tongue
	Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
	To counterfeit oppression of such grief
	That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
	Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours
	And added years to his short banishment,
	He should have had a volume of farewells;
	But since it would not, he had none of me.

KING RICHARD II	He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
	When time shall call him home from banishment,
	Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
	Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green
	Observed his courtship to the common people;
	How he did seem to dive into their hearts
	With humble and familiar courtesy,
	What reverence he did throw away on slaves,
	Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles
	And patient underbearing of his fortune,
	As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
	Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
	A brace of draymen bid God speed him well
	And had the tribute of his supple knee,
	With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;'
	As were our England in reversion his,
	And he our subjects' next degree in hope.

GREEN	Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts.
	Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,
	Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
	Ere further leisure yield them further means
	For their advantage and your highness' loss.

KING RICHARD II	We will ourself in person to this war:
	And, for our coffers, with too great a court
	And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
	We are inforced to farm our royal realm;
	The revenue whereof shall furnish us
	For our affairs in hand: if that come short,
	Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;
	Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
	They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold
	And send them after to supply our wants;
	For we will make for Ireland presently.

	[Enter BUSHY]

	Bushy, what news?

BUSHY	Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,
	Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste
	To entreat your majesty to visit him.

KING RICHARD II	Where lies he?

BUSHY	At Ely House.

KING RICHARD II	Now put it, God, in the physician's mind
	To help him to his grave immediately!
	The lining of his coffers shall make coats
	To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.
	Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him:
	Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!

All	Amen.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE I	Ely House.


	[Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK,
	&c]

JOHN OF GAUNT	Will the king come, that I may breathe my last
	In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?

DUKE OF YORK	Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;
	For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

JOHN OF GAUNT	O, but they say the tongues of dying men
	Enforce attention like deep harmony:
	Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain,
	For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
	He that no more must say is listen'd more
	Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;
	More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before:
	The setting sun, and music at the close,
	As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
	Writ in remembrance more than things long past:
	Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
	My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

DUKE OF YORK	No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,
	As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond,
	Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound
	The open ear of youth doth always listen;
	Report of fashions in proud Italy,
	Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
	Limps after in base imitation.
	Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity--
	So it be new, there's no respect how vile--
	That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?
	Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
	Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
	Direct not him whose way himself will choose:
	'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Methinks I am a prophet new inspired
	And thus expiring do foretell of him:
	His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
	For violent fires soon burn out themselves;
	Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;
	He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;
	With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:
	Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
	Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
	This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
	This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
	This other Eden, demi-paradise,
	This fortress built by Nature for herself
	Against infection and the hand of war,
	This happy breed of men, this little world,
	This precious stone set in the silver sea,
	Which serves it in the office of a wall,
	Or as a moat defensive to a house,
	Against the envy of less happier lands,
	This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
	This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
	Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth,
	Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
	For Christian service and true chivalry,
	As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
	Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son,
	This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
	Dear for her reputation through the world,
	Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it,
	Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
	England, bound in with the triumphant sea
	Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
	Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
	With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:
	That England, that was wont to conquer others,
	Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
	Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
	How happy then were my ensuing death!

	[Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE,
	BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD
	WILLOUGHBY]

DUKE OF YORK	The king is come: deal mildly with his youth;
	For young hot colts being raged do rage the more.

QUEEN	How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?

KING RICHARD II	What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt?

JOHN OF GAUNT	O how that name befits my composition!
	Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old:
	Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;
	And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?
	For sleeping England long time have I watch'd;
	Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt:
	The pleasure that some fathers feed upon,
	Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks;
	And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt:
	Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
	Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.

KING RICHARD II	Can sick men play so nicely with their names?

JOHN OF GAUNT	No, misery makes sport to mock itself:
	Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
	I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.

KING RICHARD II	Should dying men flatter with those that live?

JOHN OF GAUNT	No, no, men living flatter those that die.

KING RICHARD II	Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me.

JOHN OF GAUNT	O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.

KING RICHARD II	I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

JOHN OF GAUNT	Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;
	Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
	Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land
	Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;
	And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
	Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure
	Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
	A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
	Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;
	And yet, incaged in so small a verge,
	The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
	O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye
	Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,
	From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,
	Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd,
	Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.
	Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,
	It were a shame to let this land by lease;
	But for thy world enjoying but this land,
	Is it not more than shame to shame it so?
	Landlord of England art thou now, not king:
	Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou--

KING RICHARD II	         A lunatic lean-witted fool,
	Presuming on an ague's privilege,
	Darest with thy frozen admonition
	Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood
	With fury from his native residence.
	Now, by my seat's right royal majesty,
	Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
	This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head
	Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.

JOHN OF GAUNT	O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son,
	For that I was his father Edward's son;
	That blood already, like the pelican,
	Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused:
	My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul,
	Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls!
	May be a precedent and witness good
	That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood:
	Join with the present sickness that I have;
	And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
	To crop at once a too long wither'd flower.
	Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
	These words hereafter thy tormentors be!
	Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
	Love they to live that love and honour have.

	[Exit, borne off by his Attendants]

KING RICHARD II	And let them die that age and sullens have;
	For both hast thou, and both become the grave.

DUKE OF YORK	I do beseech your majesty, impute his words
	To wayward sickliness and age in him:
	He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
	As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.

KING RICHARD II	Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his;
	As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

	[Enter NORTHUMBERLAND]

NORTHUMBERLAND	My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.

KING RICHARD II	What says he?

NORTHUMBERLAND	                  Nay, nothing; all is said
	His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
	Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

DUKE OF YORK	Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!
	Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

KING RICHARD II	The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;
	His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.
	So much for that. Now for our Irish wars:
	We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,
	Which live like venom where no venom else
	But only they have privilege to live.
	And for these great affairs do ask some charge,
	Towards our assistance we do seize to us
	The plate, corn, revenues and moveables,
	Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.

DUKE OF YORK	How long shall I be patient? ah, how long
	Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
	Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment
	Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
	Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
	About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
	Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
	Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
	I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
	Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first:
	In war was never lion raged more fierce,
	In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
	Than was that young and princely gentleman.
	His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
	Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;
	But when he frown'd, it was against the French
	And not against his friends; his noble hand
	Did will what he did spend and spent not that
	Which his triumphant father's hand had won;
	His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,
	But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
	O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
	Or else he never would compare between.

KING RICHARD II	Why, uncle, what's the matter?

DUKE OF YORK	O my liege,
	Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased
	Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
	Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands
	The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
	Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live?
	Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true?
	Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
	Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
	Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time
	His charters and his customary rights;
	Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;
	Be not thyself; for how art thou a king
	But by fair sequence and succession?
	Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!--
	If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,
	Call in the letters patent that he hath
	By his attorneys-general to sue
	His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,
	You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
	You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts
	And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts
	Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

KING RICHARD II	Think what you will, we seize into our hands
	His plate, his goods, his money and his lands.

DUKE OF YORK	I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell:
	What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell;
	But by bad courses may be understood
	That their events can never fall out good.

	[Exit]

KING RICHARD II	Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight:
	Bid him repair to us to Ely House
	To see this business. To-morrow next
	We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow:
	And we create, in absence of ourself,
	Our uncle York lord governor of England;
	For he is just and always loved us well.
	Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
	Be merry, for our time of stay is short

	[Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN, DUKE OF
	AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT]

NORTHUMBERLAND	Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

LORD ROSS	And living too; for now his son is duke.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	Barely in title, not in revenue.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Richly in both, if justice had her right.

LORD ROSS	My heart is great; but it must break with silence,
	Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more
	That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!

LORD WILLOUGHBY	Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?
	If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
	Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.

LORD ROSS	No good at all that I can do for him;
	Unless you call it good to pity him,
	Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne
	In him, a royal prince, and many moe
	Of noble blood in this declining land.
	The king is not himself, but basely led
	By flatterers; and what they will inform,
	Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
	That will the king severely prosecute
	'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

LORD ROSS	The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes,
	And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined
	For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	And daily new exactions are devised,
	As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what:
	But what, o' God's name, doth become of this?

NORTHUMBERLAND	Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not,
	But basely yielded upon compromise
	That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows:
	More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.

LORD ROSS	The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.

LORD ROSS	He hath not money for these Irish wars,
	His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,
	But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.

NORTHUMBERLAND	His noble kinsman: most degenerate king!
	But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
	Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm;
	We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
	And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

LORD ROSS	We see the very wreck that we must suffer;
	And unavoided is the danger now,
	For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death
	I spy life peering; but I dare not say
	How near the tidings of our comfort is.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.

LORD ROSS	Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
	We three are but thyself; and, speaking so,
	Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay
	In Brittany, received intelligence
	That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,
	[                                               ]
	That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
	His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
	Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,
	Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint,
	All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne
	With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
	Are making hither with all due expedience
	And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
	Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay
	The first departing of the king for Ireland.
	If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
	Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
	Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
	Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt
	And make high majesty look like itself,
	Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;
	But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
	Stay and be secret, and myself will go.

LORD ROSS	To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE II	The palace.


	[Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT]

BUSHY	Madam, your majesty is too much sad:
	You promised, when you parted with the king,
	To lay aside life-harming heaviness
	And entertain a cheerful disposition.

QUEEN	To please the king I did; to please myself
	I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
	Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
	Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
	As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks,
	Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
	Is coming towards me, and my inward soul
	With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves,
	More than with parting from my lord the king.

BUSHY	Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
	Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;
	For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
	Divides one thing entire to many objects;
	Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon
	Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry
	Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
	Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
	Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
	Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
	Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
	More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen;
	Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
	Which for things true weeps things imaginary.

QUEEN	It may be so; but yet my inward soul
	Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be,
	I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad
	As, though on thinking on no thought I think,
	Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

BUSHY	'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

QUEEN	'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived
	From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
	For nothing had begot my something grief;
	Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:
	'Tis in reversion that I do possess;
	But what it is, that is not yet known; what
	I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

	[Enter GREEN]

GREEN	God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
	I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.

QUEEN	Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is;
	For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope:
	Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?

GREEN	That he, our hope, might have retired his power,
	And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
	Who strongly hath set footing in this land:
	The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
	And with uplifted arms is safe arrived
	At Ravenspurgh.

QUEEN	                  Now God in heaven forbid!

GREEN	Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse,
	The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,
	The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
	With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

BUSHY	Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland
	And all the rest revolted faction traitors?

GREEN	We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester
	Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
	And all the household servants fled with him
	To Bolingbroke.

QUEEN	So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,
	And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
	Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,
	And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
	Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.

BUSHY	Despair not, madam.

QUEEN	Who shall hinder me?
	I will despair, and be at enmity
	With cozening hope: he is a flatterer,
	A parasite, a keeper back of death,
	Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
	Which false hope lingers in extremity.

	[Enter DUKE OF YORK]

GREEN	Here comes the Duke of York.

QUEEN	With signs of war about his aged neck:
	O, full of careful business are his looks!
	Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words.

DUKE OF YORK	Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts:
	Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth,
	Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief.
	Your husband, he is gone to save far off,
	Whilst others come to make him lose at home:
	Here am I left to underprop his land,
	Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:
	Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
	Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.

	[Enter a Servant]

Servant	My lord, your son was gone before I came.

DUKE OF YORK	He was? Why, so! go all which way it will!
	The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold,
	And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
	Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;
	Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:
	Hold, take my ring.

Servant	My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,
	To-day, as I came by, I called there;
	But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

DUKE OF YORK	What is't, knave?

Servant	An hour before I came, the duchess died.

DUKE OF YORK	God for his mercy! what a tide of woes
	Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
	I know not what to do: I would to God,
	So my untruth had not provoked him to it,
	The king had cut off my head with my brother's.
	What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland?
	How shall we do for money for these wars?
	Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me.
	Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts
	And bring away the armour that is there.

	[Exit Servant]

	Gentlemen, will you go muster men?
	If I know how or which way to order these affairs
	Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
	Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen:
	The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
	And duty bids defend; the other again
	Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd,
	Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
	Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll
	Dispose of you.
	Gentlemen, go, muster up your men,
	And meet me presently at Berkeley.
	I should to Plashy too;
	But time will not permit: all is uneven,
	And every thing is left at six and seven.

	[Exeunt DUKE OF YORK and QUEEN]

BUSHY	The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,
	But none returns. For us to levy power
	Proportionable to the enemy
	Is all unpossible.

GREEN	Besides, our nearness to the king in love
	Is near the hate of those love not the king.

BAGOT	And that's the wavering commons: for their love
	Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them
	By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

BUSHY	Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd.

BAGOT	If judgement lie in them, then so do we,
	Because we ever have been near the king.

GREEN	Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle:
	The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

BUSHY	Thither will I with you; for little office
	The hateful commons will perform for us,
	Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
	Will you go along with us?

BAGOT	No; I will to Ireland to his majesty.
	Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain,
	We three here art that ne'er shall meet again.

BUSHY	That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

GREEN	Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes
	Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry:
	Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
	Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.

BUSHY	Well, we may meet again.

BAGOT	I fear me, never.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE III	Wilds in Gloucestershire.


	[Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

NORTHUMBERLAND	Believe me, noble lord,
	I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire:
	These high wild hills and rough uneven ways
	Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome,
	And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
	Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
	But I bethink me what a weary way
	From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found
	In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,
	Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled
	The tediousness and process of my travel:
	But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have
	The present benefit which I possess;
	And hope to joy is little less in joy
	Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords
	Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done
	By sight of what I have, your noble company.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Of much less value is my company
	Than your good words. But who comes here?

	[Enter HENRY PERCY]

NORTHUMBERLAND	It is my son, young Harry Percy,
	Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.
	Harry, how fares your uncle?

HENRY PERCY	I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Why, is he not with the queen?

HENRY PERCY	No, my good Lord; he hath forsook the court,
	Broken his staff of office and dispersed
	The household of the king.

NORTHUMBERLAND	What was his reason?
	He was not so resolved when last we spake together.

HENRY PERCY	Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.
	But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,
	To offer service to the Duke of Hereford,
	And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover
	What power the Duke of York had levied there;
	Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?

HENRY PERCY	No, my good lord, for that is not forgot
	Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge,
	I never in my life did look on him.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Then learn to know him now; this is the duke.

HENRY PERCY	My gracious lord, I tender you my service,
	Such as it is, being tender, raw and young:
	Which elder days shall ripen and confirm
	To more approved service and desert.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure
	I count myself in nothing else so happy
	As in a soul remembering my good friends;
	And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,
	It shall be still thy true love's recompense:
	My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.

NORTHUMBERLAND	How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir
	Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

HENRY PERCY	There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,
	Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard;
	And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour;
	None else of name and noble estimate.

	[Enter LORD ROSS and LORD WILLOUGHBY]

NORTHUMBERLAND	Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,
	Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues
	A banish'd traitor: all my treasury
	Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd
	Shall be your love and labour's recompense.

LORD ROSS	Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;
	Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
	Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

	[Enter LORD BERKELEY]

NORTHUMBERLAND	It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.

LORD BERKELEY	My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My lord, my answer is--to Lancaster;
	And I am come to seek that name in England;
	And I must find that title in your tongue,
	Before I make reply to aught you say.

LORD BERKELEY	Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning
	To raze one title of your honour out:
	To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,
	From the most gracious regent of this land,
	The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on
	To take advantage of the absent time
	And fright our native peace with self-born arms.

	[Enter DUKE OF YORK attended]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I shall not need transport my words by you;
	Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle!

	[Kneels]

DUKE OF YORK	Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
	Whose duty is deceiveable and false.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My gracious uncle--

DUKE OF YORK	Tut, tut!
	Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle:
	I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace.'
	In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
	Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
	Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground?
	But then more 'why?' why have they dared to march
	So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,
	Frighting her pale-faced villages with war
	And ostentation of despised arms?
	Comest thou because the anointed king is hence?
	Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
	And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
	Were I but now the lord of such hot youth
	As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself
	Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
	From forth the ranks of many thousand French,
	O, then how quickly should this arm of mine.
	Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee
	And minister correction to thy fault!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My gracious uncle, let me know my fault:
	On what condition stands it and wherein?

DUKE OF YORK	Even in condition of the worst degree,
	In gross rebellion and detested treason:
	Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come
	Before the expiration of thy time,
	In braving arms against thy sovereign.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;
	But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
	And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace
	Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
	You are my father, for methinks in you
	I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father,
	Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
	A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties
	Pluck'd from my arms perforce and given away
	To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
	If that my cousin king be King of England,
	It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.
	You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin;
	Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,
	He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
	To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.
	I am denied to sue my livery here,
	And yet my letters-patents give me leave:
	My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold,
	And these and all are all amiss employ'd.
	What would you have me do? I am a subject,
	And I challenge law: attorneys are denied me;
	And therefore, personally I lay my claim
	To my inheritance of free descent.

NORTHUMBERLAND	The noble duke hath been too much abused.

LORD ROSS	It stands your grace upon to do him right.

LORD WILLOUGHBY	Base men by his endowments are made great.

DUKE OF YORK	My lords of England, let me tell you this:
	I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs
	And laboured all I could to do him right;
	But in this kind to come, in braving arms,
	Be his own carver and cut out his way,
	To find out right with wrong, it may not be;
	And you that do abet him in this kind
	Cherish rebellion and are rebels all.

NORTHUMBERLAND	The noble duke hath sworn his coming is
	But for his own; and for the right of that
	We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;
	And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath!

DUKE OF YORK	Well, well, I see the issue of these arms:
	I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
	Because my power is weak and all ill left:
	But if I could, by Him that gave me life,
	I would attach you all and make you stoop
	Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;
	But since I cannot, be it known to you
	I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;
	Unless you please to enter in the castle
	And there repose you for this night.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	An offer, uncle, that we will accept:
	But we must win your grace to go with us
	To Bristol castle, which they say is held
	By Bushy, Bagot and their complices,
	The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
	Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.

DUKE OF YORK	It may be I will go with you: but yet I'll pause;
	For I am loath to break our country's laws.
	Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are:
	Things past redress are now with me past care.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT II



SCENE IV	A camp in Wales.


	[Enter EARL OF SALISBURY and a Welsh Captain]

Captain	My lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days,
	And hardly kept our countrymen together,
	And yet we hear no tidings from the king;
	Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell.

EARL OF SALISBURY	Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman:
	The king reposeth all his confidence in thee.

Captain	'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay.
	The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd
	And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
	The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth
	And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
	Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap,
	The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,
	The other to enjoy by rage and war:
	These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.
	Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled,
	As well assured Richard their king is dead.

	[Exit]

EARL OF SALISBURY	Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind
	I see thy glory like a shooting star
	Fall to the base earth from the firmament.
	Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
	Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest:
	Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,
	And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

	[Exit]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE I	Bristol. Before the castle.


	[Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, DUKE OF YORK,
	NORTHUMBERLAND, LORD ROSS, HENRY PERCY, LORD
	WILLOUGHBY, with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Bring forth these men.
	Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls--
	Since presently your souls must part your bodies--
	With too much urging your pernicious lives,
	For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood
	From off my hands, here in the view of men
	I will unfold some causes of your deaths.
	You have misled a prince, a royal king,
	A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
	By you unhappied and disfigured clean:
	You have in manner with your sinful hours
	Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him,
	Broke the possession of a royal bed
	And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks
	With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.
	Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,
	Near to the king in blood, and near in love
	Till you did make him misinterpret me,
	Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,
	And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,
	Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
	Whilst you have fed upon my signories,
	Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods,
	From my own windows torn my household coat,
	Razed out my imprese, leaving me no sign,
	Save men's opinions and my living blood,
	To show the world I am a gentleman.
	This and much more, much more than twice all this,
	Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd over
	To execution and the hand of death.

BUSHY	More welcome is the stroke of death to me
	Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.

GREEN	My comfort is that heaven will take our souls
	And plague injustice with the pains of hell.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.

	[Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and others, with the
	prisoners]

	Uncle, you say the queen is at your house;
	For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated:
	Tell her I send to her my kind commends;
	Take special care my greetings be deliver'd.

DUKE OF YORK	A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd
	With letters of your love to her at large.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Thank, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away.
	To fight with Glendower and his complices:
	Awhile to work, and after holiday.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE II	The coast of Wales. A castle in view.


	[Drums; flourish and colours. Enter KING RICHARD
	II, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, DUKE OF AUMERLE, and Soldiers]

KING RICHARD II	Barkloughly castle call they this at hand?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air,
	After your late tossing on the breaking seas?

KING RICHARD II	Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy
	To stand upon my kingdom once again.
	Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
	Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs:
	As a long-parted mother with her child
	Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,
	So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
	And do thee favours with my royal hands.
	Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
	Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
	But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
	And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,
	Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet
	Which with usurping steps do trample thee:
	Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
	And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
	Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder
	Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
	Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
	Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords:
	This earth shall have a feeling and these stones
	Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
	Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you king
	Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
	The means that heaven yields must be embraced,
	And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
	And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse,
	The proffer'd means of succor and redress.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
	Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
	Grows strong and great in substance and in power.

KING RICHARD II	Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not
	That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,
	Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,
	Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen
	In murders and in outrage, boldly here;
	But when from under this terrestrial ball
	He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines
	And darts his light through every guilty hole,
	Then murders, treasons and detested sins,
	The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
	Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
	So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
	Who all this while hath revell'd in the night
	Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,
	Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,
	His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
	Not able to endure the sight of day,
	But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.
	Not all the water in the rough rude sea
	Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;
	The breath of worldly men cannot depose
	The deputy elected by the Lord:
	For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd
	To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
	God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
	A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
	Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.

	[Enter EARL OF SALISBURY]

	Welcome, my lord	how far off lies your power?

EARL OF SALISBURY	Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,
	Than this weak arm: discomfort guides my tongue
	And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
	One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,
	Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth:
	O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
	And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
	To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
	O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy state:
	For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead.
	Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Comfort, my liege; why looks your grace so pale?

KING RICHARD II	But now the blood of twenty thousand men
	Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;
	And, till so much blood thither come again,
	Have I not reason to look pale and dead?
	All souls that will be safe fly from my side,
	For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.

KING RICHARD II	I had forgot myself; am I not king?
	Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.
	Is not the king's name twenty thousand names?
	Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes
	At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,
	Ye favourites of a king: are we not high?
	High be our thoughts: I know my uncle York
	Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?

	[Enter SIR STEPHEN SCROOP]

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	More health and happiness betide my liege
	Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him!

KING RICHARD II	Mine ear is open and my heart prepared;
	The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
	Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care
	And what loss is it to be rid of care?
	Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
	Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
	We'll serve Him too and be his fellow so:
	Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
	They break their faith to God as well as us:
	Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay:
	The worst is death, and death will have his day.

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	Glad am I that your highness is so arm'd
	To bear the tidings of calamity.
	Like an unseasonable stormy day,
	Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
	As if the world were all dissolved to tears,
	So high above his limits swells the rage
	Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
	With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.
	White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
	Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,
	Strive to speak big and clap their female joints
	In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
	The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
	Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
	Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
	Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,
	And all goes worse than I have power to tell.

KING RICHARD II	Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill.
	Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
	What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
	That they have let the dangerous enemy
	Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
	If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it:
	I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.

KING RICHARD II	O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!
	Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
	Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!
	Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!
	Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
	Upon their spotted souls for this offence!

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
	Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate:
	Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
	With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse
	Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound
	And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Where is the duke my father with his power?

KING RICHARD II	No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
	Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
	Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
	Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth,
	Let's choose executors and talk of wills:
	And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
	Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
	Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's,
	And nothing can we call our own but death
	And that small model of the barren earth
	Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
	For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground
	And tell sad stories of the death of kings;
	How some have been deposed; some slain in war,
	Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
	Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd;
	All murder'd: for within the hollow crown
	That rounds the mortal temples of a king
	Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits,
	Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
	Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
	To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks,
	Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
	As if this flesh which walls about our life,
	Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus
	Comes at the last and with a little pin
	Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
	Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood
	With solemn reverence: throw away respect,
	Tradition, form and ceremonious duty,
	For you have but mistook me all this while:
	I live with bread like you, feel want,
	Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,
	How can you say to me, I am a king?

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes,
	But presently prevent the ways to wail.
	To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,
	Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe,
	And so your follies fight against yourself.
	Fear and be slain; no worse can come to fight:
	And fight and die is death destroying death;
	Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	My father hath a power; inquire of him
	And learn to make a body of a limb.

KING RICHARD II	Thou chidest me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come
	To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
	This ague fit of fear is over-blown;
	An easy task it is to win our own.
	Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?
	Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.

SIR STEPHEN SCROOP	Men judge by the complexion of the sky
	The state and inclination of the day:
	So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
	My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
	I play the torturer, by small and small
	To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:
	Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke,
	And all your northern castles yielded up,
	And all your southern gentlemen in arms
	Upon his party.

KING RICHARD II	                  Thou hast said enough.
	Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth

	[To DUKE OF AUMERLE]

	Of that sweet way I was in to despair!
	What say you now? what comfort have we now?
	By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly
	That bids me be of comfort any more.
	Go to Flint castle: there I'll pine away;
	A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.
	That power I have, discharge; and let them go
	To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,
	For I have none: let no man speak again
	To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	My liege, one word.

KING RICHARD II	He does me double wrong
	That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
	Discharge my followers: let them hence away,
	From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE III	Wales. Before Flint castle.


	[Enter, with drum and colours, HENRY BOLINGBROKE,
	DUKE OF YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, Attendants, and forces]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	So that by this intelligence we learn
	The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury
	Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed
	With some few private friends upon this coast.

NORTHUMBERLAND	The news is very fair and good, my lord:
	Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.

DUKE OF YORK	It would beseem the Lord Northumberland
	To say 'King Richard:' alack the heavy day
	When such a sacred king should hide his head.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Your grace mistakes; only to be brief
	Left I his title out.

DUKE OF YORK	The time hath been,
	Would you have been so brief with him, he would
	Have been so brief with you, to shorten you,
	For taking so the head, your whole head's length.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.

DUKE OF YORK	Take not, good cousin, further than you should.
	Lest you mistake the heavens are o'er our heads.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself
	Against their will. But who comes here?

	[Enter HENRY PERCY]

	Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle yield?

HENRY PERCY	The castle royally is mann'd, my lord,
	Against thy entrance.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Royally!
	Why, it contains no king?

HENRY PERCY	Yes, my good lord,
	It doth contain a king; King Richard lies
	Within the limits of yon lime and stone:
	And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
	Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman
	Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.

NORTHUMBERLAND	O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Noble lords,
	Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;
	Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley
	Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:
	Henry Bolingbroke
	On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand
	And sends allegiance and true faith of heart
	To his most royal person, hither come
	Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,
	Provided that my banishment repeal'd
	And lands restored again be freely granted:
	If not, I'll use the advantage of my power
	And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood
	Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen:
	The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
	It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
	The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,
	My stooping duty tenderly shall show.
	Go, signify as much, while here we march
	Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.
	Let's march without the noise of threatening drum,
	That from this castle's tatter'd battlements
	Our fair appointments may be well perused.
	Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
	With no less terror than the elements
	Of fire and water, when their thundering shock
	At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
	Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:
	The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain
	My waters; on the earth, and not on him.
	March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.

	[Parle without, and answer within. Then a flourish.
	Enter on the walls, KING RICHARD II, the BISHOP OF
	CARLISLE, DUKE OF AUMERLE, SIR STEPHEN SCROOP, and
	EARL OF SALISBURY]

	See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,
	As doth the blushing discontented sun
	From out the fiery portal of the east,
	When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
	To dim his glory and to stain the track
	Of his bright passage to the occident.

DUKE OF YORK	Yet looks he like a king: behold, his eye,
	As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth
	Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe,
	That any harm should stain so fair a show!

KING RICHARD II	We are amazed; and thus long have we stood
	To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,

	[To NORTHUMBERLAND]

	Because we thought ourself thy lawful king:
	And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
	To pay their awful duty to our presence?
	If we be not, show us the hand of God
	That hath dismissed us from our stewardship;
	For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
	Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,
	Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.
	And though you think that all, as you have done,
	Have torn their souls by turning them from us,
	And we are barren and bereft of friends;
	Yet know, my master, God omnipotent,
	Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf
	Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike
	Your children yet unborn and unbegot,
	That lift your vassal hands against my head
	And threat the glory of my precious crown.
	Tell Bolingbroke--for yond methinks he stands--
	That every stride he makes upon my land
	Is dangerous treason: he is come to open
	The purple testament of bleeding war;
	But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,
	Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons
	Shall ill become the flower of England's face,
	Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
	To scarlet indignation and bedew
	Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood.

NORTHUMBERLAND	The king of heaven forbid our lord the king
	Should so with civil and uncivil arms
	Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice noble cousin
	Harry Bolingbroke doth humbly kiss thy hand;
	And by the honourable tomb he swears,
	That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones,
	And by the royalties of both your bloods,
	Currents that spring from one most gracious head,
	And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,
	And by the worth and honour of himself,
	Comprising all that may be sworn or said,
	His coming hither hath no further scope
	Than for his lineal royalties and to beg
	Enfranchisement immediate on his knees:
	Which on thy royal party granted once,
	His glittering arms he will commend to rust,
	His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart
	To faithful service of your majesty.
	This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;
	And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him.

KING RICHARD II	Northumberland, say thus the king returns:
	His noble cousin is right welcome hither;
	And all the number of his fair demands
	Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction:
	With all the gracious utterance thou hast
	Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.
	We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,

	[To DUKE OF AUMERLE]

	To look so poorly and to speak so fair?
	Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
	Defiance to the traitor, and so die?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words
	Till time lend friends and friends their helpful swords.

KING RICHARD II	O God, O God! that e'er this tongue of mine,
	That laid the sentence of dread banishment
	On yon proud man, should take it off again
	With words of sooth! O that I were as great
	As is my grief, or lesser than my name!
	Or that I could forget what I have been,
	Or not remember what I must be now!
	Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat,
	Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.

KING RICHARD II	What must the king do now? must he submit?
	The king shall do it: must he be deposed?
	The king shall be contented: must he lose
	The name of king? o' God's name, let it go:
	I'll give my jewels for a set of beads,
	My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,
	My gay apparel for an almsman's gown,
	My figured goblets for a dish of wood,
	My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff,
	My subjects for a pair of carved saints
	And my large kingdom for a little grave,
	A little little grave, an obscure grave;
	Or I'll be buried in the king's highway,
	Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet
	May hourly trample on their sovereign's head;
	For on my heart they tread now whilst I live;
	And buried once, why not upon my head?
	Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin!
	We'll make foul weather with despised tears;
	Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn,
	And make a dearth in this revolting land.
	Or shall we play the wantons with our woes,
	And make some pretty match with shedding tears?
	As thus, to drop them still upon one place,
	Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
	Within the earth; and, therein laid,--there lies
	Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes.
	Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see
	I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.
	Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,
	What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty
	Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?
	You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.

NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord, in the base court he doth attend
	To speak with you; may it please you to come down.

KING RICHARD II	Down, down I come; like glistering Phaethon,
	Wanting the manage of unruly jades.
	In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,
	To come at traitors' calls and do them grace.
	In the base court? Come down? Down, court!
	down, king!
	For night-owls shriek where mounting larks
	should sing.

	[Exeunt from above]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	What says his majesty?

NORTHUMBERLAND	Sorrow and grief of heart
	Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man
	Yet he is come.

	[Enter KING RICHARD and his attendants below]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Stand all apart,
	And show fair duty to his majesty.

	[He kneels down]

	My gracious lord,--

KING RICHARD II	Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee
	To make the base earth proud with kissing it:
	Me rather had my heart might feel your love
	Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy.
	Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,
	Thus high at least, although your knee be low.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.

KING RICHARD II	Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,
	As my true service shall deserve your love.

KING RICHARD II	Well you deserve: they well deserve to have,
	That know the strong'st and surest way to get.
	Uncle, give me your hands: nay, dry your eyes;
	Tears show their love, but want their remedies.
	Cousin, I am too young to be your father,
	Though you are old enough to be my heir.
	What you will have, I'll give, and willing too;
	For do we must what force will have us do.
	Set on towards London, cousin, is it so?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Yea, my good lord.

KING RICHARD II	Then I must not say no.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT III



SCENE IV	LANGLEY. The DUKE OF YORK's garden.


	[Enter the QUEEN and two Ladies]

QUEEN	What sport shall we devise here in this garden,
	To drive away the heavy thought of care?

Lady	Madam, we'll play at bowls.

QUEEN	'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs,
	And that my fortune rubs against the bias.

Lady	Madam, we'll dance.

QUEEN	My legs can keep no measure in delight,
	When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:
	Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport.

Lady	Madam, we'll tell tales.

QUEEN	Of sorrow or of joy?

Lady	Of either, madam.

QUEEN	Of neither, girl:
	For of joy, being altogether wanting,
	It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
	Or if of grief, being altogether had,
	It adds more sorrow to my want of joy:
	For what I have I need not to repeat;
	And what I want it boots not to complain.

Lady	Madam, I'll sing.

QUEEN	'Tis well that thou hast cause
	But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep.

Lady	I could weep, madam, would it do you good.

QUEEN	And I could sing, would weeping do me good,
	And never borrow any tear of thee.

	[Enter a Gardener, and two Servants]

	But stay, here come the gardeners:
	Let's step into the shadow of these trees.
	My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
	They'll talk of state; for every one doth so
	Against a change; woe is forerun with woe.

	[QUEEN and Ladies retire]

Gardener	Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,
	Which, like unruly children, make their sire
	Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight:
	Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
	Go thou, and like an executioner,
	Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays,
	That look too lofty in our commonwealth:
	All must be even in our government.
	You thus employ'd, I will go root away
	The noisome weeds, which without profit suck
	The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

Servant	Why should we in the compass of a pale
	Keep law and form and due proportion,
	Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,
	When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,
	Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,
	Her fruit-trees all upturned, her hedges ruin'd,
	Her knots disorder'd and her wholesome herbs
	Swarming with caterpillars?

Gardener	Hold thy peace:
	He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring
	Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:
	The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
	That seem'd in eating him to hold him up,
	Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke,
	I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

Servant	What, are they dead?

Gardener	They are; and Bolingbroke
	Hath seized the wasteful king. O, what pity is it
	That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land
	As we this garden! We at time of year
	Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees,
	Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,
	With too much riches it confound itself:
	Had he done so to great and growing men,
	They might have lived to bear and he to taste
	Their fruits of duty: superfluous branches
	We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
	Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
	Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.

Servant	What, think you then the king shall be deposed?

Gardener	Depress'd he is already, and deposed
	'Tis doubt he will be: letters came last night
	To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's,
	That tell black tidings.

QUEEN	O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking!

	[Coming forward]

	Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,
	How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?
	What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee
	To make a second fall of cursed man?
	Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?
	Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth,
	Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,
	Camest thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.

Gardener	Pardon me, madam: little joy have I
	To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.
	King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
	Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are weigh'd:
	In your lord's scale is nothing but himself,
	And some few vanities that make him light;
	But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
	Besides himself, are all the English peers,
	And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.
	Post you to London, and you will find it so;
	I speak no more than every one doth know.

QUEEN	Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
	Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
	And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st
	To serve me last, that I may longest keep
	Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go,
	To meet at London London's king in woe.
	What, was I born to this, that my sad look
	Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
	Gardener, for telling me these news of woe,
	Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow.

	[Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies]

GARDENER	Poor queen! so that thy state might be no worse,
	I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
	Here did she fall a tear; here in this place
	I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:
	Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
	In the remembrance of a weeping queen.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT IV



SCENE I	Westminster Hall.


	[Enter, as to the Parliament, HENRY BOLINGBROKE,
	DUKE OF AUMERLE, NORTHUMBERLAND, HENRY PERCY, LORD
	FITZWATER, DUKE OF SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,
	the Abbot Of Westminster, and another Lord, Herald,
	Officers, and BAGOT]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Call forth Bagot.
	Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind;
	What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death,
	Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd
	The bloody office of his timeless end.

BAGOT	Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.

BAGOT	My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue
	Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd.
	In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted,
	I heard you say, 'Is not my arm of length,
	That reacheth from the restful English court
	As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?'
	Amongst much other talk, that very time,
	I heard you say that you had rather refuse
	The offer of an hundred thousand crowns
	Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
	Adding withal how blest this land would be
	In this your cousin's death.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Princes and noble lords,
	What answer shall I make to this base man?
	Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,
	On equal terms to give him chastisement?
	Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd
	With the attainder of his slanderous lips.
	There is my gage, the manual seal of death,
	That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest,
	And will maintain what thou hast said is false
	In thy heart-blood, though being all too base
	To stain the temper of my knightly sword.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Excepting one, I would he were the best
	In all this presence that hath moved me so.

LORD FITZWATER	If that thy valour stand on sympathy,
	There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine:
	By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st,
	I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest it
	That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death.
	If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest;
	And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
	Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Thou darest not, coward, live to see that day.

LORD FITZWATER	Now by my soul, I would it were this hour.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this.

HENRY PERCY	Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true
	In this appeal as thou art all unjust;
	And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,
	To prove it on thee to the extremest point
	Of mortal breathing: seize it, if thou darest.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	An if I do not, may my hands rot off
	And never brandish more revengeful steel
	Over the glittering helmet of my foe!

Lord	I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;
	And spur thee on with full as many lies
	As may be holloa'd in thy treacherous ear
	From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn;
	Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all:
	I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
	To answer twenty thousand such as you.

DUKE OF SURREY	My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
	The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

LORD FITZWATER	'Tis very true: you were in presence then;
	And you can witness with me this is true.

DUKE OF SURREY	As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.

LORD FITZWATER	Surrey, thou liest.

DUKE OF SURREY	Dishonourable boy!
	That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword,
	That it shall render vengeance and revenge
	Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie
	In earth as quiet as thy father's skull:
	In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn;
	Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.

LORD FITZWATER	How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!
	If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
	I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,
	And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies,
	And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,
	To tie thee to my strong correction.
	As I intend to thrive in this new world,
	Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal:
	Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say
	That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
	To execute the noble duke at Calais.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Some honest Christian trust me with a gage
	That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this,
	If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	These differences shall all rest under gage
	Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be,
	And, though mine enemy, restored again
	To all his lands and signories: when he's return'd,
	Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.
	Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
	For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,
	Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross
	Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens:
	And toil'd with works of war, retired himself
	To Italy; and there at Venice gave
	His body to that pleasant country's earth,
	And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
	Under whose colours he had fought so long.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	As surely as I live, my lord.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom
	Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,
	Your differences shall all rest under gage
	Till we assign you to your days of trial.

	[Enter DUKE OF YORK, attended]

DUKE OF YORK	Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee
	From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing soul
	Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields
	To the possession of thy royal hand:
	Ascend his throne, descending now from him;
	And long live Henry, fourth of that name!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	Marry. God forbid!
	Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
	Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
	Would God that any in this noble presence
	Were enough noble to be upright judge
	Of noble Richard! then true noblesse would
	Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
	What subject can give sentence on his king?
	And who sits here that is not Richard's subject?
	Thieves are not judged but they are by to hear,
	Although apparent guilt be seen in them;
	And shall the figure of God's majesty,
	His captain, steward, deputy-elect,
	Anointed, crowned, planted many years,
	Be judged by subject and inferior breath,
	And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,
	That in a Christian climate souls refined
	Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!
	I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
	Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king:
	My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
	Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king:
	And if you crown him, let me prophesy:
	The blood of English shall manure the ground,
	And future ages groan for this foul act;
	Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
	And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars
	Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;
	Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny
	Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
	The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls.
	O, if you raise this house against this house,
	It will the woefullest division prove
	That ever fell upon this cursed earth.
	Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,
	Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe!

NORTHUMBERLAND	Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,
	Of capital treason we arrest you here.
	My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge
	To keep him safely till his day of trial.
	May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Fetch hither Richard, that in common view
	He may surrender; so we shall proceed
	Without suspicion.

DUKE OF YORK	                  I will be his conduct.

	[Exit]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Lords, you that here are under our arrest,
	Procure your sureties for your days of answer.
	Little are we beholding to your love,
	And little look'd for at your helping hands.

	[Re-enter DUKE OF YORK, with KING RICHARD II, and
	Officers bearing the regalia]

KING RICHARD II	Alack, why am I sent for to a king,
	Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
	Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd
	To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs:
	Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me
	To this submission. Yet I well remember
	The favours of these men: were they not mine?
	Did they not sometime cry, 'all hail!' to me?
	So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve,
	Found truth in all but one: I, in twelve thousand, none.
	God save the king! Will no man say amen?
	Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen.
	God save the king! although I be not he;
	And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.
	To do what service am I sent for hither?

DUKE OF YORK	To do that office of thine own good will
	Which tired majesty did make thee offer,
	The resignation of thy state and crown
	To Henry Bolingbroke.

KING RICHARD II	Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown;
	Here cousin:
	On this side my hand, and on that side yours.
	Now is this golden crown like a deep well
	That owes two buckets, filling one another,
	The emptier ever dancing in the air,
	The other down, unseen and full of water:
	That bucket down and full of tears am I,
	Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I thought you had been willing to resign.

KING RICHARD II	My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine:
	You may my glories and my state depose,
	But not my griefs; still am I king of those.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Part of your cares you give me with your crown.

KING RICHARD II	Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.
	My care is loss of care, by old care done;
	Your care is gain of care, by new care won:
	The cares I give I have, though given away;
	They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Are you contented to resign the crown?

KING RICHARD II	Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be;
	Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.
	Now mark me, how I will undo myself;
	I give this heavy weight from off my head
	And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,
	The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
	With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
	With mine own hands I give away my crown,
	With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
	With mine own breath release all duty's rites:
	All pomp and majesty I do forswear;
	My manors, rents, revenues I forego;
	My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny:
	God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!
	God keep all vows unbroke that swear to thee!
	Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved,
	And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved!
	Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
	And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit!
	God save King Harry, unking'd Richard says,
	And send him many years of sunshine days!
	What more remains?

NORTHUMBERLAND	                  No more, but that you read
	These accusations and these grievous crimes
	Committed by your person and your followers
	Against the state and profit of this land;
	That, by confessing them, the souls of men
	May deem that you are worthily deposed.

KING RICHARD II	Must I do so? and must I ravel out
	My weaved-up folly? Gentle Northumberland,
	If thy offences were upon record,
	Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop
	To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,
	There shouldst thou find one heinous article,
	Containing the deposing of a king
	And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
	Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:
	Nay, all of you that stand and look upon,
	Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,
	Though some of you with Pilate wash your hands
	Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
	Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross,
	And water cannot wash away your sin.

NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord, dispatch; read o'er these articles.

KING RICHARD II	Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see:
	And yet salt water blinds them not so much
	But they can see a sort of traitors here.
	Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
	I find myself a traitor with the rest;
	For I have given here my soul's consent
	To undeck the pompous body of a king;
	Made glory base and sovereignty a slave,
	Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.

NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord,--

KING RICHARD II	No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,
	Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,
	No, not that name was given me at the font,
	But 'tis usurp'd: alack the heavy day,
	That I have worn so many winters out,
	And know not now what name to call myself!
	O that I were a mockery king of snow,
	Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
	To melt myself away in water-drops!
	Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good,
	An if my word be sterling yet in England,
	Let it command a mirror hither straight,
	That it may show me what a face I have,
	Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.

	[Exit an attendant]

NORTHUMBERLAND	Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come.

KING RICHARD II	Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I come to hell!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.

NORTHUMBERLAND	The commons will not then be satisfied.

KING RICHARD II	They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough,
	When I do see the very book indeed
	Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.

	[Re-enter Attendant, with a glass]

	Give me the glass, and therein will I read.
	No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck
	So many blows upon this face of mine,
	And made no deeper wounds? O flattering glass,
	Like to my followers in prosperity,
	Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face
	That every day under his household roof
	Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face
	That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?
	Was this the face that faced so many follies,
	And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke?
	A brittle glory shineth in this face:
	As brittle as the glory is the face;

	[Dashes the glass against the ground]

	For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.
	Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,
	How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd
	The shadow or your face.

KING RICHARD II	Say that again.
	The shadow of my sorrow! ha! let's see:
	'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
	And these external manners of laments
	Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
	That swells with silence in the tortured soul;
	There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
	For thy great bounty, that not only givest
	Me cause to wail but teachest me the way
	How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,
	And then be gone and trouble you no more.
	Shall I obtain it?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	                  Name it, fair cousin.

KING RICHARD II	'Fair cousin'? I am greater than a king:
	For when I was a king, my flatterers
	Were then but subjects; being now a subject,
	I have a king here to my flatterer.
	Being so great, I have no need to beg.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Yet ask.

KING RICHARD II	And shall I have?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	You shall.

KING RICHARD II	Then give me leave to go.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Whither?

KING RICHARD II	Whither you will, so I were from your sights.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.

KING RICHARD II	O, good! convey? conveyers are you all,
	That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.

	[Exeunt KING RICHARD II, some Lords, and a Guard]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	On Wednesday next we solemnly set down
	Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.

	[Exeunt all except the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the Abbot
	of Westminster, and DUKE OF AUMERLE]

Abbot	A woeful pageant have we here beheld.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE	The woe's to come; the children yet unborn.
	Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	You holy clergymen, is there no plot
	To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?

Abbot	My lord,
	Before I freely speak my mind herein,
	You shall not only take the sacrament
	To bury mine intents, but also to effect
	Whatever I shall happen to devise.
	I see your brows are full of discontent,
	Your hearts of sorrow and your eyes of tears:
	Come home with me to supper; and I'll lay
	A plot shall show us all a merry day.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE I	London. A street leading to the Tower.


	[Enter QUEEN and Ladies]

QUEEN	This way the king will come; this is the way
	To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower,
	To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
	Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:
	Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
	Have any resting for her true king's queen.

	[Enter KING RICHARD II and Guard]

	But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
	My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold,
	That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
	And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
	Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand,
	Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb,
	And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
	Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodged in thee,
	When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

KING RICHARD II	Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
	To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,
	To think our former state a happy dream;
	From which awaked, the truth of what we are
	Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
	To grim Necessity, and he and I
	Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France
	And cloister thee in some religious house:
	Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
	Which our profane hours here have stricken down.

QUEEN	What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
	Transform'd and weaken'd? hath Bolingbroke deposed
	Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
	The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw,
	And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
	To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
	Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod,
	And fawn on rage with base humility,
	Which art a lion and a king of beasts?

KING RICHARD II	A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts,
	I had been still a happy king of men.
	Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France:
	Think I am dead and that even here thou takest,
	As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.
	In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire
	With good old folks and let them tell thee tales
	Of woeful ages long ago betid;
	And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs,
	Tell thou the lamentable tale of me
	And send the hearers weeping to their beds:
	For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
	The heavy accent of thy moving tongue
	And in compassion weep the fire out;
	And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
	For the deposing of a rightful king.

	[Enter NORTHUMBERLAND and others]

NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed:
	You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.
	And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;
	With all swift speed you must away to France.

KING RICHARD II	Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
	The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,
	The time shall not be many hours of age
	More than it is ere foul sin gathering head
	Shalt break into corruption: thou shalt think,
	Though he divide the realm and give thee half,
	It is too little, helping him to all;
	And he shall think that thou, which know'st the way
	To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
	Being ne'er so little urged, another way
	To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
	The love of wicked men converts to fear;
	That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both
	To worthy danger and deserved death.

NORTHUMBERLAND	My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
	Take leave and part; for you must part forthwith.

KING RICHARD II	Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate
	A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me,
	And then betwixt me and my married wife.
	Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
	And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.
	Part us, Northumberland; I toward the north,
	Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
	My wife to France: from whence, set forth in pomp,
	She came adorned hither like sweet May,
	Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day.

QUEEN	And must we be divided? must we part?

KING RICHARD II	Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

QUEEN	Banish us both and send the king with me.

NORTHUMBERLAND	That were some love but little policy.

QUEEN	Then whither he goes, thither let me go.

KING RICHARD II	So two, together weeping, make one woe.
	Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
	Better far off than near, be ne'er the near.
	Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.

QUEEN	So longest way shall have the longest moans.

KING RICHARD II	Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short,
	And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
	Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,
	Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief;
	One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
	Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.

QUEEN	Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part
	To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
	So, now I have mine own again, be gone,
	That I might strive to kill it with a groan.

KING RICHARD II	We make woe wanton with this fond delay:
	Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE II	The DUKE OF YORK's palace.


	[Enter DUKE OF YORK and DUCHESS OF YORK]

DUCHESS OF YORK	My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
	When weeping made you break the story off,
	of our two cousins coming into London.

DUKE OF YORK	Where did I leave?

DUCHESS OF YORK	                  At that sad stop, my lord,
	Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops
	Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

DUKE OF YORK	Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
	Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed
	Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
	With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
	Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee,
	Bolingbroke!'
	You would have thought the very windows spake,
	So many greedy looks of young and old
	Through casements darted their desiring eyes
	Upon his visage, and that all the walls
	With painted imagery had said at once
	'Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!'
	Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,
	Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,
	Bespake them thus: 'I thank you, countrymen:'
	And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?

DUKE OF YORK	As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
	After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
	Are idly bent on him that enters next,
	Thinking his prattle to be tedious;
	Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
	Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him!'
	No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
	But dust was thrown upon his sacred head:
	Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
	His face still combating with tears and smiles,
	The badges of his grief and patience,
	That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
	The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted
	And barbarism itself have pitied him.
	But heaven hath a hand in these events,
	To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
	To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
	Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Here comes my son Aumerle.

DUKE OF YORK	Aumerle that was;
	But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
	And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
	I am in parliament pledge for his truth
	And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

	[Enter DUKE OF AUMERLE]

DUCHESS OF YORK	Welcome, my son: who are the violets now
	That strew the green lap of the new come spring?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not:
	God knows I had as lief be none as one.

DUKE OF YORK	Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
	Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
	What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	For aught I know, my lord, they do.

DUKE OF YORK	You will be there, I know.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	If God prevent not, I purpose so.

DUKE OF YORK	What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom?
	Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	My lord, 'tis nothing.

DUKE OF YORK	No matter, then, who see it;
	I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	I do beseech your grace to pardon me:
	It is a matter of small consequence,
	Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

DUKE OF YORK	Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
	I fear, I fear,--

DUCHESS OF YORK	                  What should you fear?
	'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
	For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.

DUKE OF YORK	Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond
	That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.
	Boy, let me see the writing.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.

DUKE OF YORK	I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.

	[He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it]

	Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!

DUCHESS OF YORK	What is the matter, my lord?

DUKE OF YORK	Ho! who is within there?

	[Enter a Servant]

		    Saddle my horse.
	God for his mercy, what treachery is here!

DUCHESS OF YORK	Why, what is it, my lord?

DUKE OF YORK	Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.
	Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth,
	I will appeach the villain.

DUCHESS OF YORK	What is the matter?

DUKE OF YORK	Peace, foolish woman.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Good mother, be content; it is no more
	Than my poor life must answer.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Thy life answer!

DUKE OF YORK	Bring me my boots: I will unto the king.

	[Re-enter Servant with boots]

DUCHESS OF YORK	Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed.
	Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.

DUKE OF YORK	Give me my boots, I say.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Why, York, what wilt thou do?
	Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
	Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
	Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
	And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
	And rob me of a happy mother's name?
	Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?

DUKE OF YORK	Thou fond mad woman,
	Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
	A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
	And interchangeably set down their hands,
	To kill the king at Oxford.

DUCHESS OF YORK	He shall be none;
	We'll keep him here: then what is that to him?

DUKE OF YORK	Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
	I would appeach him.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Hadst thou groan'd for him
	As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.
	But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect
	That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
	And that he is a bastard, not thy son:
	Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
	He is as like thee as a man may be,
	Not like to me, or any of my kin,
	And yet I love him.

DUKE OF YORK	Make way, unruly woman!

	[Exit]

DUCHESS OF YORK	After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse;
	Spur post, and get before him to the king,
	And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
	I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
	I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
	And never will I rise up from the ground
	Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone!

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE III	A royal palace.


	[Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, HENRY PERCY, and other Lords]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?
	'Tis full three months since I did see him last;
	If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.
	I would to God, my lords, he might be found:
	Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
	For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
	With unrestrained loose companions,
	Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
	And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
	Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,
	Takes on the point of honour to support
	So dissolute a crew.

HENRY PERCY	My lord, some two days since I saw the prince,
	And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	And what said the gallant?

HENRY PERCY	His answer was, he would unto the stews,
	And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,
	And wear it as a favour; and with that
	He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	As dissolute as desperate; yet through both
	I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years
	May happily bring forth. But who comes here?

	[Enter DUKE OF AUMERLE]

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Where is the king?

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	What means our cousin, that he stares and looks
	So wildly?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty,
	To have some conference with your grace alone.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.

	[Exeunt HENRY PERCY and Lords]

	What is the matter with our cousin now?

DUKE OF AUMERLE	For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
	My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth
	Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Intended or committed was this fault?
	If on the first, how heinous e'er it be,
	To win thy after-love I pardon thee.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Then give me leave that I may turn the key,
	That no man enter till my tale be done.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Have thy desire.

DUKE OF YORK	[Within]  My liege, beware; look to thyself;
	Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Villain, I'll make thee safe.

	[Drawing]

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.

DUKE OF YORK	[Within]  Open the door, secure, foolhardy king:
	Shall I for love speak treason to thy face?
	Open the door, or I will break it open.

	[Enter DUKE OF YORK]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	What is the matter, uncle? speak;
	Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,
	That we may arm us to encounter it.

DUKE OF YORK	Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
	The treason that my haste forbids me show.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd:
	I do repent me; read not my name there
	My heart is not confederate with my hand.

DUKE OF YORK	It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.
	I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king;
	Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:
	Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
	A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	O heinous, strong and bold conspiracy!
	O loyal father of a treacherous son!
	Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain,
	From when this stream through muddy passages
	Hath held his current and defiled himself!
	Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
	And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
	This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

DUKE OF YORK	So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd;
	And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,
	As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
	Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
	Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies:
	Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
	The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.

DUCHESS OF YORK	[Within]  What ho, my liege! for God's sake,
	let me in.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?

DUCHESS OF YORK	A woman, and thy aunt, great king; 'tis I.
	Speak with me, pity me, open the door.
	A beggar begs that never begg'd before.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
	And now changed to 'The Beggar and the King.'
	My dangerous cousin, let your mother in:
	I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.

DUKE OF YORK	If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
	More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.
	This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound;
	This let alone will all the rest confound.

	[Enter DUCHESS OF YORK]

DUCHESS OF YORK	O king, believe not this hard-hearted man!
	Love loving not itself none other can.

DUKE OF YORK	Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?
	Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?

DUCHESS OF YORK	Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.

	[Kneels]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Rise up, good aunt.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Not yet, I thee beseech:
	For ever will I walk upon my knees,
	And never see day that the happy sees,
	Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy,
	By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.

DUKE OF AUMERLE	Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee.

DUKE OF YORK	Against them both my true joints bended be.
	Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!

DUCHESS OF YORK	Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face;
	His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;
	His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast:
	He prays but faintly and would be denied;
	We pray with heart and soul and all beside:
	His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
	Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow:
	His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
	Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
	Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have
	That mercy which true prayer ought to have.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Good aunt, stand up.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Nay, do not say, 'stand up;'
	Say, 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.'
	And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
	'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech.
	I never long'd to hear a word till now;
	Say 'pardon,' king; let pity teach thee how:
	The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
	No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet.

DUKE OF YORK	Speak it in French, king; say, 'pardonne moi.'

DUCHESS OF YORK	Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?
	Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
	That set'st the word itself against the word!
	Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land;
	The chopping French we do not understand.
	Thine eye begins to speak; set thy tongue there;
	Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear;
	That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,
	Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Good aunt, stand up.

DUCHESS OF YORK	I do not sue to stand;
	Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.

DUCHESS OF YORK	O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
	Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again;
	Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain,
	But makes one pardon strong.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	With all my heart
	I pardon him.

DUCHESS OF YORK	                  A god on earth thou art.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	But for our trusty brother-in-law and the abbot,
	With all the rest of that consorted crew,
	Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
	Good uncle, help to order several powers
	To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are:
	They shall not live within this world, I swear,
	But I will have them, if I once know where.
	Uncle, farewell: and, cousin too, adieu:
	Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.

DUCHESS OF YORK	Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE IV	The same.


	[Enter EXTON and Servant]

EXTON	Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake,
	'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?'
	Was it not so?

Servant	                  These were his very words.

EXTON	'Have I no friend?' quoth he: he spake it twice,
	And urged it twice together, did he not?

Servant	He did.

EXTON	And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me,
	And who should say, 'I would thou wert the man'
	That would divorce this terror from my heart;'
	Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go:
	I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE V	Pomfret castle.


	[Enter KING RICHARD]

KING RICHARD II	I have been studying how I may compare
	This prison where I live unto the world:
	And for because the world is populous
	And here is not a creature but myself,
	I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer it out.
	My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,
	My soul the father; and these two beget
	A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
	And these same thoughts people this little world,
	In humours like the people of this world,
	For no thought is contented. The better sort,
	As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
	With scruples and do set the word itself
	Against the word:
	As thus, 'Come, little ones,' and then again,
	'It is as hard to come as for a camel
	To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'
	Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
	Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails
	May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
	Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls,
	And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
	Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves
	That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
	Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars
	Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame,
	That many have and others must sit there;
	And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
	Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
	Of such as have before endured the like.
	Thus play I in one person many people,
	And none contented: sometimes am I king;
	Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,
	And so I am: then crushing penury
	Persuades me I was better when a king;
	Then am I king'd again: and by and by
	Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
	And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be,
	Nor I nor any man that but man is
	With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased
	With being nothing. Music do I hear?

	[Music]

	Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,
	When time is broke and no proportion kept!
	So is it in the music of men's lives.
	And here have I the daintiness of ear
	To cheque time broke in a disorder'd string;
	But for the concord of my state and time
	Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
	I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;
	For now hath time made me his numbering clock:
	My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar
	Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,
	Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
	Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
	Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
	Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart,
	Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans
	Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time
	Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
	While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.
	This music mads me; let it sound no more;
	For though it have holp madmen to their wits,
	In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
	Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
	For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
	Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

	[Enter a Groom of the Stable]

Groom	Hail, royal prince!

KING RICHARD II	Thanks, noble peer;
	The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
	What art thou? and how comest thou hither,
	Where no man never comes but that sad dog
	That brings me food to make misfortune live?

Groom	I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
	When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,
	With much ado at length have gotten leave
	To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.
	O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld
	In London streets, that coronation-day,
	When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary,
	That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,
	That horse that I so carefully have dress'd!

KING RICHARD II	Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,
	How went he under him?

Groom	So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground.

KING RICHARD II	So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!
	That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
	This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
	Would he not stumble? would he not fall down,
	Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck
	Of that proud man that did usurp his back?
	Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
	Since thou, created to be awed by man,
	Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;
	And yet I bear a burthen like an ass,
	Spurr'd, gall'd and tired by jouncing Bolingbroke.

	[Enter Keeper, with a dish]

Keeper	Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.

KING RICHARD II	If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.

Groom	What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.

	[Exit]

Keeper	My lord, will't please you to fall to?

KING RICHARD II	Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.

Keeper	My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, who
	lately came from the king, commands the contrary.

KING RICHARD II	The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!
	Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

	[Beats the keeper]

Keeper	Help, help, help!

	[Enter EXTON and Servants, armed]

KING RICHARD II	How now! what means death in this rude assault?
	Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

	[Snatching an axe from a Servant and killing him]

	Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

	[He kills another. Then Exton strikes him down]

	That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire
	That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand
	Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land.
	Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
	Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

	[Dies]

EXTON	As full of valour as of royal blood:
	Both have I spill'd; O would the deed were good!
	For now the devil, that told me I did well,
	Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
	This dead king to the living king I'll bear
	Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.

	[Exeunt]




	KING RICHARD II


ACT V



SCENE VI	Windsor castle.


	[Flourish. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, DUKE OF YORK,
	with other Lords, and Attendants]

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
	Is that the rebels have consumed with fire
	Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire;
	But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not.

	[Enter NORTHUMBERLAND]

	Welcome, my lord	what is the news?

NORTHUMBERLAND	First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.
	The next news is, I have to London sent
	The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent:
	The manner of their taking may appear
	At large discoursed in this paper here.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;
	And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

	[Enter LORD FITZWATER]

LORD FITZWATER	My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
	The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely,
	Two of the dangerous consorted traitors
	That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
	Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

	[Enter HENRY PERCY, and the BISHOP OF CARLISLE]

HENRY PERCY	The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,
	With clog of conscience and sour melancholy
	Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
	But here is Carlisle living, to abide
	Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Carlisle, this is your doom:
	Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,
	More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
	So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife:
	For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
	High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.

	[Enter EXTON, with persons bearing a coffin]

EXTON	Great king, within this coffin I present
	Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies
	The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
	Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought
	A deed of slander with thy fatal hand
	Upon my head and all this famous land.

EXTON	From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE	They love not poison that do poison need,
	Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead,
	I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
	The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
	But neither my good word nor princely favour:
	With Cain go wander through shades of night,
	And never show thy head by day nor light.
	Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe,
	That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow:
	Come, mourn with me for that I do lament,
	And put on sullen black incontinent:
	I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
	To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:
	March sadly after; grace my mournings here;
	In weeping after this untimely bier.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN
	

	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING JOHN:

PRINCE HENRY	son to the king.

ARTHUR	Duke of Bretagne, nephew to the king.

The Earl of
PEMBROKE	(PEMBROKE:)

The Earl of ESSEX	(ESSEX:)

The Earl of
SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

The Lord BIGOT	(BIGOT:)

HUBERT DE BURGH	(HUBERT:)

ROBERT
FAULCONBRIDGE	Son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge. (ROBERT:)

PHILIP the BASTARD	his half-brother. (BASTARD:)

JAMES GURNEY	servant to Lady Faulconbridge. (GURNEY:)

PETER Of Pomfret	a prophet. (PETER:)

PHILIP	King of France. (KING PHILIP:)

LEWIS	the Dauphin.

LYMOGES	Duke of AUSTRIA. (AUSTRIA:)

CARDINAL PANDULPH	the Pope's legate.

MELUN	a French Lord.

CHATILLON	ambassador from France to King John.

QUEEN ELINOR	mother to King John.

CONSTANCE	mother to Arthur.

BLANCH of Spain	niece to King John. (BLANCH:)

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE:

	Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds,
	Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.
	(First Citizen:)
	(French Herald:)
	(English Herald:)
	(First Executioner:)
	(Messenger:)


SCENE	Partly in England, and partly in France.




	KING JOHN


ACT I



SCENE I	KING JOHN'S palace.


	[Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX,
	SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON]

KING JOHN	Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?

CHATILLON	Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France
	In my behavior to the majesty,
	The borrow'd majesty, of England here.

QUEEN ELINOR	A strange beginning: 'borrow'd majesty!'

KING JOHN	Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.

CHATILLON	Philip of France, in right and true behalf
	Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
	Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
	To this fair island and the territories,
	To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
	Desiring thee to lay aside the sword
	Which sways usurpingly these several titles,
	And put these same into young Arthur's hand,
	Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.

KING JOHN	What follows if we disallow of this?

CHATILLON	The proud control of fierce and bloody war,
	To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.

KING JOHN	Here have we war for war and blood for blood,
	Controlment for controlment: so answer France.

CHATILLON	Then take my king's defiance from my mouth,
	The farthest limit of my embassy.

KING JOHN	Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace:
	Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
	For ere thou canst report I will be there,
	The thunder of my cannon shall be heard:
	So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath
	And sullen presage of your own decay.
	An honourable conduct let him have:
	Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon.

	[Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE]

QUEEN ELINOR	What now, my son! have I not ever said
	How that ambitious Constance would not cease
	Till she had kindled France and all the world,
	Upon the right and party of her son?
	This might have been prevented and made whole
	With very easy arguments of love,
	Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
	With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.

KING JOHN	Our strong possession and our right for us.

QUEEN ELINOR	Your strong possession much more than your right,
	Or else it must go wrong with you and me:
	So much my conscience whispers in your ear,
	Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.

	[Enter a Sheriff]

ESSEX	My liege, here is the strangest controversy
	Come from country to be judged by you,
	That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men?

KING JOHN	Let them approach.
	Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
	This expedition's charge.

	[Enter ROBERT and the BASTARD]

		    What men are you?

BASTARD	Your faithful subject I, a gentleman
	Born in Northamptonshire and eldest son,
	As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge,
	A soldier, by the honour-giving hand
	Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.

KING JOHN	What art thou?

ROBERT	The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.

KING JOHN	Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
	You came not of one mother then, it seems.

BASTARD	Most certain of one mother, mighty king;
	That is well known; and, as I think, one father:
	But for the certain knowledge of that truth
	I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother:
	Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.

QUEEN ELINOR	Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother
	And wound her honour with this diffidence.

BASTARD	I, madam? no, I have no reason for it;
	That is my brother's plea and none of mine;
	The which if he can prove, a' pops me out
	At least from fair five hundred pound a year:
	Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land!

KING JOHN	A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,
	Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?

BASTARD	I know not why, except to get the land.
	But once he slander'd me with bastardy:
	But whether I be as true begot or no,
	That still I lay upon my mother's head,
	But that I am as well begot, my liege,--
	Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!--
	Compare our faces and be judge yourself.
	If old sir Robert did beget us both
	And were our father and this son like him,
	O old sir Robert, father, on my knee
	I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!

KING JOHN	Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!

QUEEN ELINOR	He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face;
	The accent of his tongue affecteth him.
	Do you not read some tokens of my son
	In the large composition of this man?

KING JOHN	Mine eye hath well examined his parts
	And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,
	What doth move you to claim your brother's land?

BASTARD	Because he hath a half-face, like my father.
	With half that face would he have all my land:
	A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year!

ROBERT	My gracious liege, when that my father lived,
	Your brother did employ my father much,--

BASTARD	Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:
	Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother.

ROBERT	And once dispatch'd him in an embassy
	To Germany, there with the emperor
	To treat of high affairs touching that time.
	The advantage of his absence took the king
	And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's;
	Where how he did prevail I shame to speak,
	But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores
	Between my father and my mother lay,
	As I have heard my father speak himself,
	When this same lusty gentleman was got.
	Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
	His lands to me, and took it on his death
	That this my mother's son was none of his;
	And if he were, he came into the world
	Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.
	Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
	My father's land, as was my father's will.

KING JOHN	Sirrah, your brother is legitimate;
	Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him,
	And if she did play false, the fault was hers;
	Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
	That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,
	Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,
	Had of your father claim'd this son for his?
	In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept
	This calf bred from his cow from all the world;
	In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's,
	My brother might not claim him; nor your father,
	Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes;
	My mother's son did get your father's heir;
	Your father's heir must have your father's land.

ROBERT	Shall then my father's will be of no force
	To dispossess that child which is not his?

BASTARD	Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
	Than was his will to get me, as I think.

QUEEN ELINOR	Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge
	And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
	Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,
	Lord of thy presence and no land beside?

BASTARD	Madam, an if my brother had my shape,
	And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him;
	And if my legs were two such riding-rods,
	My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin
	That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose
	Lest men should say 'Look, where three-farthings goes!'
	And, to his shape, were heir to all this land,
	Would I might never stir from off this place,
	I would give it every foot to have this face;
	I would not be sir Nob in any case.

QUEEN ELINOR	I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune,
	Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?
	I am a soldier and now bound to France.

BASTARD	Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance.
	Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,
	Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear.
	Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.

QUEEN ELINOR	Nay, I would have you go before me thither.

BASTARD	Our country manners give our betters way.

KING JOHN	What is thy name?

BASTARD	Philip, my liege, so is my name begun,
	Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son.

KING JOHN	From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st:
	Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great,
	Arise sir Richard and Plantagenet.

BASTARD	Brother by the mother's side, give me your hand:
	My father gave me honour, yours gave land.
	Now blessed by the hour, by night or day,
	When I was got, sir Robert was away!

QUEEN ELINOR	The very spirit of Plantagenet!
	I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so.

BASTARD	Madam, by chance but not by truth; what though?
	Something about, a little from the right,
	In at the window, or else o'er the hatch:
	Who dares not stir by day must walk by night,
	And have is have, however men do catch:
	Near or far off, well won is still well shot,
	And I am I, howe'er I was begot.

KING JOHN	Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy desire;
	A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.
	Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed
	For France, for France, for it is more than need.

BASTARD	Brother, adieu: good fortune come to thee!
	For thou wast got i' the way of honesty.

	[Exeunt all but BASTARD]

	A foot of honour better than I was;
	But many a many foot of land the worse.
	Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.
	'Good den, sir Richard!'--'God-a-mercy, fellow!'--
	And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
	For new-made honour doth forget men's names;
	'Tis too respective and too sociable
	For your conversion. Now your traveller,
	He and his toothpick at my worship's mess,
	And when my knightly stomach is sufficed,
	Why then I suck my teeth and catechise
	My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,'
	Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,
	'I shall beseech you'--that is question now;
	And then comes answer like an Absey book:
	'O sir,' says answer, 'at your best command;
	At your employment; at your service, sir;'
	'No, sir,' says question, 'I, sweet sir, at yours:'
	And so, ere answer knows what question would,
	Saving in dialogue of compliment,
	And talking of the Alps and Apennines,
	The Pyrenean and the river Po,
	It draws toward supper in conclusion so.
	But this is worshipful society
	And fits the mounting spirit like myself,
	For he is but a bastard to the time
	That doth not smack of observation;
	And so am I, whether I smack or no;
	And not alone in habit and device,
	Exterior form, outward accoutrement,
	But from the inward motion to deliver
	Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth:
	Which, though I will not practise to deceive,
	Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
	For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.
	But who comes in such haste in riding-robes?
	What woman-post is this? hath she no husband
	That will take pains to blow a horn before her?

	[Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE and GURNEY]

	O me! it is my mother. How now, good lady!
	What brings you here to court so hastily?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE	Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he,
	That holds in chase mine honour up and down?

BASTARD	My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son?
	Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man?
	Is it sir Robert's son that you seek so?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE	Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,
	Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at sir Robert?
	He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou.

BASTARD	James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?

GURNEY	Good leave, good Philip.

BASTARD	Philip! sparrow: James,
	There's toys abroad: anon I'll tell thee more.

	[Exit GURNEY]

	Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son:
	Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
	Upon Good-Friday and ne'er broke his fast:
	Sir Robert could do well: marry, to confess,
	Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it:
	We know his handiwork: therefore, good mother,
	To whom am I beholding for these limbs?
	Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE	Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,
	That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?
	What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?

BASTARD	Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.
	What! I am dubb'd! I have it on my shoulder.
	But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son;
	I have disclaim'd sir Robert and my land;
	Legitimation, name and all is gone:
	Then, good my mother, let me know my father;
	Some proper man, I hope: who was it, mother?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE	Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?

BASTARD	As faithfully as I deny the devil.

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE	King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father:
	By long and vehement suit I was seduced
	To make room for him in my husband's bed:
	Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge!
	Thou art the issue of my dear offence,
	Which was so strongly urged past my defence.

BASTARD	Now, by this light, were I to get again,
	Madam, I would not wish a better father.
	Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,
	And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly:
	Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,
	Subjected tribute to commanding love,
	Against whose fury and unmatched force
	The aweless lion could not wage the fight,
	Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
	He that perforce robs lions of their hearts
	May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother,
	With all my heart I thank thee for my father!
	Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well
	When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
	Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin;
	And they shall say, when Richard me begot,
	If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin:
	Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT II



SCENE I	France. Before Angiers.


	[Enter AUSTRIA and forces, drums, etc. on one side:
	on the other KING PHILIP and his power; LEWIS,
	ARTHUR, CONSTANCE and attendants]

LEWIS	Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.
	Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
	Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart
	And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
	By this brave duke came early to his grave:
	And for amends to his posterity,
	At our importance hither is he come,
	To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf,
	And to rebuke the usurpation
	Of thy unnatural uncle, English John:
	Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.

ARTHUR	God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death
	The rather that you give his offspring life,
	Shadowing their right under your wings of war:
	I give you welcome with a powerless hand,
	But with a heart full of unstained love:
	Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke.

LEWIS	A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?

AUSTRIA	Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss,
	As seal to this indenture of my love,
	That to my home I will no more return,
	Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,
	Together with that pale, that white-faced shore,
	Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides
	And coops from other lands her islanders,
	Even till that England, hedged in with the main,
	That water-walled bulwark, still secure
	And confident from foreign purposes,
	Even till that utmost corner of the west
	Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy,
	Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

CONSTANCE	O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,
	Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength
	To make a more requital to your love!

AUSTRIA	The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords
	In such a just and charitable war.

KING PHILIP	Well then, to work: our cannon shall be bent
	Against the brows of this resisting town.
	Call for our chiefest men of discipline,
	To cull the plots of best advantages:
	We'll lay before this town our royal bones,
	Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood,
	But we will make it subject to this boy.

CONSTANCE	Stay for an answer to your embassy,
	Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood:
	My Lord Chatillon may from England bring,
	That right in peace which here we urge in war,
	And then we shall repent each drop of blood
	That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.

	[Enter CHATILLON]

KING PHILIP	A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish,
	Our messenger Chatillon is arrived!
	What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;
	We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak.

CHATILLON	Then turn your forces from this paltry siege
	And stir them up against a mightier task.
	England, impatient of your just demands,
	Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds,
	Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time
	To land his legions all as soon as I;
	His marches are expedient to this town,
	His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
	With him along is come the mother-queen,
	An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;
	With her her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain;
	With them a bastard of the king's deceased,
	And all the unsettled humours of the land,
	Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,
	With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens,
	Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,
	Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
	To make hazard of new fortunes here:
	In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits
	Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er
	Did nearer float upon the swelling tide,
	To do offence and scath in Christendom.

	[Drum beats]

	The interruption of their churlish drums
	Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand,
	To parley or to fight; therefore prepare.

KING PHILIP	How much unlook'd for is this expedition!

AUSTRIA	By how much unexpected, by so much
	We must awake endavour for defence;
	For courage mounteth with occasion:
	Let them be welcome then: we are prepared.

	[Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD,
	Lords, and forces]

KING JOHN	Peace be to France, if France in peace permit
	Our just and lineal entrance to our own;
	If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,
	Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct
	Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven.

KING PHILIP	Peace be to England, if that war return
	From France to England, there to live in peace.
	England we love; and for that England's sake
	With burden of our armour here we sweat.
	This toil of ours should be a work of thine;
	But thou from loving England art so far,
	That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king
	Cut off the sequence of posterity,
	Out-faced infant state and done a rape
	Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.
	Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face;
	These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his:
	This little abstract doth contain that large
	Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time
	Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.
	That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,
	And this his son; England was Geffrey's right
	And this is Geffrey's: in the name of God
	How comes it then that thou art call'd a king,
	When living blood doth in these temples beat,
	Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest?

KING JOHN	From whom hast thou this great commission, France,
	To draw my answer from thy articles?

KING PHILIP	From that supernal judge, that stirs good thoughts
	In any breast of strong authority,
	To look into the blots and stains of right:
	That judge hath made me guardian to this boy:
	Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong
	And by whose help I mean to chastise it.

KING JOHN	Alack, thou dost usurp authority.

KING PHILIP	Excuse; it is to beat usurping down.

QUEEN ELINOR	Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?

CONSTANCE	Let me make answer; thy usurping son.

QUEEN ELINOR	Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king,
	That thou mayst be a queen, and cheque the world!

CONSTANCE	My bed was ever to thy son as true
	As thine was to thy husband; and this boy
	Liker in feature to his father Geffrey
	Than thou and John in manners; being as like
	As rain to water, or devil to his dam.
	My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think
	His father never was so true begot:
	It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.

QUEEN ELINOR	There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.

CONSTANCE	There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.

AUSTRIA	Peace!

BASTARD	     Hear the crier.

AUSTRIA	What the devil art thou?

BASTARD	One that will play the devil, sir, with you,
	An a' may catch your hide and you alone:
	You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,
	Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard;
	I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right;
	Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith.

BLANCH	O, well did he become that lion's robe
	That did disrobe the lion of that robe!

BASTARD	It lies as sightly on the back of him
	As great Alcides' shows upon an ass:
	But, ass, I'll take that burthen from your back,
	Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.

AUSTRIA	What craker is this same that deafs our ears
	With this abundance of superfluous breath?

KING PHILIP	Lewis, determine what we shall do straight.

LEWIS	Women and fools, break off your conference.
	King John, this is the very sum of all;
	England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
	In right of Arthur do I claim of thee:
	Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms?

KING JOHN	My life as soon: I do defy thee, France.
	Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand;
	And out of my dear love I'll give thee more
	Than e'er the coward hand of France can win:
	Submit thee, boy.

QUEEN ELINOR	                  Come to thy grandam, child.

CONSTANCE	Do, child, go to it grandam, child:
	Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will
	Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig:
	There's a good grandam.

ARTHUR	Good my mother, peace!
	I would that I were low laid in my grave:
	I am not worth this coil that's made for me.

QUEEN ELINOR	His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.

CONSTANCE	Now shame upon you, whether she does or no!
	His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames,
	Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes,
	Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee;
	Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed
	To do him justice and revenge on you.

QUEEN ELINOR	Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!

CONSTANCE	Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth!
	Call not me slanderer; thou and thine usurp
	The dominations, royalties and rights
	Of this oppressed boy: this is thy eld'st son's son,
	Infortunate in nothing but in thee:
	Thy sins are visited in this poor child;
	The canon of the law is laid on him,
	Being but the second generation
	Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.

KING JOHN	Bedlam, have done.

CONSTANCE	                  I have but this to say,
	That he is not only plagued for her sin,
	But God hath made her sin and her the plague
	On this removed issue, plague for her
	And with her plague; her sin his injury,
	Her injury the beadle to her sin,
	All punish'd in the person of this child,
	And all for her; a plague upon her!

QUEEN ELINOR	Thou unadvised scold, I can produce
	A will that bars the title of thy son.

CONSTANCE	Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will:
	A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will!

KING PHILIP	Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate:
	It ill beseems this presence to cry aim
	To these ill-tuned repetitions.
	Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
	These men of Angiers: let us hear them speak
	Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.

	[Trumpet sounds. Enter certain Citizens upon the walls]

First Citizen	Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls?

KING PHILIP	'Tis France, for England.

KING JOHN	England, for itself.
	You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects--

KING PHILIP	You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects,
	Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle--

KING JOHN	For our advantage; therefore hear us first.
	These flags of France, that are advanced here
	Before the eye and prospect of your town,
	Have hither march'd to your endamagement:
	The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,
	And ready mounted are they to spit forth
	Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls:
	All preparation for a bloody siege
	All merciless proceeding by these French
	Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates;
	And but for our approach those sleeping stones,
	That as a waist doth girdle you about,
	By the compulsion of their ordinance
	By this time from their fixed beds of lime
	Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made
	For bloody power to rush upon your peace.
	But on the sight of us your lawful king,
	Who painfully with much expedient march
	Have brought a countercheque before your gates,
	To save unscratch'd your city's threatened cheeks,
	Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parle;
	And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,
	To make a shaking fever in your walls,
	They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke,
	To make a faithless error in your ears:
	Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,
	And let us in, your king, whose labour'd spirits,
	Forwearied in this action of swift speed,
	Crave harbourage within your city walls.

KING PHILIP	When I have said, make answer to us both.
	Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
	Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
	Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,
	Son to the elder brother of this man,
	And king o'er him and all that he enjoys:
	For this down-trodden equity, we tread
	In warlike march these greens before your town,
	Being no further enemy to you
	Than the constraint of hospitable zeal
	In the relief of this oppressed child
	Religiously provokes. Be pleased then
	To pay that duty which you truly owe
	To that owes it, namely this young prince:
	And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,
	Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up;
	Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent
	Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven;
	And with a blessed and unvex'd retire,
	With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised,
	We will bear home that lusty blood again
	Which here we came to spout against your town,
	And leave your children, wives and you in peace.
	But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,
	'Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls
	Can hide you from our messengers of war,
	Though all these English and their discipline
	Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.
	Then tell us, shall your city call us lord,
	In that behalf which we have challenged it?
	Or shall we give the signal to our rage
	And stalk in blood to our possession?

First Citizen	In brief, we are the king of England's subjects:
	For him, and in his right, we hold this town.

KING JOHN	Acknowledge then the king, and let me in.

First Citizen	That can we not; but he that proves the king,
	To him will we prove loyal: till that time
	Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.

KING JOHN	Doth not the crown of England prove the king?
	And if not that, I bring you witnesses,
	Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,--

BASTARD	Bastards, and else.

KING JOHN	To verify our title with their lives.

KING PHILIP	As many and as well-born bloods as those,--

BASTARD	Some bastards too.

KING PHILIP	Stand in his face to contradict his claim.

First Citizen	Till you compound whose right is worthiest,
	We for the worthiest hold the right from both.

KING JOHN	Then God forgive the sin of all those souls
	That to their everlasting residence,
	Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet,
	In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!

KING PHILIP	Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to arms!

BASTARD	Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since
	Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door,
	Teach us some fence!

	[To AUSTRIA]

		Sirrah, were I at home,
	At your den, sirrah, with your lioness
	I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide,
	And make a monster of you.

AUSTRIA	Peace! no more.

BASTARD	O tremble, for you hear the lion roar.

KING JOHN	Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth
	In best appointment all our regiments.

BASTARD	Speed then, to take advantage of the field.

KING PHILIP	It shall be so; and at the other hill
	Command the rest to stand. God and our right!

	[Exeunt]

	[Here after excursions, enter the Herald of France,
	with trumpets, to the gates]

French Herald	You men of Angiers, open wide your gates,
	And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in,
	Who by the hand of France this day hath made
	Much work for tears in many an English mother,
	Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground;
	Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
	Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth;
	And victory, with little loss, doth play
	Upon the dancing banners of the French,
	Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd,
	To enter conquerors and to proclaim
	Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours.

	[Enter English Herald, with trumpet]

English Herald	Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:
	King John, your king and England's doth approach,
	Commander of this hot malicious day:
	Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright,
	Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood;
	There stuck no plume in any English crest
	That is removed by a staff of France;
	Our colours do return in those same hands
	That did display them when we first march'd forth;
	And, like a troop of jolly huntsmen, come
	Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,
	Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes:
	Open your gates and gives the victors way.

First Citizen	Heralds, from off our towers we might behold,
	From first to last, the onset and retire
	Of both your armies; whose equality
	By our best eyes cannot be censured:
	Blood hath bought blood and blows have answered blows;
	Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power:
	Both are alike; and both alike we like.
	One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even,
	We hold our town for neither, yet for both.

	[Re-enter KING JOHN and KING PHILIP, with their
	powers, severally]

KING JOHN	France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?
	Say, shall the current of our right run on?
	Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment,
	Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell
	With course disturb'd even thy confining shores,
	Unless thou let his silver water keep
	A peaceful progress to the ocean.

KING PHILIP	England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood,
	In this hot trial, more than we of France;
	Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear,
	That sways the earth this climate overlooks,
	Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,
	We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear,
	Or add a royal number to the dead,
	Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss
	With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.

BASTARD	Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers,
	When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!
	O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;
	The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;
	And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,
	In undetermined differences of kings.
	Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?
	Cry, 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field,
	You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits!
	Then let confusion of one part confirm
	The other's peace: till then, blows, blood and death!

KING JOHN	Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?

KING PHILIP	Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king?

First Citizen	The king of England; when we know the king.

KING PHILIP	Know him in us, that here hold up his right.

KING JOHN	In us, that are our own great deputy
	And bear possession of our person here,
	Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.

First Citizen	A greater power then we denies all this;
	And till it be undoubted, we do lock
	Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates;
	King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved,
	Be by some certain king purged and deposed.

BASTARD	By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,
	And stand securely on their battlements,
	As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
	At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
	Your royal presences be ruled by me:
	Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,
	Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend
	Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town:
	By east and west let France and England mount
	Their battering cannon charged to the mouths,
	Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down
	The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city:
	I'ld play incessantly upon these jades,
	Even till unfenced desolation
	Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
	That done, dissever your united strengths,
	And part your mingled colours once again;
	Turn face to face and bloody point to point;
	Then, in a moment, Fortune shall cull forth
	Out of one side her happy minion,
	To whom in favour she shall give the day,
	And kiss him with a glorious victory.
	How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?
	Smacks it not something of the policy?

KING JOHN	Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,
	I like it well. France, shall we knit our powers
	And lay this Angiers even to the ground;
	Then after fight who shall be king of it?

BASTARD	An if thou hast the mettle of a king,
	Being wronged as we are by this peevish town,
	Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,
	As we will ours, against these saucy walls;
	And when that we have dash'd them to the ground,
	Why then defy each other and pell-mell
	Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell.

KING PHILIP	Let it be so. Say, where will you assault?

KING JOHN	We from the west will send destruction
	Into this city's bosom.

AUSTRIA	I from the north.

KING PHILIP	                  Our thunder from the south
	Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.

BASTARD	O prudent discipline! From north to south:
	Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth:
	I'll stir them to it. Come, away, away!

First Citizen	Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay,
	And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league;
	Win you this city without stroke or wound;
	Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds,
	That here come sacrifices for the field:
	Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.

KING JOHN	Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear.

First Citizen	That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,
	Is niece to England: look upon the years
	Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid:
	If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,
	Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
	If zealous love should go in search of virtue,
	Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?
	If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
	Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch?
	Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,
	Is the young Dauphin every way complete:
	If not complete of, say he is not she;
	And she again wants nothing, to name want,
	If want it be not that she is not he:
	He is the half part of a blessed man,
	Left to be finished by such as she;
	And she a fair divided excellence,
	Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.
	O, two such silver currents, when they join,
	Do glorify the banks that bound them in;
	And two such shores to two such streams made one,
	Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,
	To these two princes, if you marry them.
	This union shall do more than battery can
	To our fast-closed gates; for at this match,
	With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,
	The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,
	And give you entrance: but without this match,
	The sea enraged is not half so deaf,
	Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
	More free from motion, no, not Death himself
	In moral fury half so peremptory,
	As we to keep this city.

BASTARD	Here's a stay
	That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death
	Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,
	That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas,
	Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
	As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!
	What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?
	He speaks plain cannon fire, and smoke and bounce;
	He gives the bastinado with his tongue:
	Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his
	But buffets better than a fist of France:
	Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words
	Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.

QUEEN ELINOR	Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;
	Give with our niece a dowry large enough:
	For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
	Thy now unsured assurance to the crown,
	That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
	The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
	I see a yielding in the looks of France;
	Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls
	Are capable of this ambition,
	Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath
	Of soft petitions, pity and remorse,
	Cool and congeal again to what it was.

First Citizen	Why answer not the double majesties
	This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?

KING PHILIP	Speak England first, that hath been forward first
	To speak unto this city: what say you?

KING JOHN	If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son,
	Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,'
	Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen:
	For Anjou and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
	And all that we upon this side the sea,
	Except this city now by us besieged,
	Find liable to our crown and dignity,
	Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich
	In titles, honours and promotions,
	As she in beauty, education, blood,
	Holds hand with any princess of the world.

KING PHILIP	What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face.

LEWIS	I do, my lord; and in her eye I find
	A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,
	The shadow of myself form'd in her eye:
	Which being but the shadow of your son,
	Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow:
	I do protest I never loved myself
	Till now infixed I beheld myself
	Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.

	[Whispers with BLANCH]

BASTARD	Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!
	Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow!
	And quarter'd in her heart! he doth espy
	Himself love's traitor: this is pity now,
	That hang'd and drawn and quartered, there should be
	In such a love so vile a lout as he.

BLANCH	My uncle's will in this respect is mine:
	If he see aught in you that makes him like,
	That any thing he sees, which moves his liking,
	I can with ease translate it to my will;
	Or if you will, to speak more properly,
	I will enforce it easily to my love.
	Further I will not flatter you, my lord,
	That all I see in you is worthy love,
	Than this; that nothing do I see in you,
	Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge,
	That I can find should merit any hate.

KING JOHN	What say these young ones? What say you my niece?

BLANCH	That she is bound in honour still to do
	What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.

KING JOHN	Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?

LEWIS	Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;
	For I do love her most unfeignedly.

KING JOHN	Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,
	Poictiers and Anjou, these five provinces,
	With her to thee; and this addition more,
	Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.
	Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal,
	Command thy son and daughter to join hands.

KING PHILIP	It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.

AUSTRIA	And your lips too; for I am well assured
	That I did so when I was first assured.

KING PHILIP	Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,
	Let in that amity which you have made;
	For at Saint Mary's chapel presently
	The rites of marriage shall be solemnized.
	Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?
	I know she is not, for this match made up
	Her presence would have interrupted much:
	Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows.

LEWIS	She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent.

KING PHILIP	And, by my faith, this league that we have made
	Will give her sadness very little cure.
	Brother of England, how may we content
	This widow lady? In her right we came;
	Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,
	To our own vantage.

KING JOHN	We will heal up all;
	For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne
	And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
	We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance;
	Some speedy messenger bid her repair
	To our solemnity: I trust we shall,
	If not fill up the measure of her will,
	Yet in some measure satisfy her so
	That we shall stop her exclamation.
	Go we, as well as haste will suffer us,
	To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp.

	[Exeunt all but the BASTARD]

BASTARD	Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
	John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole,
	Hath willingly departed with a part,
	And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,
	Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
	As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear
	With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
	That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith,
	That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,
	Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
	Who, having no external thing to lose
	But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that,
	That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity,
	Commodity, the bias of the world,
	The world, who of itself is peised well,
	Made to run even upon even ground,
	Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
	This sway of motion, this Commodity,
	Makes it take head from all indifferency,
	From all direction, purpose, course, intent:
	And this same bias, this Commodity,
	This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
	Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
	Hath drawn him from his own determined aid,
	From a resolved and honourable war,
	To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
	And why rail I on this Commodity?
	But for because he hath not woo'd me yet:
	Not that I have the power to clutch my hand,
	When his fair angels would salute my palm;
	But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
	Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
	Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail
	And say there is no sin but to be rich;
	And being rich, my virtue then shall be
	To say there is no vice but beggary.
	Since kings break faith upon commodity,
	Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee.

	[Exit]




	KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE I	The French King's pavilion.


	[Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY]

CONSTANCE	Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace!
	False blood to false blood join'd! gone to be friends!
	Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces?
	It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard:
	Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again:
	It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so:
	I trust I may not trust thee; for thy word
	Is but the vain breath of a common man:
	Believe me, I do not believe thee, man;
	I have a king's oath to the contrary.
	Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
	For I am sick and capable of fears,
	Oppress'd with wrongs and therefore full of fears,
	A widow, husbandless, subject to fears,
	A woman, naturally born to fears;
	And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,
	With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce,
	But they will quake and tremble all this day.
	What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
	Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?
	What means that hand upon that breast of thine?
	Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
	Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
	Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?
	Then speak again; not all thy former tale,
	But this one word, whether thy tale be true.

SALISBURY	As true as I believe you think them false
	That give you cause to prove my saying true.

CONSTANCE	O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
	Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die,
	And let belief and life encounter so
	As doth the fury of two desperate men
	Which in the very meeting fall and die.
	Lewis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?
	France friend with England, what becomes of me?
	Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight:
	This news hath made thee a most ugly man.

SALISBURY	What other harm have I, good lady, done,
	But spoke the harm that is by others done?

CONSTANCE	Which harm within itself so heinous is
	As it makes harmful all that speak of it.

ARTHUR	I do beseech you, madam, be content.

CONSTANCE	If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim,
	Ugly and slanderous to thy mother's womb,
	Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,
	Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,
	Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks,
	I would not care, I then would be content,
	For then I should not love thee, no, nor thou
	Become thy great birth nor deserve a crown.
	But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy,
	Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great:
	Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,
	And with the half-blown rose. But Fortune, O,
	She is corrupted, changed and won from thee;
	She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John,
	And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France
	To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,
	And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.
	France is a bawd to Fortune and King John,
	That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John!
	Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?
	Envenom him with words, or get thee gone
	And leave those woes alone which I alone
	Am bound to under-bear.

SALISBURY	Pardon me, madam,
	I may not go without you to the kings.

CONSTANCE	Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee:
	I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;
	For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop.
	To me and to the state of my great grief
	Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great
	That no supporter but the huge firm earth
	Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit;
	Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

	[Seats herself on the ground]

	[Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILLIP, LEWIS, BLANCH,
	QUEEN ELINOR, the BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and Attendants]

KING PHILIP	'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day
	Ever in France shall be kept festival:
	To solemnize this day the glorious sun
	Stays in his course and plays the alchemist,
	Turning with splendor of his precious eye
	The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold:
	The yearly course that brings this day about
	Shall never see it but a holiday.

CONSTANCE	A wicked day, and not a holy day!

	[Rising]

	What hath this day deserved? what hath it done,
	That it in golden letters should be set
	Among the high tides in the calendar?
	Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,
	This day of shame, oppression, perjury.
	Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
	Pray that their burthens may not fall this day,
	Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd:
	But on this day let seamen fear no wreck;
	No bargains break that are not this day made:
	This day, all things begun come to ill end,
	Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!

KING PHILIP	By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
	To curse the fair proceedings of this day:
	Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?

CONSTANCE	You have beguiled me with a counterfeit
	Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried,
	Proves valueless: you are forsworn, forsworn;
	You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
	But now in arms you strengthen it with yours:
	The grappling vigour and rough frown of war
	Is cold in amity and painted peace,
	And our oppression hath made up this league.
	Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured kings!
	A widow cries; be husband to me, heavens!
	Let not the hours of this ungodly day
	Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,
	Set armed discord 'twixt these perjured kings!
	Hear me, O, hear me!

AUSTRIA	Lady Constance, peace!

CONSTANCE	War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war
	O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame
	That bloody spoil: thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!
	Thou little valiant, great in villany!
	Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
	Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight
	But when her humorous ladyship is by
	To teach thee safety! thou art perjured too,
	And soothest up greatness. What a fool art thou,
	A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear
	Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,
	Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,
	Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend
	Upon thy stars, thy fortune and thy strength,
	And dost thou now fall over to my fores?
	Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
	And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

AUSTRIA	O, that a man should speak those words to me!

BASTARD	And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

AUSTRIA	Thou darest not say so, villain, for thy life.

BASTARD	And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

KING JOHN	We like not this; thou dost forget thyself.

	[Enter CARDINAL PANDULPH]

KING PHILIP	Here comes the holy legate of the pope.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!
	To thee, King John, my holy errand is.
	I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,
	And from Pope Innocent the legate here,
	Do in his name religiously demand
	Why thou against the church, our holy mother,
	So wilfully dost spurn; and force perforce
	Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop
	Of Canterbury, from that holy see?
	This, in our foresaid holy father's name,
	Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.

KING JOHN	What earthy name to interrogatories
	Can task the free breath of a sacred king?
	Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name
	So slight, unworthy and ridiculous,
	To charge me to an answer, as the pope.
	Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England
	Add thus much more, that no Italian priest
	Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;
	But as we, under heaven, are supreme head,
	So under Him that great supremacy,
	Where we do reign, we will alone uphold,
	Without the assistance of a mortal hand:
	So tell the pope, all reverence set apart
	To him and his usurp'd authority.

KING PHILIP	Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.

KING JOHN	Though you and all the kings of Christendom
	Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
	Dreading the curse that money may buy out;
	And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,
	Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,
	Who in that sale sells pardon from himself,
	Though you and all the rest so grossly led
	This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish,
	Yet I alone, alone do me oppose
	Against the pope and count his friends my foes.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Then, by the lawful power that I have,
	Thou shalt stand cursed and excommunicate.
	And blessed shall he be that doth revolt
	From his allegiance to an heretic;
	And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,
	Canonized and worshipped as a saint,
	That takes away by any secret course
	Thy hateful life.

CONSTANCE	                  O, lawful let it be
	That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!
	Good father cardinal, cry thou amen
	To my keen curses; for without my wrong
	There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse.

CONSTANCE	And for mine too: when law can do no right,
	Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong:
	Law cannot give my child his kingdom here,
	For he that holds his kingdom holds the law;
	Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,
	How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Philip of France, on peril of a curse,
	Let go the hand of that arch-heretic;
	And raise the power of France upon his head,
	Unless he do submit himself to Rome.

QUEEN ELINOR	Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go thy hand.

CONSTANCE	Look to that, devil; lest that France repent,
	And by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul.

AUSTRIA	King Philip, listen to the cardinal.

BASTARD	And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs.

AUSTRIA	Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, Because--

BASTARD	        Your breeches best may carry them.

KING JOHN	Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal?

CONSTANCE	What should he say, but as the cardinal?

LEWIS	Bethink you, father; for the difference
	Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome,
	Or the light loss of England for a friend:
	Forego the easier.

BLANCH	                  That's the curse of Rome.

CONSTANCE	O Lewis, stand fast! the devil tempts thee here
	In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.

BLANCH	The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,
	But from her need.

CONSTANCE	                  O, if thou grant my need,
	Which only lives but by the death of faith,
	That need must needs infer this principle,
	That faith would live again by death of need.
	O then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up;
	Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down!

KING JOHN	The king is moved, and answers not to this.

CONSTANCE	O, be removed from him, and answer well!

AUSTRIA	Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.

BASTARD	Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout.

KING PHILIP	I am perplex'd, and know not what to say.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	What canst thou say but will perplex thee more,
	If thou stand excommunicate and cursed?

KING PHILIP	Good reverend father, make my person yours,
	And tell me how you would bestow yourself.
	This royal hand and mine are newly knit,
	And the conjunction of our inward souls
	Married in league, coupled and linked together
	With all religious strength of sacred vows;
	The latest breath that gave the sound of words
	Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love
	Between our kingdoms and our royal selves,
	And even before this truce, but new before,
	No longer than we well could wash our hands
	To clap this royal bargain up of peace,
	Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over-stain'd
	With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint
	The fearful difference of incensed kings:
	And shall these hands, so lately purged of blood,
	So newly join'd in love, so strong in both,
	Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet?
	Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven,
	Make such unconstant children of ourselves,
	As now again to snatch our palm from palm,
	Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed
	Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,
	And make a riot on the gentle brow
	Of true sincerity? O, holy sir,
	My reverend father, let it not be so!
	Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose
	Some gentle order; and then we shall be blest
	To do your pleasure and continue friends.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	All form is formless, order orderless,
	Save what is opposite to England's love.
	Therefore to arms! be champion of our church,
	Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse,
	A mother's curse, on her revolting son.
	France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,
	A chafed lion by the mortal paw,
	A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
	Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.

KING PHILIP	I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	So makest thou faith an enemy to faith;
	And like a civil war set'st oath to oath,
	Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow
	First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd,
	That is, to be the champion of our church!
	What since thou sworest is sworn against thyself
	And may not be performed by thyself,
	For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss
	Is not amiss when it is truly done,
	And being not done, where doing tends to ill,
	The truth is then most done not doing it:
	The better act of purposes mistook
	Is to mistake again; though indirect,
	Yet indirection thereby grows direct,
	And falsehood falsehood cures, as fire cools fire
	Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd.
	It is religion that doth make vows kept;
	But thou hast sworn against religion,
	By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st,
	And makest an oath the surety for thy truth
	Against an oath: the truth thou art unsure
	To swear, swears only not to be forsworn;
	Else what a mockery should it be to swear!
	But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;
	And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear.
	Therefore thy later vows against thy first
	Is in thyself rebellion to thyself;
	And better conquest never canst thou make
	Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
	Against these giddy loose suggestions:
	Upon which better part our prayers come in,
	If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know
	The peril of our curses light on thee
	So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off,
	But in despair die under their black weight.

AUSTRIA	Rebellion, flat rebellion!

BASTARD	Will't not be?
	Will not a calfs-skin stop that mouth of thine?

LEWIS	Father, to arms!

BLANCH	                  Upon thy wedding-day?
	Against the blood that thou hast married?
	What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men?
	Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,
	Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?
	O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new
	Is husband in my mouth! even for that name,
	Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,
	Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
	Against mine uncle.

CONSTANCE	O, upon my knee,
	Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
	Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
	Forethought by heaven!

BLANCH	Now shall I see thy love: what motive may
	Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?

CONSTANCE	That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
	His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!

LEWIS	I muse your majesty doth seem so cold,
	When such profound respects do pull you on.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	I will denounce a curse upon his head.

KING PHILIP	Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee.

CONSTANCE	O fair return of banish'd majesty!

QUEEN ELINOR	O foul revolt of French inconstancy!

KING JOHN	France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.

BASTARD	Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,
	Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue.

BLANCH	The sun's o'ercast with blood: fair day, adieu!
	Which is the side that I must go withal?
	I am with both: each army hath a hand;
	And in their rage, I having hold of both,
	They swirl asunder and dismember me.
	Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win;
	Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose;
	Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;
	Grandam, I will not wish thy fortunes thrive:
	Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose
	Assured loss before the match be play'd.

LEWIS	Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.

BLANCH	There where my fortune lives, there my life dies.

KING JOHN	Cousin, go draw our puissance together.

	[Exit BASTARD]

	France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath;
	A rage whose heat hath this condition,
	That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,
	The blood, and dearest-valued blood, of France.

KING PHILIP	Thy rage sham burn thee up, and thou shalt turn
	To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire:
	Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.

KING JOHN	No more than he that threats. To arms let's hie!

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE II	The same. Plains near Angiers.


	[Alarums, excursions. Enter the BASTARD, with
	AUSTRIA'S head]

BASTARD	Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot;
	Some airy devil hovers in the sky
	And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there,
	While Philip breathes.

	[Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT]

KING JOHN	Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up:
	My mother is assailed in our tent,
	And ta'en, I fear.

BASTARD	                  My lord, I rescued her;
	Her highness is in safety, fear you not:
	But on, my liege; for very little pains
	Will bring this labour to an happy end.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE III	The same.


	[Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter KING JOHN,
	QUEEN ELINOR, ARTHUR, the BASTARD, HUBERT,
	and Lords]

KING JOHN	[To QUEEN ELINOR]  So shall it be; your grace shall
	stay behind
	So strongly guarded.

	[To ARTHUR]

		Cousin, look not sad:
	Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will
	As dear be to thee as thy father was.

ARTHUR	O, this will make my mother die with grief!

KING JOHN	[To the BASTARD]  Cousin, away for England!
	haste before:
	And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
	Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels
	Set at liberty: the fat ribs of peace
	Must by the hungry now be fed upon:
	Use our commission in his utmost force.

BASTARD	Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back,
	When gold and silver becks me to come on.
	I leave your highness. Grandam, I will pray,
	If ever I remember to be holy,
	For your fair safety; so, I kiss your hand.

ELINOR	Farewell, gentle cousin.

KING JOHN	Coz, farewell.

	[Exit the BASTARD]

QUEEN ELINOR	Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.

KING JOHN	Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
	We owe thee much! within this wall of flesh
	There is a soul counts thee her creditor
	And with advantage means to pay thy love:
	And my good friend, thy voluntary oath
	Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
	Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,
	But I will fit it with some better time.
	By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed
	To say what good respect I have of thee.

HUBERT	I am much bounden to your majesty.

KING JOHN	Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,
	But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,
	Yet it shall come from me to do thee good.
	I had a thing to say, but let it go:
	The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,
	Attended with the pleasures of the world,
	Is all too wanton and too full of gawds
	To give me audience: if the midnight bell
	Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
	Sound on into the drowsy race of night;
	If this same were a churchyard where we stand,
	And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs,
	Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
	Had baked thy blood and made it heavy-thick,
	Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
	Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes
	And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
	A passion hateful to my purposes,
	Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
	Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
	Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
	Without eyes, ears and harmful sound of words;
	Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
	I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
	But, ah, I will not! yet I love thee well;
	And, by my troth, I think thou lovest me well.

HUBERT	So well, that what you bid me undertake,
	Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
	By heaven, I would do it.

KING JOHN	Do not I know thou wouldst?
	Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
	On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend,
	He is a very serpent in my way;
	And whereso'er this foot of mine doth tread,
	He lies before me: dost thou understand me?
	Thou art his keeper.

HUBERT	And I'll keep him so,
	That he shall not offend your majesty.

KING JOHN	Death.

HUBERT	My lord?

KING JOHN	       A grave.

HUBERT	                  He shall not live.

KING JOHN	Enough.
	I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee;
	Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
	Remember. Madam, fare you well:
	I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.

ELINOR	My blessing go with thee!

KING JOHN	For England, cousin, go:
	Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
	With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho!

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT III



SCENE IV	The same. KING PHILIP'S tent.


	[Enter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, CARDINAL PANDULPH,
	and Attendants]

KING PHILIP	So, by a roaring tempest on the flood,
	A whole armado of convicted sail
	Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well.

KING PHILIP	What can go well, when we have run so ill?
	Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?
	Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain?
	And bloody England into England gone,
	O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?

LEWIS	What he hath won, that hath he fortified:
	So hot a speed with such advice disposed,
	Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
	Doth want example: who hath read or heard
	Of any kindred action like to this?

KING PHILIP	Well could I bear that England had this praise,
	So we could find some pattern of our shame.

	[Enter CONSTANCE]

	Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
	Holding the eternal spirit against her will,
	In the vile prison of afflicted breath.
	I prithee, lady, go away with me.

CONSTANCE	Lo, now I now see the issue of your peace.

KING PHILIP	Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance!

CONSTANCE	No, I defy all counsel, all redress,
	But that which ends all counsel, true redress,
	Death, death; O amiable lovely death!
	Thou odouriferous stench! sound rottenness!
	Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
	Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
	And I will kiss thy detestable bones
	And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows
	And ring these fingers with thy household worms
	And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust
	And be a carrion monster like thyself:
	Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smilest
	And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love,
	O, come to me!

KING PHILIP	                  O fair affliction, peace!

CONSTANCE	No, no, I will not, having breath to cry:
	O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
	Then with a passion would I shake the world;
	And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy
	Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
	Which scorns a modern invocation.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.

CONSTANCE	Thou art not holy to belie me so;
	I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;
	My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;
	Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:
	I am not mad: I would to heaven I were!
	For then, 'tis like I should forget myself:
	O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
	Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
	And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal;
	For being not mad but sensible of grief,
	My reasonable part produces reason
	How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
	And teaches me to kill or hang myself:
	If I were mad, I should forget my son,
	Or madly think a babe of clouts were he:
	I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
	The different plague of each calamity.

KING PHILIP	Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note
	In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
	Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen,
	Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
	Do glue themselves in sociable grief,
	Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
	Sticking together in calamity.

CONSTANCE	To England, if you will.

KING PHILIP	Bind up your hairs.

CONSTANCE	Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?
	I tore them from their bonds and cried aloud
	'O that these hands could so redeem my son,
	As they have given these hairs their liberty!'
	But now I envy at their liberty,
	And will again commit them to their bonds,
	Because my poor child is a prisoner.
	And, father cardinal, I have heard you say
	That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:
	If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
	For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
	To him that did but yesterday suspire,
	There was not such a gracious creature born.
	But now will canker-sorrow eat my bud
	And chase the native beauty from his cheek
	And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
	As dim and meagre as an ague's fit,
	And so he'll die; and, rising so again,
	When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
	I shall not know him: therefore never, never
	Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	You hold too heinous a respect of grief.

CONSTANCE	He talks to me that never had a son.

KING PHILIP	You are as fond of grief as of your child.

CONSTANCE	Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
	Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
	Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
	Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
	Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
	Then, have I reason to be fond of grief?
	Fare you well: had you such a loss as I,
	I could give better comfort than you do.
	I will not keep this form upon my head,
	When there is such disorder in my wit.
	O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
	My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
	My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!

	[Exit]

KING PHILIP	I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.

	[Exit]

LEWIS	There's nothing in this world can make me joy:
	Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale
	Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;
	And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste
	That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Before the curing of a strong disease,
	Even in the instant of repair and health,
	The fit is strongest; evils that take leave,
	On their departure most of all show evil:
	What have you lost by losing of this day?

LEWIS	All days of glory, joy and happiness.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	If you had won it, certainly you had.
	No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,
	She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
	'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost
	In this which he accounts so clearly won:
	Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner?

LEWIS	As heartily as he is glad he hath him.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
	Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;
	For even the breath of what I mean to speak
	Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
	Out of the path which shall directly lead
	Thy foot to England's throne; and therefore mark.
	John hath seized Arthur; and it cannot be
	That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
	The misplaced John should entertain an hour,
	One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.
	A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand
	Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd;
	And he that stands upon a slippery place
	Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up:
	That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall;
	So be it, for it cannot be but so.

LEWIS	But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?

CARDINAL PANDULPH	You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,
	May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

LEWIS	And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	How green you are and fresh in this old world!
	John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;
	For he that steeps his safety in true blood
	Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.
	This act so evilly born shall cool the hearts
	Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,
	That none so small advantage shall step forth
	To cheque his reign, but they will cherish it;
	No natural exhalation in the sky,
	No scope of nature, no distemper'd day,
	No common wind, no customed event,
	But they will pluck away his natural cause
	And call them meteors, prodigies and signs,
	Abortives, presages and tongues of heaven,
	Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

LEWIS	May be he will not touch young Arthur's life,
	But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
	If that young Arthur be not gone already,
	Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts
	Of all his people shall revolt from him
	And kiss the lips of unacquainted change
	And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath
	Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
	Methinks I see this hurly all on foot:
	And, O, what better matter breeds for you
	Than I have named! The bastard Faulconbridge
	Is now in England, ransacking the church,
	Offending charity: if but a dozen French
	Were there in arms, they would be as a call
	To train ten thousand English to their side,
	Or as a little snow, tumbled about,
	Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,
	Go with me to the king: 'tis wonderful
	What may be wrought out of their discontent,
	Now that their souls are topful of offence.
	For England go: I will whet on the king.

LEWIS	Strong reasons make strong actions: let us go:
	If you say ay, the king will not say no.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT IV



SCENE I	A room in a castle.


	[Enter HUBERT and Executioners]

HUBERT	Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand
	Within the arras: when I strike my foot
	Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
	And bind the boy which you shall find with me
	Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

First Executioner	I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

HUBERT	Uncleanly scruples! fear not you: look to't.

	[Exeunt Executioners]

	Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

	[Enter ARTHUR]

ARTHUR	Good morrow, Hubert.

HUBERT	Good morrow, little prince.

ARTHUR	As little prince, having so great a title
	To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.

HUBERT	Indeed, I have been merrier.

ARTHUR	Mercy on me!
	Methinks no body should be sad but I:
	Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
	Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
	Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
	So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
	I should be as merry as the day is long;
	And so I would be here, but that I doubt
	My uncle practises more harm to me:
	He is afraid of me and I of him:
	Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
	No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven
	I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

HUBERT	[Aside]  If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
	He will awake my mercy which lies dead:
	Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.

ARTHUR	Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
	In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
	That I might sit all night and watch with you:
	I warrant I love you more than you do me.

HUBERT	[Aside]  His words do take possession of my bosom.
	Read here, young Arthur.

	[Showing a paper]

	[Aside]

		   How now, foolish rheum!
	Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
	I must be brief, lest resolution drop
	Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.
	Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?

ARTHUR	Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:
	Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?

HUBERT	Young boy, I must.

ARTHUR	                  And will you?

HUBERT	And I will.

ARTHUR	Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
	I knit my handercher about your brows,
	The best I had, a princess wrought it me,
	And I did never ask it you again;
	And with my hand at midnight held your head,
	And like the watchful minutes to the hour,
	Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time,
	Saying, 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'
	Or 'What good love may I perform for you?'
	Many a poor man's son would have lien still
	And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
	But you at your sick service had a prince.
	Nay, you may think my love was crafty love
	And call it cunning: do, an if you will:
	If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill,
	Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes?
	These eyes that never did nor never shall
	So much as frown on you.

HUBERT	I have sworn to do it;
	And with hot irons must I burn them out.

ARTHUR	Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!
	The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
	Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears
	And quench his fiery indignation
	Even in the matter of mine innocence;
	Nay, after that, consume away in rust
	But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
	Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
	An if an angel should have come to me
	And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
	I would not have believed him,--no tongue but Hubert's.

HUBERT	Come forth.

	[Stamps]

	[Re-enter Executioners, with a cord, irons, &c]

	Do as I bid you do.

ARTHUR	O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out
	Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

HUBERT	Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.

ARTHUR	Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough?
	I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
	For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
	Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away,
	And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
	I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
	Nor look upon the iron angerly:
	Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
	Whatever torment you do put me to.

HUBERT	Go, stand within; let me alone with him.

First Executioner	I am best pleased to be from such a deed.

	[Exeunt Executioners]

ARTHUR	Alas, I then have chid away my friend!
	He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart:
	Let him come back, that his compassion may
	Give life to yours.

HUBERT	Come, boy, prepare yourself.

ARTHUR	Is there no remedy?

HUBERT	None, but to lose your eyes.

ARTHUR	O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours,
	A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
	Any annoyance in that precious sense!
	Then feeling what small things are boisterous there,
	Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

HUBERT	Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue.

ARTHUR	Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
	Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
	Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert;
	Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
	So I may keep mine eyes: O, spare mine eyes.
	Though to no use but still to look on you!
	Lo, by my truth, the instrument is cold
	And would not harm me.

HUBERT	I can heat it, boy.

ARTHUR	No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with grief,
	Being create for comfort, to be used
	In undeserved extremes: see else yourself;
	There is no malice in this burning coal;
	The breath of heaven has blown his spirit out
	And strew'd repentent ashes on his head.

HUBERT	But with my breath I can revive it, boy.

ARTHUR	An if you do, you will but make it blush
	And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert:
	Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes;
	And like a dog that is compell'd to fight,
	Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
	All things that you should use to do me wrong
	Deny their office: only you do lack
	That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,
	Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.

HUBERT	Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye
	For all the treasure that thine uncle owes:
	Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy,
	With this same very iron to burn them out.

ARTHUR	O, now you look like Hubert! all this while
	You were disguised.

HUBERT	Peace; no more. Adieu.
	Your uncle must not know but you are dead;
	I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports:
	And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure,
	That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
	Will not offend thee.

ARTHUR	O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.

HUBERT	Silence; no more: go closely in with me:
	Much danger do I undergo for thee.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT IV



SCENE II	KING JOHN'S palace.


	[Enter KING JOHN, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other Lords]

KING JOHN	Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,
	And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.

PEMBROKE	This 'once again,' but that your highness pleased,
	Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before,
	And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off,
	The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;
	Fresh expectation troubled not the land
	With any long'd-for change or better state.

SALISBURY	Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp,
	To guard a title that was rich before,
	To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
	To throw a perfume on the violet,
	To smooth the ice, or add another hue
	Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
	To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
	Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

PEMBROKE	But that your royal pleasure must be done,
	This act is as an ancient tale new told,
	And in the last repeating troublesome,
	Being urged at a time unseasonable.

SALISBURY	In this the antique and well noted face
	Of plain old form is much disfigured;
	And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,
	It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,
	Startles and frights consideration,
	Makes sound opinion sick and truth suspected,
	For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.

PEMBROKE	When workmen strive to do better than well,
	They do confound their skill in covetousness;
	And oftentimes excusing of a fault
	Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse,
	As patches set upon a little breach
	Discredit more in hiding of the fault
	Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.

SALISBURY	To this effect, before you were new crown'd,
	We breathed our counsel: but it pleased your highness
	To overbear it, and we are all well pleased,
	Since all and every part of what we would
	Doth make a stand at what your highness will.

KING JOHN	Some reasons of this double coronation
	I have possess'd you with and think them strong;
	And more, more strong, then lesser is my fear,
	I shall indue you with: meantime but ask
	What you would have reform'd that is not well,
	And well shall you perceive how willingly
	I will both hear and grant you your requests.

PEMBROKE	Then I, as one that am the tongue of these,
	To sound the purpose of all their hearts,
	Both for myself and them, but, chief of all,
	Your safety, for the which myself and them
	Bend their best studies, heartily request
	The enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint
	Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent
	To break into this dangerous argument,--
	If what in rest you have in right you hold,
	Why then your fears, which, as they say, attend
	The steps of wrong, should move you to mew up
	Your tender kinsman and to choke his days
	With barbarous ignorance and deny his youth
	The rich advantage of good exercise?
	That the time's enemies may not have this
	To grace occasions, let it be our suit
	That you have bid us ask his liberty;
	Which for our goods we do no further ask
	Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,
	Counts it your weal he have his liberty.

	[Enter HUBERT]

KING JOHN	Let it be so: I do commit his youth
	To your direction. Hubert, what news with you?

	[Taking him apart]

PEMBROKE	This is the man should do the bloody deed;
	He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine:
	The image of a wicked heinous fault
	Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
	Does show the mood of a much troubled breast;
	And I do fearfully believe 'tis done,
	What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.

SALISBURY	The colour of the king doth come and go
	Between his purpose and his conscience,
	Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set:
	His passion is so ripe, it needs must break.

PEMBROKE	And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence
	The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.

KING JOHN	We cannot hold mortality's strong hand:
	Good lords, although my will to give is living,
	The suit which you demand is gone and dead:
	He tells us Arthur is deceased to-night.

SALISBURY	Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past cure.

PEMBROKE	Indeed we heard how near his death he was
	Before the child himself felt he was sick:
	This must be answer'd either here or hence.

KING JOHN	Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?
	Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
	Have I commandment on the pulse of life?

SALISBURY	It is apparent foul play; and 'tis shame
	That greatness should so grossly offer it:
	So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell.

PEMBROKE	Stay yet, Lord Salisbury; I'll go with thee,
	And find the inheritance of this poor child,
	His little kingdom of a forced grave.
	That blood which owed the breadth of all this isle,
	Three foot of it doth hold: bad world the while!
	This must not be thus borne: this will break out
	To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt.

	[Exeunt Lords]

KING JOHN	They burn in indignation. I repent:
	There is no sure foundation set on blood,
	No certain life achieved by others' death.

	[Enter a Messenger]

	A fearful eye thou hast: where is that blood
	That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?
	So foul a sky clears not without a storm:
	Pour down thy weather: how goes all in France?

Messenger	From France to England. Never such a power
	For any foreign preparation
	Was levied in the body of a land.
	The copy of your speed is learn'd by them;
	For when you should be told they do prepare,
	The tidings come that they are all arrived.

KING JOHN	O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?
	Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care,
	That such an army could be drawn in France,
	And she not hear of it?

Messenger	My liege, her ear
	Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April died
	Your noble mother: and, as I hear, my lord,
	The Lady Constance in a frenzy died
	Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue
	I idly heard; if true or false I know not.

KING JOHN	Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
	O, make a league with me, till I have pleased
	My discontented peers! What! mother dead!
	How wildly then walks my estate in France!
	Under whose conduct came those powers of France
	That thou for truth givest out are landed here?

Messenger	Under the Dauphin.

KING JOHN	                  Thou hast made me giddy
	With these ill tidings.

	[Enter the BASTARD and PETER of Pomfret]

		  Now, what says the world
	To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff
	My head with more ill news, for it is full.

BASTARD	But if you be afeard to hear the worst,
	Then let the worst unheard fall on your bead.

KING JOHN	Bear with me cousin, for I was amazed
	Under the tide: but now I breathe again
	Aloft the flood, and can give audience
	To any tongue, speak it of what it will.

BASTARD	How I have sped among the clergymen,
	The sums I have collected shall express.
	But as I travell'd hither through the land,
	I find the people strangely fantasied;
	Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams,
	Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear:
	And here a prophet, that I brought with me
	From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
	With many hundreds treading on his heels;
	To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes,
	That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,
	Your highness should deliver up your crown.

KING JOHN	Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?

PETER	Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.

KING JOHN	Hubert, away with him; imprison him;
	And on that day at noon whereon he says
	I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd.
	Deliver him to safety; and return,
	For I must use thee.

	[Exeunt HUBERT with PETER]

		O my gentle cousin,
	Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arrived?

BASTARD	The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it:
	Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,
	With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,
	And others more, going to seek the grave
	Of Arthur, who they say is kill'd to-night
	On your suggestion.

KING JOHN	Gentle kinsman, go,
	And thrust thyself into their companies:
	I have a way to win their loves again;
	Bring them before me.

BASTARD	I will seek them out.

KING JOHN	Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.
	O, let me have no subject enemies,
	When adverse foreigners affright my towns
	With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!
	Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels,
	And fly like thought from them to me again.

BASTARD	The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.

	[Exit]

KING JOHN	Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman.
	Go after him; for he perhaps shall need
	Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
	And be thou he.

Messenger	                  With all my heart, my liege.

	[Exit]

KING JOHN	My mother dead!

	[Re-enter HUBERT]

HUBERT	My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night;
	Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about
	The other four in wondrous motion.

KING JOHN	Five moons!

HUBERT	Old men and beldams in the streets
	Do prophesy upon it dangerously:
	Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths:
	And when they talk of him, they shake their heads
	And whisper one another in the ear;
	And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist,
	Whilst he that hears makes fearful action,
	With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
	I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
	The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
	With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
	Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,
	Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste
	Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,
	Told of a many thousand warlike French
	That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent:
	Another lean unwash'd artificer
	Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur's death.

KING JOHN	Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears?
	Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
	Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had a mighty cause
	To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.

HUBERT	No had, my lord! why, did you not provoke me?

KING JOHN	It is the curse of kings to be attended
	By slaves that take their humours for a warrant
	To break within the bloody house of life,
	And on the winking of authority
	To understand a law, to know the meaning
	Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns
	More upon humour than advised respect.

HUBERT	Here is your hand and seal for what I did.

KING JOHN	O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth
	Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
	Witness against us to damnation!
	How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
	Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,
	A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
	Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame,
	This murder had not come into my mind:
	But taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,
	Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
	Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,
	I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
	And thou, to be endeared to a king,
	Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.

HUBERT	My lord--

KING JOHN	Hadst thou but shook thy head or made a pause
	When I spake darkly what I purposed,
	Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
	As bid me tell my tale in express words,
	Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,
	And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me:
	But thou didst understand me by my signs
	And didst in signs again parley with sin;
	Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,
	And consequently thy rude hand to act
	The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name.
	Out of my sight, and never see me more!
	My nobles leave me; and my state is braved,
	Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers:
	Nay, in the body of this fleshly land,
	This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
	Hostility and civil tumult reigns
	Between my conscience and my cousin's death.

HUBERT	Arm you against your other enemies,
	I'll make a peace between your soul and you.
	Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine
	Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,
	Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
	Within this bosom never enter'd yet
	The dreadful motion of a murderous thought;
	And you have slander'd nature in my form,
	Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,
	Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
	Than to be butcher of an innocent child.

KING JOHN	Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,
	Throw this report on their incensed rage,
	And make them tame to their obedience!
	Forgive the comment that my passion made
	Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
	And foul imaginary eyes of blood
	Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
	O, answer not, but to my closet bring
	The angry lords with all expedient haste.
	I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT IV



SCENE III	Before the castle.


	[Enter ARTHUR, on the walls]

ARTHUR	The wall is high, and yet will I leap down:
	Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!
	There's few or none do know me: if they did,
	This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite.
	I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.
	If I get down, and do not break my limbs,
	I'll find a thousand shifts to get away:
	As good to die and go, as die and stay.

	[Leaps down]

	O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones:
	Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!

	[Dies]

	[Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT]

SALISBURY	Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury:
	It is our safety, and we must embrace
	This gentle offer of the perilous time.

PEMBROKE	Who brought that letter from the cardinal?

SALISBURY	The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,
	Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love
	Is much more general than these lines import.

BIGOT	To-morrow morning let us meet him then.

SALISBURY	Or rather then set forward; for 'twill be
	Two long days' journey, lords, or ere we meet.

	[Enter the BASTARD]

BASTARD	Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!
	The king by me requests your presence straight.

SALISBURY	The king hath dispossess'd himself of us:
	We will not line his thin bestained cloak
	With our pure honours, nor attend the foot
	That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks.
	Return and tell him so: we know the worst.

BASTARD	Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best.

SALISBURY	Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.

BASTARD	But there is little reason in your grief;
	Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now.

PEMBROKE	Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.

BASTARD	'Tis true, to hurt his master, no man else.

SALISBURY	This is the prison. What is he lies here?

	[Seeing ARTHUR]

PEMBROKE	O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!
	The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.

SALISBURY	Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
	Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.

BIGOT	Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,
	Found it too precious-princely for a grave.

SALISBURY	Sir Richard, what think you? have you beheld,
	Or have you read or heard? or could you think?
	Or do you almost think, although you see,
	That you do see? could thought, without this object,
	Form such another? This is the very top,
	The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
	Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
	The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,
	That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage
	Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

PEMBROKE	All murders past do stand excused in this:
	And this, so sole and so unmatchable,
	Shall give a holiness, a purity,
	To the yet unbegotten sin of times;
	And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
	Exampled by this heinous spectacle.

BASTARD	It is a damned and a bloody work;
	The graceless action of a heavy hand,
	If that it be the work of any hand.

SALISBURY	If that it be the work of any hand!
	We had a kind of light what would ensue:
	It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;
	The practise and the purpose of the king:
	From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
	Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
	And breathing to his breathless excellence
	The incense of a vow, a holy vow,
	Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
	Never to be infected with delight,
	Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
	Till I have set a glory to this hand,
	By giving it the worship of revenge.


PEMBROKE	|
	|  Our souls religiously confirm thy words.
BIGOT	|


	[Enter HUBERT]

HUBERT	Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you:
	Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you.

SALISBURY	O, he is old and blushes not at death.
	Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!

HUBERT	I am no villain.

SALISBURY	                  Must I rob the law?

	[Drawing his sword]

BASTARD	Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.

SALISBURY	Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin.

HUBERT	Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;
	By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours:
	I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
	Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
	Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
	Your worth, your greatness and nobility.

BIGOT	Out, dunghill! darest thou brave a nobleman?

HUBERT	Not for my life: but yet I dare defend
	My innocent life against an emperor.

SALISBURY	Thou art a murderer.

HUBERT	Do not prove me so;
	Yet I am none: whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
	Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.

PEMBROKE	Cut him to pieces.

BASTARD	                  Keep the peace, I say.

SALISBURY	Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.

BASTARD	Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury:
	If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
	Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
	I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;
	Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
	That you shall think the devil is come from hell.

BIGOT	What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?
	Second a villain and a murderer?

HUBERT	Lord Bigot, I am none.

BIGOT	Who kill'd this prince?

HUBERT	'Tis not an hour since I left him well:
	I honour'd him, I loved him, and will weep
	My date of life out for his sweet life's loss.

SALISBURY	Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
	For villany is not without such rheum;
	And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
	Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
	Away with me, all you whose souls abhor
	The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;
	For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

BIGOT	Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!

PEMBROKE	There tell the king he may inquire us out.

	[Exeunt Lords]

BASTARD	Here's a good world! Knew you of this fair work?
	Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
	Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
	Art thou damn'd, Hubert.

HUBERT	Do but hear me, sir.

BASTARD	Ha! I'll tell thee what;
	Thou'rt damn'd as black--nay, nothing is so black;
	Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer:
	There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
	As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.

HUBERT	Upon my soul--

BASTARD	                  If thou didst but consent
	To this most cruel act, do but despair;
	And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread
	That ever spider twisted from her womb
	Will serve to strangle thee, a rush will be a beam
	To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,
	Put but a little water in a spoon,
	And it shall be as all the ocean,
	Enough to stifle such a villain up.
	I do suspect thee very grievously.

HUBERT	If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,
	Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
	Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
	Let hell want pains enough to torture me.
	I left him well.

BASTARD	                  Go, bear him in thine arms.
	I am amazed, methinks, and lose my way
	Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
	How easy dost thou take all England up!
	From forth this morsel of dead royalty,
	The life, the right and truth of all this realm
	Is fled to heaven; and England now is left
	To tug and scamble and to part by the teeth
	The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.
	Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty
	Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest
	And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
	Now powers from home and discontents at home
	Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,
	As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast,
	The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
	Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
	Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child
	And follow me with speed: I'll to the king:
	A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
	And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.

	[Exeunt]



	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE I	KING JOHN'S palace.


	[Enter KING JOHN, CARDINAL PANDULPH, and Attendants]

KING JOHN	Thus have I yielded up into your hand
	The circle of my glory.

	[Giving the crown]

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Take again
	From this my hand, as holding of the pope
	Your sovereign greatness and authority.

KING JOHN	Now keep your holy word: go meet the French,
	And from his holiness use all your power
	To stop their marches 'fore we are inflamed.
	Our discontented counties do revolt;
	Our people quarrel with obedience,
	Swearing allegiance and the love of soul
	To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.
	This inundation of mistemper'd humour
	Rests by you only to be qualified:
	Then pause not; for the present time's so sick,
	That present medicine must be minister'd,
	Or overthrow incurable ensues.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	It was my breath that blew this tempest up,
	Upon your stubborn usage of the pope;
	But since you are a gentle convertite,
	My tongue shall hush again this storm of war
	And make fair weather in your blustering land.
	On this Ascension-day, remember well,
	Upon your oath of service to the pope,
	Go I to make the French lay down their arms.

	[Exit]

KING JOHN	Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet
	Say that before Ascension-day at noon
	My crown I should give off? Even so I have:
	I did suppose it should be on constraint:
	But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.

	[Enter the BASTARD]

BASTARD	All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out
	But Dover castle: London hath received,
	Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:
	Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
	To offer service to your enemy,
	And wild amazement hurries up and down
	The little number of your doubtful friends.

KING JOHN	Would not my lords return to me again,
	After they heard young Arthur was alive?

BASTARD	They found him dead and cast into the streets,
	An empty casket, where the jewel of life
	By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away.

KING JOHN	That villain Hubert told me he did live.

BASTARD	So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
	But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
	Be great in act, as you have been in thought;
	Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
	Govern the motion of a kingly eye:
	Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
	Threaten the threatener and outface the brow
	Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,
	That borrow their behaviors from the great,
	Grow great by your example and put on
	The dauntless spirit of resolution.
	Away, and glister like the god of war,
	When he intendeth to become the field:
	Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
	What, shall they seek the lion in his den,
	And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
	O, let it not be said: forage, and run
	To meet displeasure farther from the doors,
	And grapple with him ere he comes so nigh.

KING JOHN	The legate of the pope hath been with me,
	And I have made a happy peace with him;
	And he hath promised to dismiss the powers
	Led by the Dauphin.

BASTARD	O inglorious league!
	Shall we, upon the footing of our land,
	Send fair-play orders and make compromise,
	Insinuation, parley and base truce
	To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy,
	A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields,
	And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
	Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
	And find no cheque? Let us, my liege, to arms:
	Perchance the cardinal cannot make your peace;
	Or if he do, let it at least be said
	They saw we had a purpose of defence.

KING JOHN	Have thou the ordering of this present time.

BASTARD	Away, then, with good courage! yet, I know,
	Our party may well meet a prouder foe.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE II	LEWIS's camp at St. Edmundsbury.


	[Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE,
	BIGOT, and Soldiers]

LEWIS	My Lord Melun, let this be copied out,
	And keep it safe for our remembrance:
	Return the precedent to these lords again;
	That, having our fair order written down,
	Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes,
	May know wherefore we took the sacrament
	And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.

SALISBURY	Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
	And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
	A voluntary zeal and an unurged faith
	To your proceedings; yet believe me, prince,
	I am not glad that such a sore of time
	Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt,
	And heal the inveterate canker of one wound
	By making many. O, it grieves my soul,
	That I must draw this metal from my side
	To be a widow-maker! O, and there
	Where honourable rescue and defence
	Cries out upon the name of Salisbury!
	But such is the infection of the time,
	That, for the health and physic of our right,
	We cannot deal but with the very hand
	Of stern injustice and confused wrong.
	And is't not pity, O my grieved friends,
	That we, the sons and children of this isle,
	Were born to see so sad an hour as this;
	Wherein we step after a stranger march
	Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
	Her enemies' ranks,--I must withdraw and weep
	Upon the spot of this enforced cause,--
	To grace the gentry of a land remote,
	And follow unacquainted colours here?
	What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove!
	That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
	Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,
	And grapple thee unto a pagan shore;
	Where these two Christian armies might combine
	The blood of malice in a vein of league,
	And not to spend it so unneighbourly!

LEWIS	A noble temper dost thou show in this;
	And great affections wrestling in thy bosom
	Doth make an earthquake of nobility.
	O, what a noble combat hast thou fought
	Between compulsion and a brave respect!
	Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
	That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks:
	My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
	Being an ordinary inundation;
	But this effusion of such manly drops,
	This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
	Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amazed
	Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
	Figured quite o'er with burning meteors.
	Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
	And with a great heart heave away the storm:
	Commend these waters to those baby eyes
	That never saw the giant world enraged;
	Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
	Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
	Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
	Into the purse of rich prosperity
	As Lewis himself: so, nobles, shall you all,
	That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.
	And even there, methinks, an angel spake:

	[Enter CARDINAL PANDULPH]

	Look, where the holy legate comes apace,
	To give us warrant from the hand of heaven
	And on our actions set the name of right
	With holy breath.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	                  Hail, noble prince of France!
	The next is this, King John hath reconciled
	Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,
	That so stood out against the holy church,
	The great metropolis and see of Rome:
	Therefore thy threatening colours now wind up;
	And tame the savage spirit of wild war,
	That like a lion foster'd up at hand,
	It may lie gently at the foot of peace,
	And be no further harmful than in show.

LEWIS	Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back:
	I am too high-born to be propertied,
	To be a secondary at control,
	Or useful serving-man and instrument,
	To any sovereign state throughout the world.
	Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
	Between this chastised kingdom and myself,
	And brought in matter that should feed this fire;
	And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
	With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
	You taught me how to know the face of right,
	Acquainted me with interest to this land,
	Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;
	And come ye now to tell me John hath made
	His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
	I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,
	After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
	And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back
	Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
	Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne,
	What men provided, what munition sent,
	To underprop this action? Is't not I
	That undergo this charge? who else but I,
	And such as to my claim are liable,
	Sweat in this business and maintain this war?
	Have I not heard these islanders shout out
	'Vive le roi!' as I have bank'd their towns?
	Have I not here the best cards for the game,
	To win this easy match play'd for a crown?
	And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
	No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	You look but on the outside of this work.

LEWIS	Outside or inside, I will not return
	Till my attempt so much be glorified
	As to my ample hope was promised
	Before I drew this gallant head of war,
	And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world,
	To outlook conquest and to win renown
	Even in the jaws of danger and of death.

	[Trumpet sounds]

	What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

	[Enter the BASTARD, attended]

BASTARD	According to the fair play of the world,
	Let me have audience; I am sent to speak:
	My holy lord of Milan, from the king
	I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;
	And, as you answer, I do know the scope
	And warrant limited unto my tongue.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
	And will not temporize with my entreaties;
	He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.

BASTARD	By all the blood that ever fury breathed,
	The youth says well. Now hear our English king;
	For thus his royalty doth speak in me.
	He is prepared, and reason too he should:
	This apish and unmannerly approach,
	This harness'd masque and unadvised revel,
	This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops,
	The king doth smile at; and is well prepared
	To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,
	From out the circle of his territories.
	That hand which had the strength, even at your door,
	To cudgel you and make you take the hatch,
	To dive like buckets in concealed wells,
	To crouch in litter of your stable planks,
	To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks,
	To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out
	In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake
	Even at the crying of your nation's crow,
	Thinking his voice an armed Englishman;
	Shall that victorious hand be feebled here,
	That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
	No: know the gallant monarch is in arms
	And like an eagle o'er his aery towers,
	To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.
	And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
	You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
	Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;
	For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids
	Like Amazons come tripping after drums,
	Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,
	Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts
	To fierce and bloody inclination.

LEWIS	There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;
	We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;
	We hold our time too precious to be spent
	With such a brabbler.

CARDINAL PANDULPH	Give me leave to speak.

BASTARD	No, I will speak.

LEWIS	                  We will attend to neither.
	Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war
	Plead for our interest and our being here.

BASTARD	Indeed your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
	And so shall you, being beaten: do but start
	An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
	And even at hand a drum is ready braced
	That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;
	Sound but another, and another shall
	As loud as thine rattle the welkin's ear
	And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand,
	Not trusting to this halting legate here,
	Whom he hath used rather for sport than need
	Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
	A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day
	To feast upon whole thousands of the French.

LEWIS	Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.

BASTARD	And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE III	The field of battle.


	[Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT]

KING JOHN	How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.

HUBERT	Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty?

KING JOHN	This fever, that hath troubled me so long,
	Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick!

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,
	Desires your majesty to leave the field
	And send him word by me which way you go.

KING JOHN	Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.

Messenger	Be of good comfort; for the great supply
	That was expected by the Dauphin here,
	Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands.
	This news was brought to Richard but even now:
	The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

KING JOHN	Ay me! this tyrant fever burns me up,
	And will not let me welcome this good news.
	Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight;
	Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE IV	Another part of the field.


	[Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT]

SALISBURY	I did not think the king so stored with friends.

PEMBROKE	Up once again; put spirit in the French:
	If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

SALISBURY	That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
	In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

PEMBROKE	They say King John sore sick hath left the field.

	[Enter MELUN, wounded]

MELUN	Lead me to the revolts of England here.

SALISBURY	When we were happy we had other names.

PEMBROKE	It is the Count Melun.

SALISBURY	Wounded to death.

MELUN	Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;
	Unthread the rude eye of rebellion
	And welcome home again discarded faith.
	Seek out King John and fall before his feet;
	For if the French be lords of this loud day,
	He means to recompense the pains you take
	By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn
	And I with him, and many moe with me,
	Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;
	Even on that altar where we swore to you
	Dear amity and everlasting love.

SALISBURY	May this be possible? may this be true?

MELUN	Have I not hideous death within my view,
	Retaining but a quantity of life,
	Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
	Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?
	What in the world should make me now deceive,
	Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
	Why should I then be false, since it is true
	That I must die here and live hence by truth?
	I say again, if Lewis do win the day,
	He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
	Behold another day break in the east:
	But even this night, whose black contagious breath
	Already smokes about the burning crest
	Of the old, feeble and day-wearied sun,
	Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,
	Paying the fine of rated treachery
	Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
	If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
	Commend me to one Hubert with your king:
	The love of him, and this respect besides,
	For that my grandsire was an Englishman,
	Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
	In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
	From forth the noise and rumour of the field,
	Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
	In peace, and part this body and my soul
	With contemplation and devout desires.

SALISBURY	We do believe thee: and beshrew my soul
	But I do love the favour and the form
	Of this most fair occasion, by the which
	We will untread the steps of damned flight,
	And like a bated and retired flood,
	Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
	Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd
	And cabby run on in obedience
	Even to our ocean, to our great King John.
	My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
	For I do see the cruel pangs of death
	Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight;
	And happy newness, that intends old right.

	[Exeunt, leading off MELUN]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE V	The French camp.


	[Enter LEWIS and his train]

LEWIS	The sun of heaven methought was loath to set,
	But stay'd and made the western welkin blush,
	When English measure backward their own ground
	In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,
	When with a volley of our needless shot,
	After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
	And wound our tattering colours clearly up,
	Last in the field, and almost lords of it!

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	Where is my prince, the Dauphin?

LEWIS	Here: what news?

Messenger	The Count Melun is slain; the English lords
	By his persuasion are again fall'n off,
	And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,
	Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.

LEWIS	Ah, foul shrewd news! beshrew thy very heart!
	I did not think to be so sad to-night
	As this hath made me. Who was he that said
	King John did fly an hour or two before
	The stumbling night did part our weary powers?

Messenger	Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

LEWIS	Well; keep good quarter and good care to-night:
	The day shall not be up so soon as I,
	To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE VI	An open place in the neighbourhood of Swinstead Abbey.


	[Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally]

HUBERT	Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.

BASTARD	A friend. What art thou?

HUBERT	Of the part of England.

BASTARD	Whither dost thou go?

HUBERT	What's that to thee? why may not I demand
	Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?

BASTARD	Hubert, I think?

HUBERT	                  Thou hast a perfect thought:
	I will upon all hazards well believe
	Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well.
	Who art thou?

BASTARD	                  Who thou wilt: and if thou please,
	Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
	I come one way of the Plantagenets.

HUBERT	Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night
	Have done me shame: brave soldier, pardon me,
	That any accent breaking from thy tongue
	Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

BASTARD	Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?

HUBERT	Why, here walk I in the black brow of night,
	To find you out.

BASTARD	                  Brief, then; and what's the news?

HUBERT	O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
	Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible.

BASTARD	Show me the very wound of this ill news:
	I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

HUBERT	The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk:
	I left him almost speechless; and broke out
	To acquaint you with this evil, that you might
	The better arm you to the sudden time,
	Than if you had at leisure known of this.

BASTARD	How did he take it? who did taste to him?

HUBERT	A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
	Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king
	Yet speaks and peradventure may recover.

BASTARD	Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty?

HUBERT	Why, know you not? the lords are all come back,
	And brought Prince Henry in their company;
	At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,
	And they are all about his majesty.

BASTARD	Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
	And tempt us not to bear above our power!
	I'll tell tree, Hubert, half my power this night,
	Passing these flats, are taken by the tide;
	These Lincoln Washes have devoured them;
	Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
	Away before: conduct me to the king;
	I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.

	[Exeunt]




	KING JOHN


ACT V



SCENE VII	The orchard in Swinstead Abbey.


	[Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT]

PRINCE HENRY	It is too late: the life of all his blood
	Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain,
	Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,
	Doth by the idle comments that it makes
	Foretell the ending of mortality.

	[Enter PEMBROKE]

PEMBROKE	His highness yet doth speak, and holds belief
	That, being brought into the open air,
	It would allay the burning quality
	Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

PRINCE HENRY	Let him be brought into the orchard here.
	Doth he still rage?

	[Exit BIGOT]

PEMBROKE	He is more patient
	Than when you left him; even now he sung.

PRINCE HENRY	O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes
	In their continuance will not feel themselves.
	Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
	Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now
	Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
	With many legions of strange fantasies,
	Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
	Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death
	should sing.
	I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
	Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
	And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
	His soul and body to their lasting rest.

SALISBURY	Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born
	To set a form upon that indigest
	Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.

	[Enter Attendants, and BIGOT, carrying KING JOHN in a chair]

KING JOHN	Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;
	It would not out at windows nor at doors.
	There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
	That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
	I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
	Upon a parchment, and against this fire
	Do I shrink up.

PRINCE HENRY	                  How fares your majesty?

KING JOHN	Poison'd,--ill fare--dead, forsook, cast off:
	And none of you will bid the winter come
	To thrust his icy fingers in my maw,
	Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
	Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the north
	To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips
	And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much,
	I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait
	And so ingrateful, you deny me that.

PRINCE HENRY	O that there were some virtue in my tears,
	That might relieve you!

KING JOHN	The salt in them is hot.
	Within me is a hell; and there the poison
	Is as a fiend confined to tyrannize
	On unreprievable condemned blood.

	[Enter the BASTARD]

BASTARD	O, I am scalded with my violent motion,
	And spleen of speed to see your majesty!

KING JOHN	O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
	The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd,
	And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail
	Are turned to one thread, one little hair:
	My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
	Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
	And then all this thou seest is but a clod
	And module of confounded royalty.

BASTARD	The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
	Where heaven He knows how we shall answer him;
	For in a night the best part of my power,
	As I upon advantage did remove,
	Were in the Washes all unwarily
	Devoured by the unexpected flood.

	[KING JOHN dies]

SALISBURY	You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.
	My liege! my lord! but now a king, now thus.

PRINCE HENRY	Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
	What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
	When this was now a king, and now is clay?

BASTARD	Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind
	To do the office for thee of revenge,
	And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,
	As it on earth hath been thy servant still.
	Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres,
	Where be your powers? show now your mended faiths,
	And instantly return with me again,
	To push destruction and perpetual shame
	Out of the weak door of our fainting land.
	Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
	The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

SALISBURY	It seems you know not, then, so much as we:
	The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,
	Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,
	And brings from him such offers of our peace
	As we with honour and respect may take,
	With purpose presently to leave this war.

BASTARD	He will the rather do it when he sees
	Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.

SALISBURY	Nay, it is in a manner done already;
	For many carriages he hath dispatch'd
	To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel
	To the disposing of the cardinal:
	With whom yourself, myself and other lords,
	If you think meet, this afternoon will post
	To consummate this business happily.

BASTARD	Let it be so: and you, my noble prince,
	With other princes that may best be spared,
	Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

PRINCE HENRY	At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
	For so he will'd it.

BASTARD	Thither shall it then:
	And happily may your sweet self put on
	The lineal state and glory of the land!
	To whom with all submission, on my knee
	I do bequeath my faithful services
	And true subjection everlastingly.

SALISBURY	And the like tender of our love we make,
	To rest without a spot for evermore.

PRINCE HENRY	I have a kind soul that would give you thanks
	And knows not how to do it but with tears.

BASTARD	O, let us pay the time but needful woe,
	Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.
	This England never did, nor never shall,
	Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
	But when it first did help to wound itself.
	Now these her princes are come home again,
	Come the three corners of the world in arms,
	And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
	If England to itself do rest but true.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY	the Fourth. (KING HENRY IV:)


HENRY,
Prince of Wales	(PRINCE HENRY:)	|
		| sons of the King
JOHN of Lancaster	(LANCASTER:)	|


WESTMORELAND:

SIR WALTER BLUNT:

THOMAS PERCY	Earl of Worcester. (EARL OF WORCESTER:)

HENRY PERCY	Earl of Northumberland. (NORTHUMBERLAND:)

HENRY PERCY	surnamed HOTSPUR, his son. (HOTSPUR:)

EDMUND MORTIMER	Earl of March. (MORTIMER:)

RICHARD SCROOP	Archbishop of York. (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)

ARCHIBALD	Earl of Douglas. (DOUGLAS:)

OWEN GLENDOWER:

SIR RICHARD VERNON	(VERNON:)

SIR JOHN FALSTAFF	(FALSTAFF:)

SIR MICHAEL	a friend to the Archbishop of York.

POINS:

GADSHILL:

PETO:

BARDOLPH:

FRANCIS	a waiter.

LADY PERCY	wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.

LADY MORTIMER	daughter to Glendower,
	and wife to Mortimer.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. (Hostess:)

	Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain,
	Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, Attendants,
	and an Ostler.
	(Sheriff:)
	(Vintner:)
	(Chamberlain:)
	(First Carrier:)
	(Second Carrier:)
	(First Traveller:)
	(Servant:)
	(Messenger:)
	(Ostler:)



SCENE	England.




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE I	London. The palace.


	[Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL
	of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others]

KING HENRY IV	So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
	Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
	And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
	To be commenced in strands afar remote.
	No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
	Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
	Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields,
	Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs
	Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
	Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
	All of one nature, of one substance bred,
	Did lately meet in the intestine shock
	And furious close of civil butchery
	Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,
	March all one way and be no more opposed
	Against acquaintance, kindred and allies:
	The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
	No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
	As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
	Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
	We are impressed and engaged to fight,
	Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
	Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb
	To chase these pagans in those holy fields
	Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet
	Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
	For our advantage on the bitter cross.
	But this our purpose now is twelve month old,
	And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go:
	Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
	Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
	What yesternight our council did decree
	In forwarding this dear expedience.

WESTMORELAND	My liege, this haste was hot in question,
	And many limits of the charge set down
	But yesternight: when all athwart there came
	A post from Wales loaden with heavy news;
	Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,
	Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
	Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
	Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
	A thousand of his people butchered;
	Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
	Such beastly shameless transformation,
	By those Welshwomen done as may not be
	Without much shame retold or spoken of.

KING HENRY IV	It seems then that the tidings of this broil
	Brake off our business for the Holy Land.

WESTMORELAND	This match'd with other did, my gracious lord;
	For more uneven and unwelcome news
	Came from the north and thus it did import:
	On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
	Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald,
	That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
	At Holmedon met,
	Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour,
	As by discharge of their artillery,
	And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
	For he that brought them, in the very heat
	And pride of their contention did take horse,
	Uncertain of the issue any way.

KING HENRY IV	Here is a dear, a true industrious friend,
	Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse.
	Stain'd with the variation of each soil
	Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
	And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
	The Earl of Douglas is discomfited:
	Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,
	Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
	On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
	Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son
	To beaten Douglas; and the Earl of Athol,
	Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith:
	And is not this an honourable spoil?
	A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?

WESTMORELAND	In faith,
	It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

KING HENRY IV	Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest me sin
	In envy that my Lord Northumberland
	Should be the father to so blest a son,
	A son who is the theme of honour's tongue;
	Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
	Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride:
	Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
	See riot and dishonour stain the brow
	Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved
	That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
	In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
	And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!
	Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
	But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,
	Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
	Which he in this adventure hath surprised,
	To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
	I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.

WESTMORELAND	This is his uncle's teaching; this is Worcester,
	Malevolent to you in all aspects;
	Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
	The crest of youth against your dignity.

KING HENRY IV	But I have sent for him to answer this;
	And for this cause awhile we must neglect
	Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
	Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
	Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords:
	But come yourself with speed to us again;
	For more is to be said and to be done
	Than out of anger can be uttered.

WESTMORELAND	I will, my liege.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE II	London. An apartment of the Prince's.


	[Enter the PRINCE OF WALES and FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?

PRINCE HENRY	Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack
	and unbuttoning thee after supper and sleeping upon
	benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to
	demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know.
	What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the
	day? Unless hours were cups of sack and minutes
	capons and clocks the tongues of bawds and dials the
	signs of leaping-houses and the blessed sun himself
	a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no
	reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand
	the time of the day.

FALSTAFF	Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take
	purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not
	by Phoebus, he,'that wandering knight so fair.' And,
	I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as, God
	save thy grace,--majesty I should say, for grace
	thou wilt have none,--

PRINCE HENRY	What, none?

FALSTAFF	No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to
	prologue to an egg and butter.

PRINCE HENRY	Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

FALSTAFF	Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not
	us that are squires of the night's body be called
	thieves of the day's beauty: let us be Diana's
	foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the
	moon; and let men say we be men of good government,
	being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and
	chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.

PRINCE HENRY	Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the
	fortune of us that are the moon's men doth ebb and
	flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is,
	by the moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of gold
	most resolutely snatched on Monday night and most
	dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with
	swearing 'Lay by' and spent with crying 'Bring in;'
	now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder
	and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

FALSTAFF	By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And is not my
	hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?

PRINCE HENRY	As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And
	is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

FALSTAFF	How now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips and
	thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a
	buff jerkin?

PRINCE HENRY	Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

FALSTAFF	Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a
	time and oft.

PRINCE HENRY	Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

FALSTAFF	No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.

PRINCE HENRY	Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch;
	and where it would not, I have used my credit.

FALSTAFF	Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent
	that thou art heir apparent--But, I prithee, sweet
	wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when
	thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is
	with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do
	not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.

PRINCE HENRY	No; thou shalt.

FALSTAFF	Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.

PRINCE HENRY	Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have
	the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.

FALSTAFF	Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my
	humour as well as waiting in the court, I can tell
	you.

PRINCE HENRY	For obtaining of suits?

FALSTAFF	Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman
	hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy
	as a gib cat or a lugged bear.

PRINCE HENRY	Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.

FALSTAFF	Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

PRINCE HENRY	What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of
	Moor-ditch?

FALSTAFF	Thou hast the most unsavoury similes and art indeed
	the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young
	prince. But, Hal, I prithee, trouble me no more
	with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a
	commodity of good names were to be bought. An old
	lord of the council rated me the other day in the
	street about you, sir, but I marked him not; and yet
	he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not; and
	yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.

PRINCE HENRY	Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the
	streets, and no man regards it.

FALSTAFF	O, thou hast damnable iteration and art indeed able
	to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon
	me, Hal; God forgive thee for it! Before I knew
	thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man
	should speak truly, little better than one of the
	wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give
	it over: by the Lord, and I do not, I am a villain:
	I'll be damned for never a king's son in
	Christendom.

PRINCE HENRY	Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?

FALSTAFF	'Zounds, where thou wilt, lad; I'll make one; an I
	do not, call me villain and baffle me.

PRINCE HENRY	I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying
	to purse-taking.

FALSTAFF	Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a
	man to labour in his vocation.

	[Enter POINS]

	Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a
	match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what
	hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the
	most omnipotent villain that ever cried 'Stand' to
	a true man.

PRINCE HENRY	Good morrow, Ned.

POINS	Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse?
	what says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Jack! how
	agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou
	soldest him on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira
	and a cold capon's leg?

PRINCE HENRY	Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have
	his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of
	proverbs: he will give the devil his due.

POINS	Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.

PRINCE HENRY	Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

POINS	But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four
	o'clock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going
	to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders
	riding to London with fat purses: I have vizards
	for you all; you have horses for yourselves:
	Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke
	supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap: we may do it
	as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff
	your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry
	at home and be hanged.

FALSTAFF	Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home and go not,
	I'll hang you for going.

POINS	You will, chops?

FALSTAFF	Hal, wilt thou make one?

PRINCE HENRY	Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.

FALSTAFF	There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good
	fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood
	royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.

PRINCE HENRY	Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.

FALSTAFF	Why, that's well said.

PRINCE HENRY	Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.

FALSTAFF	By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.

PRINCE HENRY	I care not.

POINS	Sir John, I prithee, leave the prince and me alone:
	I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure
	that he shall go.

FALSTAFF	Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him
	the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may
	move and what he hears may be believed, that the
	true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a false
	thief; for the poor abuses of the time want
	countenance. Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap.

PRINCE HENRY	Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer!

	[Exit Falstaff]

POINS	Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us
	to-morrow: I have a jest to execute that I cannot
	manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto and Gadshill
	shall rob those men that we have already waylaid:
	yourself and I will not be there; and when they
	have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut
	this head off from my shoulders.

PRINCE HENRY	How shall we part with them in setting forth?

POINS	Why, we will set forth before or after them, and
	appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at
	our pleasure to fail, and then will they adventure
	upon the exploit themselves; which they shall have
	no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.

PRINCE HENRY	Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our
	horses, by our habits and by every other
	appointment, to be ourselves.

POINS	Tut! our horses they shall not see: I'll tie them
	in the wood; our vizards we will change after we
	leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram
	for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

PRINCE HENRY	Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.

POINS	Well, for two of them, I know them to be as
	true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the
	third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll
	forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the
	incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will
	tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at
	least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what
	extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this
	lies the jest.

PRINCE HENRY	Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things
	necessary and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap;
	there I'll sup. Farewell.

POINS	Farewell, my lord.

	[Exit Poins]

PRINCE HENRY	I know you all, and will awhile uphold
	The unyoked humour of your idleness:
	Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
	Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
	To smother up his beauty from the world,
	That, when he please again to be himself,
	Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
	By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
	Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.
	If all the year were playing holidays,
	To sport would be as tedious as to work;
	But when they seldom come, they wish'd for come,
	And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
	So, when this loose behavior I throw off
	And pay the debt I never promised,
	By how much better than my word I am,
	By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
	And like bright metal on a sullen ground,
	My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
	Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
	Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
	I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
	Redeeming time when men think least I will.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE III	London. The palace.


	[Enter the KING, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR,
	SIR WALTER BLUNT, with others]

KING HENRY IV	My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
	Unapt to stir at these indignities,
	And you have found me; for accordingly
	You tread upon my patience: but be sure
	I will from henceforth rather be myself,
	Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition;
	Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
	And therefore lost that title of respect
	Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
	The scourge of greatness to be used on it;
	And that same greatness too which our own hands
	Have holp to make so portly.

NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord.--

KING HENRY IV	Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see
	Danger and disobedience in thine eye:
	O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,
	And majesty might never yet endure
	The moody frontier of a servant brow.
	You have good leave to leave us: when we need
	Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.

	[Exit Worcester]

	You were about to speak.

	[To North]

NORTHUMBERLAND	Yea, my good lord.
	Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded,
	Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,
	Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
	As is deliver'd to your majesty:
	Either envy, therefore, or misprison
	Is guilty of this fault and not my son.

HOTSPUR	My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
	But I remember, when the fight was done,
	When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,
	Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
	Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd,
	Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd
	Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home;
	He was perfumed like a milliner;
	And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
	A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
	He gave his nose and took't away again;
	Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
	Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and talk'd,
	And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
	He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
	To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
	Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
	With many holiday and lady terms
	He question'd me; amongst the rest, demanded
	My prisoners in your majesty's behalf.
	I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,
	To be so pester'd with a popinjay,
	Out of my grief and my impatience,
	Answer'd neglectingly I know not what,
	He should or he should not; for he made me mad
	To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet
	And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman
	Of guns and drums and wounds,--God save the mark!--
	And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth
	Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;
	And that it was great pity, so it was,
	This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd
	Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
	Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
	So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,
	He would himself have been a soldier.
	This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
	I answer'd indirectly, as I said;
	And I beseech you, let not his report
	Come current for an accusation
	Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	The circumstance consider'd, good my lord,
	Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said
	To such a person and in such a place,
	At such a time, with all the rest retold,
	May reasonably die and never rise
	To do him wrong or any way impeach
	What then he said, so he unsay it now.

KING HENRY IV	Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,
	But with proviso and exception,
	That we at our own charge shall ransom straight
	His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;
	Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
	The lives of those that he did lead to fight
	Against that great magician, damn'd Glendower,
	Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March
	Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,
	Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?
	Shall we but treason? and indent with fears,
	When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
	No, on the barren mountains let him starve;
	For I shall never hold that man my friend
	Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
	To ransom home revolted Mortimer.

HOTSPUR	Revolted Mortimer!
	He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,
	But by the chance of war; to prove that true
	Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,
	Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took
	When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
	In single opposition, hand to hand,
	He did confound the best part of an hour
	In changing hardiment with great Glendower:
	Three times they breathed and three times did
	they drink,
	Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
	Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,
	Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
	And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank,
	Bloodstained with these valiant combatants.
	Never did base and rotten policy
	Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
	Nor could the noble Mortimer
	Receive so many, and all willingly:
	Then let not him be slander'd with revolt.

KING HENRY IV	Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him;
	He never did encounter with Glendower:
	I tell thee,
	He durst as well have met the devil alone
	As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
	Art thou not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth
	Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer:
	Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
	Or you shall hear in such a kind from me
	As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland,
	We licence your departure with your son.
	Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.

	[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train]

HOTSPUR	An if the devil come and roar for them,
	I will not send them: I will after straight
	And tell him so; for I will ease my heart,
	Albeit I make a hazard of my head.

NORTHUMBERLAND	What, drunk with choler? stay and pause awhile:
	Here comes your uncle.

	[Re-enter WORCESTER]

HOTSPUR	Speak of Mortimer!
	'Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul
	Want mercy, if I do not join with him:
	Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins,
	And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,
	But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer
	As high in the air as this unthankful king,
	As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Who struck this heat up after I was gone?

HOTSPUR	He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;
	And when I urged the ransom once again
	Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,
	And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
	Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.

EARL OF WORCESTER	I cannot blame him: was not he proclaim'd
	By Richard that dead is the next of blood?

NORTHUMBERLAND	He was; I heard the proclamation:
	And then it was when the unhappy king,
	--Whose wrongs in us God pardon!--did set forth
	Upon his Irish expedition;
	From whence he intercepted did return
	To be deposed and shortly murdered.

EARL OF WORCESTER	And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth
	Live scandalized and foully spoken of.

HOTSPUR	But soft, I pray you; did King Richard then
	Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
	Heir to the crown?

NORTHUMBERLAND	He did; myself did hear it.

HOTSPUR	Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,
	That wished him on the barren mountains starve.
	But shall it be that you, that set the crown
	Upon the head of this forgetful man
	And for his sake wear the detested blot
	Of murderous subornation, shall it be,
	That you a world of curses undergo,
	Being the agents, or base second means,
	The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?
	O, pardon me that I descend so low,
	To show the line and the predicament
	Wherein you range under this subtle king;
	Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,
	Or fill up chronicles in time to come,
	That men of your nobility and power
	Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,
	As both of you--God pardon it!--have done,
	To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,
	An plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?
	And shall it in more shame be further spoken,
	That you are fool'd, discarded and shook off
	By him for whom these shames ye underwent?
	No; yet time serves wherein you may redeem
	Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves
	Into the good thoughts of the world again,
	Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt
	Of this proud king, who studies day and night
	To answer all the debt he owes to you
	Even with the bloody payment of your deaths:
	Therefore, I say--

EARL OF WORCESTER	                  Peace, cousin, say no more:
	And now I will unclasp a secret book,
	And to your quick-conceiving discontents
	I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,
	As full of peril and adventurous spirit
	As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud
	On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

HOTSPUR	If he fall in, good night! or sink or swim:
	Send danger from the east unto the west,
	So honour cross it from the north to south,
	And let them grapple: O, the blood more stirs
	To rouse a lion than to start a hare!

NORTHUMBERLAND	Imagination of some great exploit
	Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.

HOTSPUR	By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,
	To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon,
	Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
	Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
	And pluck up drowned honour by the locks;
	So he that doth redeem her thence might wear
	Without corrival, all her dignities:
	But out upon this half-faced fellowship!

EARL OF WORCESTER	He apprehends a world of figures here,
	But not the form of what he should attend.
	Good cousin, give me audience for a while.

HOTSPUR	I cry you mercy.

EARL OF WORCESTER	                  Those same noble Scots
	That are your prisoners,--

HOTSPUR	I'll keep them all;
	By God, he shall not have a Scot of them;
	No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not:
	I'll keep them, by this hand.

EARL OF WORCESTER	You start away
	And lend no ear unto my purposes.
	Those prisoners you shall keep.

HOTSPUR	Nay, I will; that's flat:
	He said he would not ransom Mortimer;
	Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer;
	But I will find him when he lies asleep,
	And in his ear I'll holla 'Mortimer!'
	Nay,
	I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
	Nothing but 'Mortimer,' and give it him
	To keep his anger still in motion.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Hear you, cousin; a word.

HOTSPUR	All studies here I solemnly defy,
	Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:
	And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales,
	But that I think his father loves him not
	And would be glad he met with some mischance,
	I would have him poison'd with a pot of ale.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Farewell, kinsman: I'll talk to you
	When you are better temper'd to attend.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool
	Art thou to break into this woman's mood,
	Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!

HOTSPUR	Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourged with rods,
	Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear
	Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
	In Richard's time,--what do you call the place?--
	A plague upon it, it is in Gloucestershire;
	'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept,
	His uncle York; where I first bow'd my knee
	Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,--
	'Sblood!--
	When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND	At Berkley castle.

HOTSPUR	You say true:
	Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
	This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
	Look,'when his infant fortune came to age,'
	And 'gentle Harry Percy,' and 'kind cousin;'
	O, the devil take such cozeners! God forgive me!
	Good uncle, tell your tale; I have done.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Nay, if you have not, to it again;
	We will stay your leisure.

HOTSPUR	I have done, i' faith.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
	Deliver them up without their ransom straight,
	And make the Douglas' son your only mean
	For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons
	Which I shall send you written, be assured,
	Will easily be granted. You, my lord,

	[To Northumberland]

	Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
	Shall secretly into the bosom creep
	Of that same noble prelate, well beloved,
	The archbishop.

HOTSPUR	Of York, is it not?

EARL OF WORCESTER	True; who bears hard
	His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.
	I speak not this in estimation,
	As what I think might be, but what I know
	Is ruminated, plotted and set down,
	And only stays but to behold the face
	Of that occasion that shall bring it on.

HOTSPUR	I smell it: upon my life, it will do well.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Before the game is afoot, thou still let'st slip.

HOTSPUR	Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot;
	And then the power of Scotland and of York,
	To join with Mortimer, ha?

EARL OF WORCESTER	And so they shall.

HOTSPUR	In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.

EARL OF WORCESTER	And 'tis no little reason bids us speed,
	To save our heads by raising of a head;
	For, bear ourselves as even as we can,
	The king will always think him in our debt,
	And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,
	Till he hath found a time to pay us home:
	And see already how he doth begin
	To make us strangers to his looks of love.

HOTSPUR	He does, he does: we'll be revenged on him.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Cousin, farewell: no further go in this
	Than I by letters shall direct your course.
	When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,
	I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer;
	Where you and Douglas and our powers at once,
	As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,
	To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,
	Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust.

HOTSPUR	Uncle, Adieu: O, let the hours be short
	Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE I	Rochester. An inn yard.


	[Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand]

First Carrier	Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I'll be
	hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and
	yet our horse not packed. What, ostler!

Ostler	[Within]   Anon, anon.

First Carrier	I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks
	in the point; poor jade, is wrung in the withers out
	of all cess.

	[Enter another Carrier]

Second Carrier	Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that
	is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this
	house is turned upside down since Robin Ostler died.

First Carrier	Poor fellow, never joyed since the price of oats
	rose; it was the death of him.

Second Carrier	I think this be the most villanous house in all
	London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench.

First Carrier	Like a tench! by the mass, there is ne'er a king
	christen could be better bit than I have been since
	the first cock.

Second Carrier	Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we
	leak in your chimney; and your chamber-lie breeds
	fleas like a loach.

First Carrier	What, ostler! come away and be hanged!

Second Carrier	I have a gammon of bacon and two razors of ginger,
	to be delivered as far as Charing-cross.

First Carrier	God's body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite
	starved. What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou
	never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An
	'twere not as good deed as drink, to break the pate
	on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged!
	hast thou no faith in thee?

	[Enter GADSHILL]

GADSHILL	Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?

First Carrier	I think it be two o'clock.

GADSHILL	I pray thee lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding
	in the stable.

First Carrier	Nay, by God, soft; I know a trick worth two of that, i' faith.

GADSHILL	I pray thee, lend me thine.

Second Carrier	Ay, when? can'st tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth
	he? marry, I'll see thee hanged first.

GADSHILL	Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?

Second Carrier	Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant
	thee. Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the
	gentleman: they will along with company, for they
	have great charge.

	[Exeunt carriers]

GADSHILL	What, ho! chamberlain!

Chamberlain	[Within]  At hand, quoth pick-purse.

GADSHILL	That's even as fair as--at hand, quoth the
	chamberlain; for thou variest no more from picking
	of purses than giving direction doth from labouring;
	thou layest the plot how.

	[Enter Chamberlain]

Chamberlain	Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that
	I told you yesternight: there's a franklin in the
	wild of Kent hath brought three hundred marks with
	him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his
	company last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one
	that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what.
	They are up already, and call for eggs and butter;
	they will away presently.

GADSHILL	Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas'
	clerks, I'll give thee this neck.

Chamberlain	No, I'll none of it: I pray thee keep that for the
	hangman; for I know thou worshippest St. Nicholas
	as truly as a man of falsehood may.

GADSHILL	What talkest thou to me of the hangman? if I hang,
	I'll make a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang, old
	Sir John hangs with me, and thou knowest he is no
	starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans that thou
	dreamest not of, the which for sport sake are
	content to do the profession some grace; that would,
	if matters should be looked into, for their own
	credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with no
	foot-land rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers,
	none of these mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worms;
	but with nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters and
	great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will
	strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than
	drink, and drink sooner than pray: and yet, zounds,
	I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the
	commonwealth; or rather, not pray to her, but prey
	on her, for they ride up and down on her and make
	her their boots.

Chamberlain	What, the commonwealth their boots? will she hold
	out water in foul way?

GADSHILL	She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. We
	steal as in a castle, cocksure; we have the receipt
	of fern-seed, we walk invisible.

Chamberlain	Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to
	the night than to fern-seed for your walking invisible.

GADSHILL	Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our
	purchase, as I am a true man.

Chamberlain	Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.

GADSHILL	Go to; 'homo' is a common name to all men. Bid the
	ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell,
	you muddy knave.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE II	The highway, near Gadshill.


	[Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS]

POINS	Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's
	horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.

PRINCE HENRY	Stand close.

	[Enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!

PRINCE HENRY	Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost
	thou keep!

FALSTAFF	Where's Poins, Hal?

PRINCE HENRY	He is walked up to the top of the hill: I'll go seek him.

FALSTAFF	I am accursed to rob in that thief's company: the
	rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know
	not where. If I travel but four foot by the squier
	further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt
	not but to die a fair death for all this, if I
	'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have
	forsworn his company hourly any time this two and
	twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the
	rogue's company. If the rascal hath not given me
	medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged; it
	could not be else: I have drunk medicines. Poins!
	Hal! a plague upon you both! Bardolph! Peto!
	I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An 'twere
	not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man and to
	leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that
	ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven
	ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me;
	and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough:
	a plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!

	[They whistle]

	Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you
	rogues; give me my horse, and be hanged!

PRINCE HENRY	Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine ear close
	to the ground and list if thou canst hear the tread
	of travellers.

FALSTAFF	Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down?
	'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot
	again for all the coin in thy father's exchequer.
	What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?


PRINCE HENRY	Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.

FALSTAFF	I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse,
	good king's son.

PRINCE HENRY	Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler?

FALSTAFF	Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent
	garters! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I
	have not ballads made on you all and sung to filthy
	tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison: when a jest
	is so forward, and afoot too! I hate it.

	[Enter GADSHILL, BARDOLPH and PETO]

GADSHILL	Stand.

FALSTAFF	So I do, against my will.

POINS	O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph,
	what news?

BARDOLPH	Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: there 's
	money of the king's coming down the hill; 'tis going
	to the king's exchequer.

FALSTAFF	You lie, ye rogue; 'tis going to the king's tavern.

GADSHILL	There's enough to make us all.

FALSTAFF	To be hanged.

PRINCE HENRY	Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane;
	Ned Poins and I will walk lower: if they 'scape
	from your encounter, then they light on us.

PETO	How many be there of them?

GADSHILL	Some eight or ten.

FALSTAFF	'Zounds, will they not rob us?

PRINCE HENRY	What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?

FALSTAFF	Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather;
	but yet no coward, Hal.

PRINCE HENRY	Well, we leave that to the proof.

POINS	Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge:
	when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him.
	Farewell, and stand fast.

FALSTAFF	Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged.

PRINCE HENRY	Ned, where are our disguises?

POINS	Here, hard by: stand close.

	[Exeunt PRINCE HENRY and POINS]

FALSTAFF	Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I:
	every man to his business.

	[Enter the Travellers]

First Traveller	Come, neighbour: the boy shall lead our horses down
	the hill; we'll walk afoot awhile, and ease our legs.

Thieves	Stand!

Travellers	Jesus bless us!

FALSTAFF	Strike; down with them; cut the villains' throats:
	ah! whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they
	hate us youth: down with them: fleece them.

Travellers	O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever!

FALSTAFF	Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye
	fat chuffs: I would your store were here! On,
	bacons, on! What, ye knaves! young men must live.
	You are Grand-jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, 'faith.

	[Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt]

	[Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS]

PRINCE HENRY	The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou
	and I rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it
	would be argument for a week, laughter for a month
	and a good jest for ever.

POINS	Stand close; I hear them coming.

	[Enter the Thieves again]

FALSTAFF	Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse
	before day. An the Prince and Poins be not two
	arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring: there's
	no more valour in that Poins than in a wild-duck.

PRINCE HENRY	Your money!

POINS	Villains!

	[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon
	them; they all run away; and Falstaff, after a blow
	or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them]

PRINCE HENRY	Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse:
	The thieves are all scatter'd and possess'd with fear
	So strongly that they dare not meet each other;
	Each takes his fellow for an officer.
	Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death,
	And lards the lean earth as he walks along:
	Were 't not for laughing, I should pity him.

POINS	How the rogue roar'd!

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE III	Warkworth castle


	[Enter HOTSPUR, solus, reading a letter]

HOTSPUR	'But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well
	contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear
	your house.' He could be contented: why is he not,
	then? In respect of the love he bears our house:
	he shows in this, he loves his own barn better than
	he loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The
	purpose you undertake is dangerous;'--why, that's
	certain: 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to
	drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this
	nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 'The
	purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you
	have named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and
	your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so
	great an opposition.' Say you so, say you so? I say
	unto you again, you are a shallow cowardly hind, and
	you lie.  What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord,
	our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our
	friends true and constant: a good plot, good
	friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot,
	very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is
	this! Why, my lord of York commends the plot and the
	general course of action. 'Zounds, an I were now by
	this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan.
	Is there not my father, my uncle and myself? lord
	Edmund Mortimer, My lord of York and Owen Glendower?
	is there not besides the Douglas? have I not all
	their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the
	next month? and are they not some of them set
	forward already? What a pagan rascal is this! an
	infidel! Ha! you shall see now in very sincerity
	of fear and cold heart, will he to the king and lay
	open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself
	and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of
	skim milk with so honourable an action! Hang him!
	let him tell the king: we are prepared. I will set
	forward to-night.

	[Enter LADY PERCY]

	How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.

LADY PERCY	O, my good lord, why are you thus alone?
	For what offence have I this fortnight been
	A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed?
	Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
	Thy stomach, pleasure and thy golden sleep?
	Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
	And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
	Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks;
	And given my treasures and my rights of thee
	To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy?
	In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd,
	And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars;
	Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;
	Cry 'Courage! to the field!' And thou hast talk'd
	Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,
	Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,
	Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,
	Of prisoners' ransom and of soldiers slain,
	And all the currents of a heady fight.
	Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war
	And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
	That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow
	Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream;
	And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
	Such as we see when men restrain their breath
	On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?
	Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
	And I must know it, else he loves me not.

HOTSPUR	What, ho!

	[Enter Servant]

	Is Gilliams with the packet gone?

Servant	He is, my lord, an hour ago.


HOTSPUR	Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?

Servant	One horse, my lord, he brought even now.

HOTSPUR	What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not?

Servant	It is, my lord.

HOTSPUR	                  That roan shall by my throne.
	Well, I will back him straight: O esperance!
	Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.

	[Exit Servant]

LADY PERCY	But hear you, my lord.

HOTSPUR	What say'st thou, my lady?

LADY PERCY	What is it carries you away?

HOTSPUR	Why, my horse, my love, my horse.

LADY PERCY	Out, you mad-headed ape!
	A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen
	As you are toss'd with. In faith,
	I'll know your business, Harry, that I will.
	I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
	About his title, and hath sent for you
	To line his enterprise: but if you go,--

HOTSPUR	So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.

LADY PERCY	Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
	Directly unto this question that I ask:
	In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
	An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.

HOTSPUR	Away,
	Away, you trifler! Love! I love thee not,
	I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world
	To play with mammets and to tilt with lips:
	We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns,
	And pass them current too. God's me, my horse!
	What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st thou
	have with me?

LADY PERCY	Do you not love me? do you not, indeed?
	Well, do not then; for since you love me not,
	I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
	Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.

HOTSPUR	Come, wilt thou see me ride?
	And when I am on horseback, I will swear
	I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;
	I must not have you henceforth question me
	Whither I go, nor reason whereabout:
	Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude,
	This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
	I know you wise, but yet no farther wise
	Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are,
	But yet a woman: and for secrecy,
	No lady closer; for I well believe
	Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
	And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.

LADY PERCY	How! so far?

HOTSPUR	Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate:
	Whither I go, thither shall you go too;
	To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.
	Will this content you, Kate?

LADY PERCY	It must of force.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE IV	The Boar's-Head Tavern, Eastcheap.


	[Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS]

PRINCE HENRY	Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me
	thy hand to laugh a little.

POINS	Where hast been, Hal?

PRINCE HENRY	With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four
	score hogsheads. I have sounded the very
	base-string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother
	to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by
	their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis.
	They take it already upon their salvation, that
	though I be but the prince of Wales, yet I am king
	of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack,
	like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a
	good boy, by the Lord, so they call me, and when I
	am king of England, I shall command all the good
	lads in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dyeing
	scarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they
	cry  'hem!' and bid you play it off. To conclude, I
	am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour,
	that I can drink with any tinker in his own language
	during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost
	much honour, that thou wert not with me in this sweet
	action. But, sweet Ned,--to sweeten which name of
	Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped
	even now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that
	never spake other English in his life than 'Eight
	shillings and sixpence' and 'You are welcome,' with
	this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint
	of bastard in the Half-Moon,' or so. But, Ned, to
	drive away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee,
	do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my
	puny drawer to what end he gave me the sugar; and do
	thou never leave calling 'Francis,' that his tale
	to me may be nothing but 'Anon.' Step aside, and
	I'll show thee a precedent.

POINS	Francis!

PRINCE HENRY	Thou art perfect.

POINS	Francis!

	[Exit POINS]

	[Enter FRANCIS]

FRANCIS	Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.

PRINCE HENRY	Come hither, Francis.

FRANCIS	My lord?

PRINCE HENRY	How long hast thou to serve, Francis?

FRANCIS	Forsooth, five years, and as much as to--

POINS	[Within]  Francis!

FRANCIS	Anon, anon, sir.

PRINCE HENRY	Five year! by'r lady, a long lease for the clinking
	of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant
	as to play the coward with thy indenture and show it
	a fair pair of heels and run from it?

FRANCIS	O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in
	England, I could find in my heart.

POINS	[Within]  Francis!

FRANCIS	Anon, sir.

PRINCE HENRY	How old art thou, Francis?

FRANCIS	Let me see--about Michaelmas next I shall be--

POINS	[Within]  Francis!

FRANCIS	Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.

PRINCE HENRY	Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou
	gavest me,'twas a pennyworth, wast't not?

FRANCIS	O Lord, I would it had been two!

PRINCE HENRY	I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me
	when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.

POINS	[Within]  Francis!

FRANCIS	Anon, anon.

PRINCE HENRY	Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis;
	or, Francis, o' Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when
	thou wilt. But, Francis!

FRANCIS	My lord?

PRINCE HENRY	Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal-button,
	not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,
	smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,--

FRANCIS	O Lord, sir, who do you mean?

PRINCE HENRY	Why, then, your brown bastard is your only drink;
	for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet
	will sully: in Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much.

FRANCIS	What, sir?

POINS	[Within]  Francis!

PRINCE HENRY	Away, you rogue! dost thou not hear them call?

	[Here they both call him; the drawer stands amazed,
	not knowing which way to go]

	[Enter Vintner]

Vintner	What, standest thou still, and hearest such a
	calling? Look to the guests within.

	[Exit Francis]

	My lord, old Sir John, with half-a-dozen more, are
	at the door: shall I let them in?

PRINCE HENRY	Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.

	[Exit Vintner]
	Poins!

	[Re-enter POINS]

POINS	Anon, anon, sir.

PRINCE HENRY	Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at
	the door: shall we be merry?

POINS	As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what
	cunning match have you made with this jest of the
	drawer? come, what's the issue?

PRINCE HENRY	I am now of all humours that have showed themselves
	humours since the old days of goodman Adam to the
	pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight.

	[Re-enter FRANCIS]

	What's o'clock, Francis?

FRANCIS	Anon, anon, sir.

	[Exit]

PRINCE HENRY	That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a
	parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is
	upstairs and downstairs; his eloquence the parcel of
	a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the
	Hotspur of the north; he that kills me some six or
	seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his
	hands, and says to his wife 'Fie upon this quiet
	life! I want work.' 'O my sweet Harry,' says she,
	'how many hast thou killed to-day?' 'Give my roan
	horse a drench,' says he; and answers 'Some
	fourteen,' an hour after; 'a trifle, a trifle.' I
	prithee, call in Falstaff: I'll play Percy, and
	that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his
	wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.

	[Enter FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH, and PETO;
	FRANCIS following with wine]

POINS	Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been?

FALSTAFF	A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too!
	marry, and amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere I
	lead this life long, I'll sew nether stocks and mend
	them and foot them too. A plague of all cowards!
	Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant?

	[He drinks]

PRINCE HENRY	Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter?
	pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale
	of the sun's! if thou didst, then behold that compound.

FALSTAFF	You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: there is
	nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man:
	yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime
	in it. A villanous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack;
	die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be
	not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a
	shotten herring. There live not three good men
	unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and
	grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I say.
	I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or any
	thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still.

PRINCE HENRY	How now, wool-sack! what mutter you?

FALSTAFF	A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy
	kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy
	subjects afore thee like a flock of wild-geese,
	I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales!

PRINCE HENRY	Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter?

FALSTAFF	Are not you a coward? answer me to that: and Poins there?

POINS	'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the
	Lord, I'll stab thee.

FALSTAFF	I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere I call
	thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound I
	could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight
	enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your
	back: call you that backing of your friends? A
	plague upon such backing! give me them that will
	face me. Give me a cup of sack: I am a rogue, if I
	drunk to-day.

PRINCE HENRY	O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou
	drunkest last.

FALSTAFF	All's one for that.

	[He drinks]

	A plague of all cowards, still say I.

PRINCE HENRY	What's the matter?

FALSTAFF	What's the matter! there be four of us here have
	ta'en a thousand pound this day morning.

PRINCE HENRY	Where is it, Jack? where is it?

FALSTAFF	Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon
	poor four of us.

PRINCE HENRY	What, a hundred, man?

FALSTAFF	I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a
	dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scaped by
	miracle. I am eight times thrust through the
	doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut
	through and through; my sword hacked like a
	hand-saw--ecce signum! I never dealt better since
	I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all
	cowards! Let them speak: if they speak more or
	less than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.

PRINCE HENRY	Speak, sirs; how was it?

GADSHILL	We four set upon some dozen--

FALSTAFF	Sixteen at least, my lord.

GADSHILL	And bound them.

PETO	No, no, they were not bound.

FALSTAFF	You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I
	am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.

GADSHILL	As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us--

FALSTAFF	And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.

PRINCE HENRY	What, fought you with them all?

FALSTAFF	All! I know not what you call all; but if I fought
	not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if
	there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old
	Jack, then am I no two-legged creature.

PRINCE HENRY	Pray God you have not murdered some of them.

FALSTAFF	Nay, that's past praying for: I have peppered two
	of them; two I am sure I have paid, two rogues
	in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell
	thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou
	knowest my old ward; here I lay and thus I bore my
	point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me--

PRINCE HENRY	What, four? thou saidst but two even now.

FALSTAFF	Four, Hal; I told thee four.

POINS	Ay, ay, he said four.

FALSTAFF	These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at
	me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven
	points in my target, thus.

PRINCE HENRY	Seven? why, there were but four even now.

FALSTAFF	In buckram?

POINS	Ay, four, in buckram suits.

FALSTAFF	Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.

PRINCE HENRY	Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon.

FALSTAFF	Dost thou hear me, Hal?

PRINCE HENRY	Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.

FALSTAFF	Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine
	in buckram that I told thee of--

PRINCE HENRY	So, two more already.

FALSTAFF	Their points being broken,--

POINS	Down fell their hose.

FALSTAFF	Began to give me ground: but I followed me close,
	came in foot and hand; and with a thought seven of
	the eleven I paid.

PRINCE HENRY	O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!

FALSTAFF	But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten
	knaves in Kendal green came at my back and let drive
	at me; for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst
	not see thy hand.

PRINCE HENRY	These lies are like their father that begets them;
	gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou
	clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou
	whoreson, obscene, grease tallow-catch,--

FALSTAFF	What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth
	the truth?

PRINCE HENRY	Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal
	green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy
	hand? come, tell us your reason: what sayest thou to this?

POINS	Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.

FALSTAFF	What, upon compulsion? 'Zounds, an I were at the
	strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would
	not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on
	compulsion! If reasons were as plentiful as
	blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon
	compulsion, I.

PRINCE HENRY	I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine
	coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker,
	this huge hill of flesh,--

FALSTAFF	'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried
	neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O
	for breath to utter what is like thee! you
	tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase; you vile
	standing-tuck,--

PRINCE HENRY	Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again: and
	when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons,
	hear me speak but this.

POINS	Mark, Jack.

PRINCE HENRY	We two saw you four set on four and bound them, and
	were masters of their wealth. Mark now, how a plain
	tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you
	four; and, with a word, out-faced you from your
	prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you here in
	the house: and, Falstaff, you carried your guts
	away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared
	for mercy and still run and roared, as ever I heard
	bull-calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword
	as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight!
	What trick, what device, what starting-hole, canst
	thou now find out to hide thee from this open and
	apparent shame?

POINS	Come, let's hear, Jack; what trick hast thou now?

FALSTAFF	By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye.
	Why, hear you, my masters: was it for me to kill the
	heir-apparent? should I turn upon the true prince?
	why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules: but
	beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true
	prince. Instinct is a great matter; I was now a
	coward on instinct. I shall think the better of
	myself and thee during my life; I for a valiant
	lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by the Lord,
	lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap
	to the doors: watch to-night, pray to-morrow.
	Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles
	of good fellowship come to you! What, shall we be
	merry? shall we have a play extempore?

PRINCE HENRY	Content; and the argument shall be thy running away.

FALSTAFF	Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!

	[Enter Hostess]

Hostess	O Jesu, my lord the prince!

PRINCE HENRY	How now, my lady the hostess! what sayest thou to
	me?

Hostess	Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at
	door would speak with you: he says he comes from
	your father.

PRINCE HENRY	Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and
	send him back again to my mother.

FALSTAFF	What manner of man is he?

Hostess	An old man.

FALSTAFF	What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall
	I give him his answer?

PRINCE HENRY	Prithee, do, Jack.

FALSTAFF	'Faith, and I'll send him packing.

	[Exit FALSTAFF]

PRINCE HENRY	Now, sirs: by'r lady, you fought fair; so did you,
	Peto; so did you, Bardolph: you are lions too, you
	ran away upon instinct, you will not touch the true
	prince; no, fie!

BARDOLPH	'Faith, I ran when I saw others run.

PRINCE HENRY	'Faith, tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's
	sword so hacked?

PETO	Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and said he would
	swear truth out of England but he would make you
	believe it was done in fight, and persuaded us to do the like.

BARDOLPH	Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass to
	make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments
	with it and swear it was the blood of true men. I
	did that I did not this seven year before, I blushed
	to hear his monstrous devices.

PRINCE HENRY	O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years
	ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since
	thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire and
	sword on thy side, and yet thou rannest away: what
	instinct hadst thou for it?

BARDOLPH	My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold
	these exhalations?

PRINCE HENRY	I do.

BARDOLPH	What think you they portend?

PRINCE HENRY	Hot livers and cold purses.

BARDOLPH	Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.

PRINCE HENRY	No, if rightly taken, halter.

	[Re-enter FALSTAFF]

	Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone.
	How now, my sweet creature of bombast!
	How long is't ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee?

FALSTAFF	My own knee! when I was about thy years, Hal, I was
	not an eagle's talon in the waist; I could have
	crept into any alderman's thumb-ring: a plague of
	sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a
	bladder. There's villanous news abroad: here was
	Sir John Bracy from your father; you must to the
	court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the
	north, Percy, and he of Wales, that gave Amamon the
	bastinado and made Lucifer cuckold and swore the
	devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh
	hook--what a plague call you him?

POINS	O, Glendower.

FALSTAFF	Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer,
	and old Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of
	Scots, Douglas, that runs o' horseback up a hill
	perpendicular,--

PRINCE HENRY	He that rides at high speed and with his pistol
	kills a sparrow flying.

FALSTAFF	You have hit it.

PRINCE HENRY	So did he never the sparrow.

FALSTAFF	Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run.

PRINCE HENRY	Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so
	for running!

FALSTAFF	O' horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will not budge a foot.

PRINCE HENRY	Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

FALSTAFF	I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too,
	and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more:
	Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's
	beard is turned white with the news: you may buy
	land now as cheap as stinking mackerel.

PRINCE HENRY	Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and
	this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads
	as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.

FALSTAFF	By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we
	shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal,
	art not thou horrible afeard? thou being
	heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three
	such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that
	spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou
	not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at
	it?

PRINCE HENRY	Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct.

FALSTAFF	Well, thou wert be horribly chid tomorrow when thou
	comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer.

PRINCE HENRY	Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the
	particulars of my life.

FALSTAFF	Shall I? content: this chair shall be my state,
	this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown.

PRINCE HENRY	Thy state is taken for a joined-stool, thy golden
	sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich
	crown for a pitiful bald crown!

FALSTAFF	Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee,
	now shalt thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to
	make my eyes look red, that it may be thought I have
	wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it
	in King Cambyses' vein.

PRINCE HENRY	Well, here is my leg.

FALSTAFF	And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.

Hostess	O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!

FALSTAFF	Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling tears are vain.

Hostess	O, the father, how he holds his countenance!

FALSTAFF	For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen;
	For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes.

Hostess	O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry
	players as ever I see!

FALSTAFF	Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain.
	Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy
	time, but also how thou art accompanied: for though
	the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster
	it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the
	sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have
	partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion,
	but chiefly a villanous trick of thine eye and a
	foolish-hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant
	me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point;
	why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall
	the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher and eat
	blackberries? a question not to be asked. Shall
	the sun of England prove a thief and take purses? a
	question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry,
	which thou hast often heard of and it is known to
	many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch,
	as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth
	the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not
	speak to thee in drink but in tears, not in
	pleasure but in passion, not in words only, but in
	woes also: and yet there is a virtuous man whom I
	have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

PRINCE HENRY	What manner of man, an it like your majesty?

FALSTAFF	A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a
	cheerful look, a pleasing eye and a most noble
	carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or,
	by'r lady, inclining to three score; and now I
	remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man
	should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry,
	I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be
	known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then,
	peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that
	Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell
	me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast
	thou been this month?

PRINCE HENRY	Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me,
	and I'll play my father.

FALSTAFF	Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so
	majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by
	the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare.

PRINCE HENRY	Well, here I am set.

FALSTAFF	And here I stand: judge, my masters.

PRINCE HENRY	Now, Harry, whence come you?

FALSTAFF	My noble lord, from Eastcheap.

PRINCE HENRY	The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.

FALSTAFF	'Sblood, my lord, they are false: nay, I'll tickle
	ye for a young prince, i' faith.

PRINCE HENRY	Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look
	on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace:
	there is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an
	old fat man; a tun of man is thy companion. Why
	dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that
	bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel
	of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed
	cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with
	the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that
	grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in
	years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and
	drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a
	capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft?
	wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villanous,
	but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

FALSTAFF	I would your grace would take me with you: whom
	means your grace?

PRINCE HENRY	That villanous abominable misleader of youth,
	Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.

FALSTAFF	My lord, the man I know.

PRINCE HENRY	I know thou dost.

FALSTAFF	But to say I know more harm in him than in myself,
	were to say more than I know. That he is old, the
	more the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but
	that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster,
	that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault,
	God help the wicked! if to be old and merry be a
	sin, then many an old host that I know is damned: if
	to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine
	are to be loved. No, my good lord; banish Peto,
	banish Bardolph, banish Poins: but for sweet Jack
	Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff,
	valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant,
	being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him
	thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's
	company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.

PRINCE HENRY	I do, I will.

	[A knocking heard]

	[Exeunt Hostess, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH]

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH, running]

BARDOLPH	O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most
	monstrous watch is at the door.

FALSTAFF	Out, ye rogue! Play out the play: I have much to
	say in the behalf of that Falstaff.

	[Re-enter the Hostess]

Hostess	O Jesu, my lord, my lord!

PRINCE HENRY	Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddlestick:
	what's the matter?

Hostess	The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they
	are come to search the house. Shall I let them in?

FALSTAFF	Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of
	gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad,
	without seeming so.

PRINCE HENRY	And thou a natural coward, without instinct.

FALSTAFF	I deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff,
	so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a cart
	as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up!
	I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter as another.

PRINCE HENRY	Go, hide thee behind the arras: the rest walk up
	above. Now, my masters, for a true face and good
	conscience.

FALSTAFF	Both which I have had: but their date is out, and
	therefore I'll hide me.

PRINCE HENRY	Call in the sheriff.

	[Exeunt all except PRINCE HENRY and PETO]

	[Enter Sheriff and the Carrier]

	Now, master sheriff, what is your will with me?

Sheriff	First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
	Hath follow'd certain men unto this house.

PRINCE HENRY	What men?

Sheriff	One of them is well known, my gracious lord,
	A gross fat man.

Carrier	                  As fat as butter.

PRINCE HENRY	The man, I do assure you, is not here;
	For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
	And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
	That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time,
	Send him to answer thee, or any man,
	For any thing he shall be charged withal:
	And so let me entreat you leave the house.

Sheriff	I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
	Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.

PRINCE HENRY	It may be so: if he have robb'd these men,
	He shall be answerable; and so farewell.

Sheriff	Good night, my noble lord.

PRINCE HENRY	I think it is good morrow, is it not?

Sheriff	Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.

	[Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier]

PRINCE HENRY	This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go,
	call him forth.

PETO	Falstaff!--Fast asleep behind the arras, and
	snorting like a horse.

PRINCE HENRY	Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.

	[He searcheth his pockets, and findeth certain papers]

	What hast thou found?

PETO	Nothing but papers, my lord.

PRINCE HENRY	Let's see what they be: read them.

PETO	[Reads]  Item, A capon,. . 2s. 2d.
	Item, Sauce,. . . 4d.
	Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d.
	Item, Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.
	Item, Bread,        ob.

PRINCE HENRY	O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth of bread to
	this intolerable deal of sack! What there is else,
	keep close; we'll read it at more advantage: there
	let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the
	morning. We must all to the wars, and thy place
	shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a
	charge of foot; and I know his death will be a
	march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid
	back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in
	the morning; and so, good morrow, Peto.

	[Exeunt]

PETO	Good morrow, good my lord.




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT III



SCENE I	Bangor. The Archdeacon's house.


	[Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, MORTIMER, and GLENDOWER]

MORTIMER	These promises are fair, the parties sure,
	And our induction full of prosperous hope.

HOTSPUR	Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower,
	Will you sit down?
	And uncle Worcester: a plague upon it!
	I have forgot the map.

GLENDOWER	No, here it is.
	Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur,
	For by that name as oft as Lancaster
	Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale and with
	A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven.

HOTSPUR	And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.

GLENDOWER	I cannot blame him: at my nativity
	The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
	Of burning cressets; and at my birth
	The frame and huge foundation of the earth
	Shaked like a coward.

HOTSPUR	Why, so it would have done at the same season, if
	your mother's cat had but kittened, though yourself
	had never been born.

GLENDOWER	I say the earth did shake when I was born.

HOTSPUR	And I say the earth was not of my mind,
	If you suppose as fearing you it shook.

GLENDOWER	The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.

HOTSPUR	O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,
	And not in fear of your nativity.
	Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
	In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth
	Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd
	By the imprisoning of unruly wind
	Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,
	Shakes the old beldam earth and topples down
	Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth
	Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,
	In passion shook.

GLENDOWER	                  Cousin, of many men
	I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
	To tell you once again that at my birth
	The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
	The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
	Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
	These signs have mark'd me extraordinary;
	And all the courses of my life do show
	I am not in the roll of common men.
	Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea
	That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,
	Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
	And bring him out that is but woman's son
	Can trace me in the tedious ways of art
	And hold me pace in deep experiments.

HOTSPUR	I think there's no man speaks better Welsh.
	I'll to dinner.

MORTIMER	Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.

GLENDOWER	I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

HOTSPUR	Why, so can I, or so can any man;
	But will they come when you do call for them?

GLENDOWER	Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command
	The devil.

HOTSPUR	And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil
	By telling truth: tell truth and shame the devil.
	If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
	And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.
	O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!

MORTIMER	Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.

GLENDOWER	Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head
	Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye
	And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him
	Bootless home and weather-beaten back.

HOTSPUR	Home without boots, and in foul weather too!
	How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name?

GLENDOWER	Come, here's the map: shall we divide our right
	According to our threefold order ta'en?

MORTIMER	The archdeacon hath divided it
	Into three limits very equally:
	England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,
	By south and east is to my part assign'd:
	All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,
	And all the fertile land within that bound,
	To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you
	The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.
	And our indentures tripartite are drawn;
	Which being sealed interchangeably,
	A business that this night may execute,
	To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I
	And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth
	To meet your father and the Scottish power,
	As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
	My father Glendower is not ready yet,
	Not shall we need his help these fourteen days.
	Within that space you may have drawn together
	Your tenants, friends and neighbouring gentlemen.

GLENDOWER	A shorter time shall send me to you, lords:
	And in my conduct shall your ladies come;
	From whom you now must steal and take no leave,
	For there will be a world of water shed
	Upon the parting of your wives and you.

HOTSPUR	Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,
	In quantity equals not one of yours:
	See how this river comes me cranking in,
	And cuts me from the best of all my land
	A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.
	I'll have the current in this place damm'd up;
	And here the smug and silver Trent shall run
	In a new channel, fair and evenly;
	It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
	To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

GLENDOWER	Not wind? it shall, it must; you see it doth.

MORTIMER	Yea, but
	Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up
	With like advantage on the other side;
	Gelding the opposed continent as much
	As on the other side it takes from you.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Yea, but a little charge will trench him here
	And on this north side win this cape of land;
	And then he runs straight and even.

HOTSPUR	I'll have it so: a little charge will do it.

GLENDOWER	I'll not have it alter'd.

HOTSPUR	Will not you?

GLENDOWER	No, nor you shall not.

HOTSPUR	Who shall say me nay?

GLENDOWER	Why, that will I.

HOTSPUR	Let me not understand you, then; speak it in Welsh.

GLENDOWER	I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
	For I was train'd up in the English court;
	Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
	Many an English ditty lovely well
	And gave the tongue a helpful ornament,
	A virtue that was never seen in you.

HOTSPUR	Marry,
	And I am glad of it with all my heart:
	I had rather be a kitten and cry mew
	Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers;
	I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd,
	Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree;
	And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
	Nothing so much as mincing poetry:
	'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.

GLENDOWER	Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.

HOTSPUR	I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land
	To any well-deserving friend;
	But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
	I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.
	Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone?

GLENDOWER	The moon shines fair; you may away by night:
	I'll haste the writer and withal
	Break with your wives of your departure hence:
	I am afraid my daughter will run mad,
	So much she doteth on her Mortimer.

	[Exit GLENDOWER]

MORTIMER	Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!

HOTSPUR	I cannot choose: sometime he angers me
	With telling me of the mouldwarp and the ant,
	Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,
	And of a dragon and a finless fish,
	A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven,
	A couching lion and a ramping cat,
	And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff
	As puts me from my faith. I tell you what;
	He held me last night at least nine hours
	In reckoning up the several devils' names
	That were his lackeys: I cried 'hum,' and 'well, go to,'
	But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious
	As a tired horse, a railing wife;
	Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live
	With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,
	Than feed on cates and have him talk to me
	In any summer-house in Christendom.

MORTIMER	In faith, he is a worthy gentleman,
	Exceedingly well read, and profited
	In strange concealments, valiant as a lion
	And as wondrous affable and as bountiful
	As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
	He holds your temper in a high respect
	And curbs himself even of his natural scope
	When you come 'cross his humour; faith, he does:
	I warrant you, that man is not alive
	Might so have tempted him as you have done,
	Without the taste of danger and reproof:
	But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.

EARL OF WORCESTER	In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame;
	And since your coming hither have done enough
	To put him quite beside his patience.
	You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:
	Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,--
	And that's the dearest grace it renders you,--
	Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
	Defect of manners, want of government,
	Pride, haughtiness, opinion and disdain:
	The least of which haunting a nobleman
	Loseth men's hearts and leaves behind a stain
	Upon the beauty of all parts besides,
	Beguiling them of commendation.

HOTSPUR	Well, I am school'd: good manners be your speed!
	Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

	[Re-enter GLENDOWER with the ladies]

MORTIMER	This is the deadly spite that angers me;
	My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

GLENDOWER	My daughter weeps: she will not part with you;
	She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.

MORTIMER	Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy
	Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

	[Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she
	answers him in the same]

GLENDOWER	She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry,
	one that no persuasion can do good upon.

	[The lady speaks in Welsh]

MORTIMER	I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh
	Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens
	I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,
	In such a parley should I answer thee.

	[The lady speaks again in Welsh]

	I understand thy kisses and thou mine,
	And that's a feeling disputation:
	But I will never be a truant, love,
	Till I have learned thy language; for thy tongue
	Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
	Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower,
	With ravishing division, to her lute.

GLENDOWER	Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.

	[The lady speaks again in Welsh]

MORTIMER	O, I am ignorance itself in this!

GLENDOWER	She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down
	And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
	And she will sing the song that pleaseth you
	And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep.
	Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,
	Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep
	As is the difference betwixt day and night
	The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team
	Begins his golden progress in the east.

MORTIMER	With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing:
	By that time will our book, I think, be drawn

GLENDOWER	Do so;
	And those musicians that shall play to you
	Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,
	And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.

HOTSPUR	Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come,
	quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.

LADY PERCY	Go, ye giddy goose.

	[The music plays]

HOTSPUR	Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;
	And 'tis no marvel he is so humorous.
	By'r lady, he is a good musician.

LADY PERCY	Then should you be nothing but musical for you are
	altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief,
	and hear the lady sing in Welsh.

HOTSPUR	I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.

LADY PERCY	Wouldst thou have thy head broken?

HOTSPUR	No.

LADY PERCY	Then be still.

HOTSPUR	Neither;'tis a woman's fault.

LADY PERCY	Now God help thee!

HOTSPUR	To the Welsh lady's bed.

LADY PERCY	What's that?

HOTSPUR	Peace! she sings.

	[Here the lady sings a Welsh song]

HOTSPUR	Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.

LADY PERCY	Not mine, in good sooth.

HOTSPUR	Not yours, in good sooth! Heart! you swear like a
	comfit-maker's wife. 'Not you, in good sooth,' and
	'as true as I live,' and 'as God shall mend me,' and
	'as sure as day,'
	And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,
	As if thou never walk'st further than Finsbury.
	Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,
	A good mouth-filling oath, and leave 'in sooth,'
	And such protest of pepper-gingerbread,
	To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens.
	Come, sing.

LADY PERCY	I will not sing.

HOTSPUR	'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast
	teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll away
	within these two hours; and so, come in when ye will.

	[Exit]

GLENDOWER	Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow
	As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.
	By this our book is drawn; we'll but seal,
	And then to horse immediately.

MORTIMER	With all my heart.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT III



SCENE II	London. The palace.


	[Enter KING HENRY IV, PRINCE HENRY, and others]

KING HENRY IV	Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I
	Must have some private conference; but be near at hand,
	For we shall presently have need of you.

	[Exeunt Lords]

	I know not whether God will have it so,
	For some displeasing service I have done,
	That, in his secret doom, out of my blood
	He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me;
	But thou dost in thy passages of life
	Make me believe that thou art only mark'd
	For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven
	To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,
	Could such inordinate and low desires,
	Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,
	Such barren pleasures, rude society,
	As thou art match'd withal and grafted to,
	Accompany the greatness of thy blood
	And hold their level with thy princely heart?

PRINCE HENRY	So please your majesty, I would I could
	Quit all offences with as clear excuse
	As well as I am doubtless I can purge
	Myself of many I am charged withal:
	Yet such extenuation let me beg,
	As, in reproof of many tales devised,
	which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,
	By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers,
	I may, for some things true, wherein my youth
	Hath faulty wander'd and irregular,
	Find pardon on my true submission.

KING HENRY IV	God pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry,
	At thy affections, which do hold a wing
	Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
	Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost.
	Which by thy younger brother is supplied,
	And art almost an alien to the hearts
	Of all the court and princes of my blood:
	The hope and expectation of thy time
	Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man
	Prophetically doth forethink thy fall.
	Had I so lavish of my presence been,
	So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
	So stale and cheap to vulgar company,
	Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
	Had still kept loyal to possession
	And left me in reputeless banishment,
	A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
	By being seldom seen, I could not stir
	But like a comet I was wonder'd at;
	That men would tell their children 'This is he;'
	Others would say 'Where, which is Bolingbroke?'
	And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
	And dress'd myself in such humility
	That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
	Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
	Even in the presence of the crowned king.
	Thus did I keep my person fresh and new;
	My presence, like a robe pontifical,
	Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state,
	Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast
	And won by rareness such solemnity.
	The skipping king, he ambled up and down
	With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,
	Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state,
	Mingled his royalty with capering fools,
	Had his great name profaned with their scorns
	And gave his countenance, against his name,
	To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push
	Of every beardless vain comparative,
	Grew a companion to the common streets,
	Enfeoff'd himself to popularity;
	That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,
	They surfeited with honey and began
	To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
	More than a little is by much too much.
	So when he had occasion to be seen,
	He was but as the cuckoo is in June,
	Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes
	As, sick and blunted with community,
	Afford no extraordinary gaze,
	Such as is bent on sun-like majesty
	When it shines seldom in admiring eyes;
	But rather drowzed and hung their eyelids down,
	Slept in his face and render'd such aspect
	As cloudy men use to their adversaries,
	Being with his presence glutted, gorged and full.
	And in that very line, Harry, standest thou;
	For thou has lost thy princely privilege
	With vile participation: not an eye
	But is a-weary of thy common sight,
	Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more;
	Which now doth that I would not have it do,
	Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

PRINCE HENRY	I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord,
	Be more myself.

KING HENRY IV	                  For all the world
	As thou art to this hour was Richard then
	When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh,
	And even as I was then is Percy now.
	Now, by my sceptre and my soul to boot,
	He hath more worthy interest to the state
	Than thou the shadow of succession;
	For of no right, nor colour like to right,
	He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,
	Turns head against the lion's armed jaws,
	And, being no more in debt to years than thou,
	Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on
	To bloody battles and to bruising arms.
	What never-dying honour hath he got
	Against renowned Douglas! whose high deeds,
	Whose hot incursions and great name in arms
	Holds from all soldiers chief majority
	And military title capital
	Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ:
	Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes,
	This infant warrior, in his enterprises
	Discomfited great Douglas, ta'en him once,
	Enlarged him and made a friend of him,
	To fill the mouth of deep defiance up
	And shake the peace and safety of our throne.
	And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
	The Archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer,
	Capitulate against us and are up.
	But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?
	Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
	Which art my near'st and dearest enemy?
	Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,
	Base inclination and the start of spleen
	To fight against me under Percy's pay,
	To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns,
	To show how much thou art degenerate.

PRINCE HENRY	Do not think so; you shall not find it so:
	And God forgive them that so much have sway'd
	Your majesty's good thoughts away from me!
	I will redeem all this on Percy's head
	And in the closing of some glorious day
	Be bold to tell you that I am your son;
	When I will wear a garment all of blood
	And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
	Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it:
	And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
	That this same child of honour and renown,
	This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
	And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet.
	For every honour sitting on his helm,
	Would they were multitudes, and on my head
	My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
	That I shall make this northern youth exchange
	His glorious deeds for my indignities.
	Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
	To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
	And I will call him to so strict account,
	That he shall render every glory up,
	Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
	Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
	This, in the name of God, I promise here:
	The which if He be pleased I shall perform,
	I do beseech your majesty may salve
	The long-grown wounds of my intemperance:
	If not, the end of life cancels all bands;
	And I will die a hundred thousand deaths
	Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

KING HENRY IV	A hundred thousand rebels die in this:
	Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.

	[Enter BLUNT]

	How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	So hath the business that I come to speak of.
	Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word
	That Douglas and the English rebels met
	The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury
	A mighty and a fearful head they are,
	If promises be kept on every hand,
	As ever offer'd foul play in the state.

KING HENRY IV	The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day;
	With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;
	For this advertisement is five days old:
	On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward;
	On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting
	Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march
	Through Gloucestershire; by which account,
	Our business valued, some twelve days hence
	Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.
	Our hands are full of business: let's away;
	Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT III



Scene III	Eastcheap. The Boar's-Head Tavern.


	[Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH]

FALSTAFF	Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last
	action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why my
	skin hangs about me like an like an old lady's loose
	gown; I am withered like an old apple-john. Well,
	I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some
	liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I
	shall have no strength to repent. An I have not
	forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I
	am a peppercorn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a
	church! Company, villanous company, hath been the
	spoil of me.

BARDOLPH	Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

FALSTAFF	Why, there is it: come sing me a bawdy song; make
	me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman
	need to be; virtuous enough; swore little; diced not
	above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house once
	in a quarter--of an hour; paid money that I
	borrowed, three of four times; lived well and in
	good compass: and now I live out of all order, out
	of all compass.

BARDOLPH	Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs
	be out of all compass, out of all reasonable
	compass, Sir John.

FALSTAFF	Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life:
	thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in
	the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the
	Knight of the Burning Lamp.

BARDOLPH	Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.

FALSTAFF	No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many
	a man doth of a Death's-head or a memento mori: I
	never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire and
	Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his
	robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way
	given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath
	should be 'By this fire, that's God's angel:' but
	thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but
	for the light in thy face, the son of utter
	darkness. When thou rannest up Gadshill in the
	night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou
	hadst been an ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire,
	there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a
	perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light!
	Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and
	torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt
	tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast
	drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap
	at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have
	maintained that salamander of yours with fire any
	time this two and thirty years; God reward me for
	it!

BARDOLPH	'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!

FALSTAFF	God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned.

	[Enter Hostess]

	How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you inquired
	yet who picked my pocket?

Hostess	Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you
	think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched,
	I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy
	by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair
	was never lost in my house before.

FALSTAFF	Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved and lost many
	a hair; and I'll be sworn my pocket was picked. Go
	to, you are a woman, go.

Hostess	Who, I? no; I defy thee: God's light, I was never
	called so in mine own house before.

FALSTAFF	Go to, I know you well enough.

Hostess	No, Sir John; You do not know me, Sir John. I know
	you, Sir John: you owe me money, Sir John; and now
	you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought
	you a dozen of shirts to your back.

FALSTAFF	Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to
	bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them.

Hostess	Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight
	shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, Sir
	John, for your diet and by-drinkings, and money lent
	you, four and twenty pound.

FALSTAFF	He had his part of it; let him pay.

Hostess	He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.

FALSTAFF	How! poor? look upon his face; what call you rich?
	let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks:
	Ill not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker
	of me? shall I not take mine case in mine inn but I
	shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a
	seal-ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark.

Hostess	O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell him, I know not
	how oft, that ring was copper!

FALSTAFF	How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: 'sblood, an
	he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he
	would say so.

	[Enter PRINCE HENRY and PETO, marching, and FALSTAFF
	meets them playing on his truncheon like a life]

	How now, lad! is the wind in that door, i' faith?
	must we all march?

BARDOLPH	Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.

Hostess	My lord, I pray you, hear me.

PRINCE HENRY	What sayest thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy
	husband? I love him well; he is an honest man.

Hostess	Good my lord, hear me.

FALSTAFF	Prithee, let her alone, and list to me.

PRINCE HENRY	What sayest thou, Jack?

FALSTAFF	The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras
	and had my pocket picked: this house is turned
	bawdy-house; they pick pockets.

PRINCE HENRY	What didst thou lose, Jack?

FALSTAFF	Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of
	forty pound apiece, and a seal-ring of my
	grandfather's.

PRINCE HENRY	A trifle, some eight-penny matter.

Hostess	So I told him, my lord; and I said I heard your
	grace say so: and, my lord, he speaks most vilely
	of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said
	he would cudgel you.

PRINCE HENRY	What! he did not?

Hostess	There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.

FALSTAFF	There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed
	prune; nor no more truth in thee than in a drawn
	fox; and for womanhood, Maid Marian may be the
	deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing,
	go

Hostess	Say, what thing? what thing?

FALSTAFF	What thing! why, a thing to thank God on.

Hostess	I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou
	shouldst know it; I am an honest man's wife: and,
	setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to
	call me so.

FALSTAFF	Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say
	otherwise.

Hostess	Say, what beast, thou knave, thou?

FALSTAFF	What beast! why, an otter.

PRINCE HENRY	An otter, Sir John! Why an otter?

FALSTAFF	Why, she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not
	where to have her.

Hostess	Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou or any
	man knows where to have me, thou knave, thou!

PRINCE HENRY	Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly.

Hostess	So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day you
	ought him a thousand pound.

PRINCE HENRY	Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?

FALSTAFF	A thousand pound, Ha! a million: thy love is worth
	a million: thou owest me thy love.

Hostess	Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said he would
	cudgel you.

FALSTAFF	Did I, Bardolph?

BARDOLPH	Indeed, Sir John, you said so.

FALSTAFF	Yea, if he said my ring was copper.

PRINCE HENRY	I say 'tis copper: darest thou be as good as thy word now?

FALSTAFF	Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare:
	but as thou art prince, I fear thee as I fear the
	roaring of a lion's whelp.

PRINCE HENRY	And why not as the lion?

FALSTAFF	The king is to be feared as the lion: dost thou
	think I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an
	I do, I pray God my girdle break.

PRINCE HENRY	O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy
	knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for faith,
	truth, nor honesty in this bosom of thine; it is all
	filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest
	woman with picking thy pocket! why, thou whoreson,
	impudent, embossed rascal, if there were anything in
	thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of
	bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of
	sugar-candy to make thee long-winded, if thy pocket
	were enriched with any other injuries but these, I
	am a villain: and yet you will stand to if; you will
	not pocket up wrong: art thou not ashamed?

FALSTAFF	Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest in the state of
	innocency Adam fell; and what should poor Jack
	Falstaff do in the days of villany? Thou seest I
	have more flesh than another man, and therefore more
	frailty. You confess then, you picked my pocket?

PRINCE HENRY	It appears so by the story.

FALSTAFF	Hostess, I forgive thee: go, make ready breakfast;
	love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy
	guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest
	reason: thou seest I am pacified still. Nay,
	prithee, be gone.

	[Exit Hostess]

	Now Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery,
	lad, how is that answered?

PRINCE HENRY	O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to
	thee: the money is paid back again.

FALSTAFF	O, I do not like that paying back; 'tis a double labour.

PRINCE HENRY	I am good friends with my father and may do any thing.

FALSTAFF	Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and
	do it with unwashed hands too.

BARDOLPH	Do, my lord.

PRINCE HENRY	I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.

FALSTAFF	I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find
	one that can steal well? O for a fine thief, of the
	age of two and twenty or thereabouts! I am
	heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for
	these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous: I
	laud them, I praise them.

PRINCE HENRY	Bardolph!

BARDOLPH	My lord?

PRINCE HENRY	Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster, to my
	brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.

	[Exit Bardolph]

	Go, Peto, to horse, to horse; for thou and I have
	thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.

	[Exit Peto]

	Jack, meet me to-morrow in the temple hall at two
	o'clock in the afternoon.
	There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive
	Money and order for their furniture.
	The land is burning; Percy stands on high;
	And either we or they must lower lie.

	[Exit PRINCE HENRY]

FALSTAFF	Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come!
	O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE I	The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.


	[Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, and DOUGLAS]

HOTSPUR	Well said, my noble Scot: if speaking truth
	In this fine age were not thought flattery,
	Such attribution should the Douglas have,
	As not a soldier of this season's stamp
	Should go so general current through the world.
	By God, I cannot flatter; I do defy
	The tongues of soothers; but a braver place
	In my heart's love hath no man than yourself:
	Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	Thou art the king of honour:
	No man so potent breathes upon the ground
	But I will beard him.

HOTSPUR	Do so, and 'tis well.

	[Enter a Messenger with letters]

	What letters hast thou there?--I can but thank you.

Messenger	These letters come from your father.

HOTSPUR	Letters from him! why comes he not himself?

Messenger	He cannot come, my lord; he is grievous sick.

HOTSPUR	'Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick
	In such a rustling time? Who leads his power?
	Under whose government come they along?

Messenger	His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord.

EARL OF WORCESTER	I prithee, tell me, doth he keep his bed?

Messenger	He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth;
	And at the time of my departure thence
	He was much fear'd by his physicians.

EARL OF WORCESTER	I would the state of time had first been whole
	Ere he by sickness had been visited:
	His health was never better worth than now.

HOTSPUR	Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect
	The very life-blood of our enterprise;
	'Tis catching hither, even to our camp.
	He writes me here, that inward sickness--
	And that his friends by deputation could not
	So soon be drawn, nor did he think it meet
	To lay so dangerous and dear a trust
	On any soul removed but on his own.
	Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,
	That with our small conjunction we should on,
	To see how fortune is disposed to us;
	For, as he writes, there is no quailing now.
	Because the king is certainly possess'd
	Of all our purposes. What say you to it?

EARL OF WORCESTER	Your father's sickness is a maim to us.

HOTSPUR	A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off:
	And yet, in faith, it is not; his present want
	Seems more than we shall find it: were it good
	To set the exact wealth of all our states
	All at one cast? to set so rich a main
	On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour?
	It were not good; for therein should we read
	The very bottom and the soul of hope,
	The very list, the very utmost bound
	Of all our fortunes.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	'Faith, and so we should;
	Where now remains a sweet reversion:
	We may boldly spend upon the hope of what
	Is to come in:
	A comfort of retirement lives in this.

HOTSPUR	A rendezvous, a home to fly unto.
	If that the devil and mischance look big
	Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.

EARL OF WORCESTER	But yet I would your father had been here.
	The quality and hair of our attempt
	Brooks no division: it will be thought
	By some, that know not why he is away,
	That wisdom, loyalty and mere dislike
	Of our proceedings kept the earl from hence:
	And think how such an apprehension
	May turn the tide of fearful faction
	And breed a kind of question in our cause;
	For well you know we of the offering side
	Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement,
	And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence
	The eye of reason may pry in upon us:
	This absence of your father's draws a curtain,
	That shows the ignorant a kind of fear
	Before not dreamt of.

HOTSPUR	You strain too far.
	I rather of his absence make this use:
	It lends a lustre and more great opinion,
	A larger dare to our great enterprise,
	Than if the earl were here; for men must think,
	If we without his help can make a head
	To push against a kingdom, with his help
	We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down.
	Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	As heart can think: there is not such a word
	Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.

	[Enter SIR RICHARD VERNON]

HOTSPUR	My cousin Vernon, welcome, by my soul.

VERNON	Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord.
	The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,
	Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John.

HOTSPUR	No harm: what more?

VERNON	And further, I have learn'd,
	The king himself in person is set forth,
	Or hitherwards intended speedily,
	With strong and mighty preparation.

HOTSPUR	He shall be welcome too. Where is his son,
	The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales,
	And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside,
	And bid it pass?

VERNON	                  All furnish'd, all in arms;
	All plumed like estridges that with the wind
	Baited like eagles having lately bathed;
	Glittering in golden coats, like images;
	As full of spirit as the month of May,
	And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer;
	Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
	I saw young Harry, with his beaver on,
	His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd
	Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury,
	And vaulted with such ease into his seat,
	As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds,
	To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus
	And witch the world with noble horsemanship.

HOTSPUR	No more, no more: worse than the sun in March,
	This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come:
	They come like sacrifices in their trim,
	And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war
	All hot and bleeding will we offer them:
	The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit
	Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire
	To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh
	And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse,
	Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt
	Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales:
	Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse,
	Meet and ne'er part till one drop down a corse.
	O that Glendower were come!

VERNON	There is more news:
	I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,
	He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet.

WORCESTER	Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.

HOTSPUR	What may the king's whole battle reach unto?

VERNON	To thirty thousand.

HOTSPUR	Forty let it be:
	My father and Glendower being both away,
	The powers of us may serve so great a day
	Come, let us take a muster speedily:
	Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	Talk not of dying: I am out of fear
	Of death or death's hand for this one-half year.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE II	A public road near Coventry.


	[Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH]

FALSTAFF	Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a
	bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through;
	we'll to Sutton Co'fil' tonight.

BARDOLPH	Will you give me money, captain?

FALSTAFF	Lay out, lay out.

BARDOLPH	This bottle makes an angel.

FALSTAFF	An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it make
	twenty, take them all; I'll answer the coinage. Bid
	my lieutenant Peto meet me at town's end.

BARDOLPH	I will, captain: farewell.

	[Exit]

FALSTAFF	If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused
	gurnet. I have misused the king's press damnably.
	I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty
	soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me
	none but good house-holders, yeoman's sons; inquire
	me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked
	twice on the banns; such a commodity of warm slaves,
	as had as lieve hear the devil as a drum; such as
	fear the report of a caliver worse than a struck
	fowl or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such
	toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no
	bigger than pins' heads, and they have bought out
	their services; and now my whole charge consists of
	ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of
	companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the
	painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his
	sores; and such as indeed were never soldiers, but
	discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to
	younger brothers, revolted tapsters and ostlers
	trade-fallen, the cankers of a calm world and a
	long peace, ten times more dishonourable ragged than
	an old faced ancient: and such have I, to fill up
	the rooms of them that have bought out their
	services, that you would think that I had a hundred
	and fifty tattered prodigals lately come from
	swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad
	fellow met me on the way and told me I had unloaded
	all the gibbets and pressed the dead bodies. No eye
	hath seen such scarecrows. I'll not march through
	Coventry with them, that's flat: nay, and the
	villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had
	gyves on; for indeed I had the most of them out of
	prison. There's but a shirt and a half in all my
	company; and the half shirt is two napkins tacked
	together and thrown over the shoulders like an
	herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say
	the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or
	the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. But that's all
	one; they'll find linen enough on every hedge.

	[Enter the PRINCE and WESTMORELAND]

PRINCE HENRY	How now, blown Jack! how now, quilt!

FALSTAFF	What, Hal! how now, mad wag! what a devil dost thou
	in Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmoreland, I
	cry you mercy: I thought your honour had already been
	at Shrewsbury.

WESTMORELAND	Faith, Sir John,'tis more than time that I were
	there, and you too; but my powers are there already.
	The king, I can tell you, looks for us all: we must
	away all night.

FALSTAFF	Tut, never fear me: I am as vigilant as a cat to
	steal cream.

PRINCE HENRY	I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy theft hath
	already made thee butter. But tell me, Jack, whose
	fellows are these that come after?

FALSTAFF	Mine, Hal, mine.

PRINCE HENRY	I did never see such pitiful rascals.

FALSTAFF	Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for powder, food
	for powder; they'll fill a pit as well as better:
	tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.

WESTMORELAND	Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor
	and bare, too beggarly.

FALSTAFF	'Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they had
	that; and for their bareness, I am sure they never
	learned that of me.

PRINCE HENRY	No I'll be sworn; unless you call three fingers on
	the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste: Percy is
	already in the field.

FALSTAFF	What, is the king encamped?

WESTMORELAND	He is, Sir John: I fear we shall stay too long.

FALSTAFF	Well,
	To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast
	Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE III	The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.


	[Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, DOUGLAS, and VERNON]

HOTSPUR	We'll fight with him to-night.

EARL OF WORCESTER	It may not be.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	You give him then the advantage.

VERNON	Not a whit.

HOTSPUR	Why say you so? looks he not for supply?

VERNON	So do we.

HOTSPUR	        His is certain, ours is doubtful.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Good cousin, be advised; stir not tonight.

VERNON	Do not, my lord.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	                  You do not counsel well:
	You speak it out of fear and cold heart.

VERNON	Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life,
	And I dare well maintain it with my life,
	If well-respected honour bid me on,
	I hold as little counsel with weak fear
	As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives:
	Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle
	Which of us fears.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	                  Yea, or to-night.

VERNON	Content.

HOTSPUR	To-night, say I.

VERNON	Come, come it nay not be. I wonder much,
	Being men of such great leading as you are,
	That you foresee not what impediments
	Drag back our expedition: certain horse
	Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up:
	Your uncle Worcester's horse came but today;
	And now their pride and mettle is asleep,
	Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,
	That not a horse is half the half of himself.

HOTSPUR	So are the horses of the enemy
	In general, journey-bated and brought low:
	The better part of ours are full of rest.

EARL OF WORCESTER	The number of the king exceedeth ours:
	For God's sake. cousin, stay till all come in.

	[The trumpet sounds a parley]

	[Enter SIR WALTER BLUNT]

SIR WALTER BLUNT	I come with gracious offers from the king,
	if you vouchsafe me hearing and respect.

HOTSPUR	Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt; and would to God
	You were of our determination!
	Some of us love you well; and even those some
	Envy your great deservings and good name,
	Because you are not of our quality,
	But stand against us like an enemy.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	And God defend but still I should stand so,
	So long as out of limit and true rule
	You stand against anointed majesty.
	But to my charge. The king hath sent to know
	The nature of your griefs, and whereupon
	You conjure from the breast of civil peace
	Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land
	Audacious cruelty. If that the king
	Have any way your good deserts forgot,
	Which he confesseth to be manifold,
	He bids you name your griefs; and with all speed
	You shall have your desires with interest
	And pardon absolute for yourself and these
	Herein misled by your suggestion.

HOTSPUR	The king is kind; and well we know the king
	Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.
	My father and my uncle and myself
	Did give him that same royalty he wears;
	And when he was not six and twenty strong,
	Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low,
	A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home,
	My father gave him welcome to the shore;
	And when he heard him swear and vow to God
	He came but to be Duke of Lancaster,
	To sue his livery and beg his peace,
	With tears of innocency and terms of zeal,
	My father, in kind heart and pity moved,
	Swore him assistance and perform'd it too.
	Now when the lords and barons of the realm
	Perceived Northumberland did lean to him,
	The more and less came in with cap and knee;
	Met him in boroughs, cities, villages,
	Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,
	Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths,
	Gave him their heirs, as pages follow'd him
	Even at the heels in golden multitudes.
	He presently, as greatness knows itself,
	Steps me a little higher than his vow
	Made to my father, while his blood was poor,
	Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh;
	And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform
	Some certain edicts and some strait decrees
	That lie too heavy on the commonwealth,
	Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep
	Over his country's wrongs; and by this face,
	This seeming brow of justice, did he win
	The hearts of all that he did angle for;
	Proceeded further; cut me off the heads
	Of all the favourites that the absent king
	In deputation left behind him here,
	When he was personal in the Irish war.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	Tut, I came not to hear this.

HOTSPUR	Then to the point.
	In short time after, he deposed the king;
	Soon after that, deprived him of his life;
	And in the neck of that, task'd the whole state:
	To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman March,
	Who is, if every owner were well placed,
	Indeed his king, to be engaged in Wales,
	There without ransom to lie forfeited;
	Disgraced me in my happy victories,
	Sought to entrap me by intelligence;
	Rated mine uncle from the council-board;
	In rage dismiss'd my father from the court;
	Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong,
	And in conclusion drove us to seek out
	This head of safety; and withal to pry
	Into his title, the which we find
	Too indirect for long continuance.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	Shall I return this answer to the king?

HOTSPUR	Not so, Sir Walter: we'll withdraw awhile.
	Go to the king; and let there be impawn'd
	Some surety for a safe return again,
	And in the morning early shall my uncle
	Bring him our purposes: and so farewell.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	I would you would accept of grace and love.

HOTSPUR	And may be so we shall.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	Pray God you do.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE IV	York. The ARCHBISHOP'S palace.


	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK and SIR MICHAEL]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief
	With winged haste to the lord marshal;
	This to my cousin Scroop, and all the rest
	To whom they are directed. If you knew
	How much they do to import, you would make haste.

SIR MICHAEL	My good lord,
	I guess their tenor.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Like enough you do.
	To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day
	Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men
	Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury,
	As I am truly given to understand,
	The king with mighty and quick-raised power
	Meets with Lord Harry: and, I fear, Sir Michael,
	What with the sickness of Northumberland,
	Whose power was in the first proportion,
	And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence,
	Who with them was a rated sinew too
	And comes not in, o'er-ruled by prophecies,
	I fear the power of Percy is too weak
	To wage an instant trial with the king.

SIR MICHAEL	Why, my good lord, you need not fear;
	There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	No, Mortimer is not there.

SIR MICHAEL	But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy,
	And there is my Lord of Worcester and a head
	Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	And so there is: but yet the king hath drawn
	The special head of all the land together:
	The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,
	The noble Westmoreland and warlike Blunt;
	And moe corrivals and dear men
	Of estimation and command in arms.

SIR MICHAEL	Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well opposed.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear;
	And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed:
	For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the king
	Dismiss his power, he means to visit us,
	For he hath heard of our confederacy,
	And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him:
	Therefore make haste. I must go write again
	To other friends; and so farewell, Sir Michael.

	[Exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE I	KING HENRY IV's camp near Shrewsbury.


	[Enter KING HENRY, PRINCE HENRY, Lord John of
	LANCASTER, EARL OF WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT,
	and FALSTAFF]

KING HENRY IV	How bloodily the sun begins to peer
	Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale
	At his distemperature.

PRINCE HENRY	The southern wind
	Doth play the trumpet to his purposes,
	And by his hollow whistling in the leaves
	Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

KING HENRY IV	Then with the losers let it sympathize,
	For nothing can seem foul to those that win.

	[The trumpet sounds]

	[Enter WORCESTER and VERNON]

	How now, my Lord of Worcester! 'tis not well
	That you and I should meet upon such terms
	As now we meet. You have deceived our trust,
	And made us doff our easy robes of peace,
	To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel:
	This is not well, my lord, this is not well.
	What say you to it? will you again unknit
	This curlish knot of all-abhorred war?
	And move in that obedient orb again
	Where you did give a fair and natural light,
	And be no more an exhaled meteor,
	A prodigy of fear and a portent
	Of broached mischief to the unborn times?

EARL OF WORCESTER	Hear me, my liege:
	For mine own part, I could be well content
	To entertain the lag-end of my life
	With quiet hours; for I do protest,
	I have not sought the day of this dislike.

KING HENRY IV	You have not sought it! how comes it, then?

FALSTAFF	Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

PRINCE HENRY	Peace, chewet, peace!

EARL OF WORCESTER	It pleased your majesty to turn your looks
	Of favour from myself and all our house;
	And yet I must remember you, my lord,
	We were the first and dearest of your friends.
	For you my staff of office did I break
	In Richard's time; and posted day and night
	to meet you on the way, and kiss your hand,
	When yet you were in place and in account
	Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.
	It was myself, my brother and his son,
	That brought you home and boldly did outdare
	The dangers of the time. You swore to us,
	And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,
	That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state;
	Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right,
	The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster:
	To this we swore our aid. But in short space
	It rain'd down fortune showering on your head;
	And such a flood of greatness fell on you,
	What with our help, what with the absent king,
	What with the injuries of a wanton time,
	The seeming sufferances that you had borne,
	And the contrarious winds that held the king
	So long in his unlucky Irish wars
	That all in England did repute him dead:
	And from this swarm of fair advantages
	You took occasion to be quickly woo'd
	To gripe the general sway into your hand;
	Forget your oath to us at Doncaster;
	And being fed by us you used us so
	As that ungentle hull, the cuckoo's bird,
	Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest;
	Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk
	That even our love durst not come near your sight
	For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing
	We were enforced, for safety sake, to fly
	Out of sight and raise this present head;
	Whereby we stand opposed by such means
	As you yourself have forged against yourself
	By unkind usage, dangerous countenance,
	And violation of all faith and troth
	Sworn to us in your younger enterprise.

KING HENRY IV	These things indeed you have articulate,
	Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches,
	To face the garment of rebellion
	With some fine colour that may please the eye
	Of fickle changelings and poor discontents,
	Which gape and rub the elbow at the news
	Of hurlyburly innovation:
	And never yet did insurrection want
	Such water-colours to impaint his cause;
	Nor moody beggars, starving for a time
	Of pellmell havoc and confusion.

PRINCE HENRY	In both your armies there is many a soul
	Shall pay full dearly for this encounter,
	If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew,
	The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world
	In praise of Henry Percy: by my hopes,
	This present enterprise set off his head,
	I do not think a braver gentleman,
	More active-valiant or more valiant-young,
	More daring or more bold, is now alive
	To grace this latter age with noble deeds.
	For my part, I may speak it to my shame,
	I have a truant been to chivalry;
	And so I hear he doth account me too;
	Yet this before my father's majesty--
	I am content that he shall take the odds
	Of his great name and estimation,
	And will, to save the blood on either side,
	Try fortune with him in a single fight.

KING HENRY IV	And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,
	Albeit considerations infinite
	Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no,
	We love our people well; even those we love
	That are misled upon your cousin's part;
	And, will they take the offer of our grace,
	Both he and they and you, every man
	Shall be my friend again and I'll be his:
	So tell your cousin, and bring me word
	What he will do: but if he will not yield,
	Rebuke and dread correction wait on us
	And they shall do their office. So, be gone;
	We will not now be troubled with reply:
	We offer fair; take it advisedly.

	[Exeunt WORCESTER and VERNON]

PRINCE HENRY	It will not be accepted, on my life:
	The Douglas and the Hotspur both together
	Are confident against the world in arms.

KING HENRY IV	Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge;
	For, on their answer, will we set on them:
	And God befriend us, as our cause is just!

	[Exeunt all but PRINCE HENRY and FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride
	me, so; 'tis a point of friendship.

PRINCE HENRY	Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship.
	Say thy prayers, and farewell.

FALSTAFF	I  would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and all well.

PRINCE HENRY	Why, thou owest God a death.

	[Exit PRINCE HENRY]

FALSTAFF	'Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay him before
	his day. What need I be so forward with him that
	calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter; honour pricks
	me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I
	come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or
	an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no.
	Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is
	honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what
	is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it?
	he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no.
	Doth he hear it? no. 'Tis insensible, then. Yea,
	to the dead. But will it not live with the living?
	no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore
	I'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon: and so
	ends my catechism.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE II	The rebel camp.


	[Enter WORCESTER and VERNON]

EARL OF WORCESTER	O, no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard,
	The liberal and kind offer of the king.

VERNON	'Twere best he did.

EARL OF WORCESTER	Then are we all undone.
	It is not possible, it cannot be,
	The king should keep his word in loving us;
	He will suspect us still and find a time
	To punish this offence in other faults:
	Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes;
	For treason is but trusted like the fox,
	Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd and lock'd up,
	Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
	Look how we can, or sad or merrily,
	Interpretation will misquote our looks,
	And we shall feed like oxen at a stall,
	The better cherish'd, still the nearer death.
	My nephew's trespass may be well forgot;
	it hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood,
	And an adopted name of privilege,
	A hair-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen:
	All his offences live upon my head
	And on his father's; we did train him on,
	And, his corruption being ta'en from us,
	We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all.
	Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know,
	In any case, the offer of the king.

VERNON	Deliver what you will; I'll say 'tis so.
	Here comes your cousin.

	[Enter HOTSPUR and DOUGLAS]

HOTSPUR	My uncle is return'd:
	Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland.
	Uncle, what news?

EARL OF WORCESTER	The king will bid you battle presently.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	Defy him by the Lord of Westmoreland.

HOTSPUR	Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	Marry, and shall, and very willingly.

	[Exit]

EARL OF WORCESTER	There is no seeming mercy in the king.

HOTSPUR	Did you beg any? God forbid!

EARL OF WORCESTER	I told him gently of our grievances,
	Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus,
	By now forswearing that he is forsworn:
	He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge
	With haughty arms this hateful name in us.

	[Re-enter the EARL OF DOUGLAS]

EARL OF DOUGLAS	Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have thrown
	A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth,
	And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear it;
	Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.

EARL OF WORCESTER	The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the king,
	And, nephew, challenged you to single fight.

HOTSPUR	O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads,
	And that no man might draw short breath today
	But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me,
	How show'd his tasking? seem'd it in contempt?

VERNON	No, by my soul; I never in my life
	Did hear a challenge urged more modestly,
	Unless a brother should a brother dare
	To gentle exercise and proof of arms.
	He gave you all the duties of a man;
	Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue,
	Spoke to your deservings like a chronicle,
	Making you ever better than his praise
	By still dispraising praise valued in you;
	And, which became him like a prince indeed,
	He made a blushing cital of himself;
	And chid his truant youth with such a grace
	As if he master'd there a double spirit.
	Of teaching and of learning instantly.
	There did he pause: but let me tell the world,
	If he outlive the envy of this day,
	England did never owe so sweet a hope,
	So much misconstrued in his wantonness.

HOTSPUR	Cousin, I think thou art enamoured
	On his follies: never did I hear
	Of any prince so wild a libertine.
	But be he as he will, yet once ere night
	I will embrace him with a soldier's arm,
	That he shall shrink under my courtesy.
	Arm, arm with speed: and, fellows, soldiers, friends,
	Better consider what you have to do
	Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue,
	Can lift your blood up with persuasion.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My lord, here are letters for you.

HOTSPUR	I cannot read them now.
	O gentlemen, the time of life is short!
	To spend that shortness basely were too long,
	If life did ride upon a dial's point,
	Still ending at the arrival of an hour.
	An if we live, we live to tread on kings;
	If die, brave death, when princes die with us!
	Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair,
	When the intent of bearing them is just.

	[Enter another Messenger]

Messenger	My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace.

HOTSPUR	I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale,
	For I profess not talking; only this--
	Let each man do his best: and here draw I
	A sword, whose temper I intend to stain
	With the best blood that I can meet withal
	In the adventure of this perilous day.
	Now, Esperance! Percy! and set on.
	Sound all the lofty instruments of war,
	And by that music let us all embrace;
	For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall
	A second time do such a courtesy.

	[The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE III	Plain between the camps.


	[KING HENRY enters with his power. Alarum to the
	battle. Then enter DOUGLAS and SIR WALTER BLUNT]

SIR WALTER BLUNT	What is thy name, that in the battle thus
	Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek
	Upon my head?

EARL OF DOUGLAS	                  Know then, my name is Douglas;
	And I do haunt thee in the battle thus
	Because some tell me that thou art a king.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	They tell thee true.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought
	Thy likeness, for instead of thee, King Harry,
	This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee,
	Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.

SIR WALTER BLUNT	I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot;
	And thou shalt find a king that will revenge
	Lord Stafford's death.

	[They fight. DOUGLAS kills SIR WALTER BLUNT.
	Enter HOTSPUR]

HOTSPUR	O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,
	never had triumph'd upon a Scot.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	All's done, all's won; here breathless lies the king.

HOTSPUR	Where?

EARL OF DOUGLAS	Here.

HOTSPUR	This, Douglas? no: I know this face full well:
	A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt;
	Semblably furnish'd like the king himself.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes!
	A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear:
	Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?

HOTSPUR	The king hath many marching in his coats.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;
	I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece,
	Until I meet the king.

HOTSPUR	Up, and away!
	Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.

	[Exeunt]

	[Alarum. Enter FALSTAFF, solus]

FALSTAFF	Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, I fear
	the shot here; here's no scoring but upon the pate.
	Soft! who are you? Sir Walter Blunt: there's honour
	for you! here's no vanity! I am as hot as moulten
	lead, and as heavy too: God keep lead out of me! I
	need no more weight than mine own bowels. I have
	led my ragamuffins where they are peppered: there's
	not three of my hundred and fifty left alive; and
	they are for the town's end, to beg during life.
	But who comes here?

	[Enter PRINCE HENRY]

PRINCE HENRY	What, stand'st thou idle here? lend me thy sword:
	Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff
	Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies,
	Whose deaths are yet unrevenged: I prithee,
	lend me thy sword.

FALSTAFF	O Hal, I prithee, give me leave to breathe awhile.
	Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms as I have
	done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure.

PRINCE HENRY	He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. I prithee,
	lend me thy sword.

FALSTAFF	Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st
	not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.

PRINCE HENRY	Give it to me: what, is it in the case?

FALSTAFF	Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot; there's that will sack a city.

	[PRINCE HENRY draws it out, and finds it to be a
	bottle of sack]

PRINCE HENRY	What, is it a time to jest and dally now?

	[He throws the bottle at him. Exit]

FALSTAFF	Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he do
	come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come in his
	willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like
	not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: give me
	life: which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes
	unlooked for, and there's an end.

	[Exit FALSTAFF]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE IV	Another part of the field.


	[Alarum. Excursions. Enter PRINCE HENRY, LORD JOHN
	OF LANCASTER, and EARL OF WESTMORELAND]

KING HENRY IV	I prithee,
	Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much.
	Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.

LANCASTER	Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.

PRINCE HENRY	I beseech your majesty, make up,
	Lest your retirement do amaze your friends.

KING HENRY IV	I will do so.
	My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.

WESTMORELAND	Come, my lord, I'll lead you to your tent.

PRINCE HENRY	Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help:
	And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive
	The Prince of Wales from such a field as this,
	Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on,
	and rebels' arms triumph in massacres!

LANCASTER	We breathe too long: come, cousin Westmoreland,
	Our duty this way lies; for God's sake come.

	[Exeunt LANCASTER and WESTMORELAND]

PRINCE HENRY	By God, thou hast deceived me, Lancaster;
	I did not think thee lord of such a spirit:
	Before, I loved thee as a brother, John;
	But now, I do respect thee as my soul.

KING HENRY IV	I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point
	With lustier maintenance than I did look for
	Of such an ungrown warrior.

PRINCE HENRY	O, this boy
	Lends mettle to us all!

	[Exit]

	[Enter DOUGLAS]

EARL OF DOUGLAS	Another king! they grow like Hydra's heads:
	I am the Douglas, fatal to all those
	That wear those colours on them: what art thou,
	That counterfeit'st the person of a king?

KING HENRY IV	The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart
	So many of his shadows thou hast met
	And not the very king. I have two boys
	Seek Percy and thyself about the field:
	But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,
	I will assay thee: so, defend thyself.

EARL OF DOUGLAS	I fear thou art another counterfeit;
	And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king:
	But mine I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou be,
	And thus I win thee.

	[They fight. KING HENRY being in danger, PRINCE
	HENRY enters]

PRINCE HENRY	Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like
	Never to hold it up again! the spirits
	Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms:
	It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee;
	Who never promiseth but he means to pay.

	[They fight: DOUGLAS flies]

	Cheerly, my lord	how fares your grace?
	Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succor sent,
	And so hath Clifton: I'll to Clifton straight.

KING HENRY IV	Stay, and breathe awhile:
	Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion,
	And show'd thou makest some tender of my life,
	In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.

PRINCE HENRY	O God! they did me too much injury
	That ever said I hearken'd for your death.
	If it were so, I might have let alone
	The insulting hand of Douglas over you,
	Which would have been as speedy in your end
	As all the poisonous potions in the world
	And saved the treacherous labour of your son.

KING HENRY IV	Make up to Clifton: I'll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey.

	[Exit]

	[Enter HOTSPUR]

HOTSPUR	If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.

PRINCE HENRY	Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name.

HOTSPUR	My name is Harry Percy.

PRINCE HENRY	Why, then I see
	A very valiant rebel of the name.
	I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy,
	To share with me in glory any more:
	Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere;
	Nor can one England brook a double reign,
	Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales.

HOTSPUR	Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come
	To end the one of us; and would to God
	Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!

PRINCE HENRY	I'll make it greater ere I part from thee;
	And all the budding honours on thy crest
	I'll crop, to make a garland for my head.

HOTSPUR	I can no longer brook thy vanities.

	[They fight]

	[Enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	Well said, Hal! to it Hal! Nay, you shall find no
	boy's play here, I can tell you.

	[Re-enter DOUGLAS; he fights with FALSTAFF,
	who falls down as if he were dead, and exit
	DOUGLAS. HOTSPUR is wounded, and falls]

HOTSPUR	O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth!
	I better brook the loss of brittle life
	Than those proud titles thou hast won of me;
	They wound my thoughts worse than sword my flesh:
	But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool;
	And time, that takes survey of all the world,
	Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy,
	But that the earthy and cold hand of death
	Lies on my tongue: no, Percy, thou art dust
	And food for--

	[Dies]

PRINCE HENRY	For worms, brave Percy: fare thee well, great heart!
	Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk!
	When that this body did contain a spirit,
	A kingdom for it was too small a bound;
	But now two paces of the vilest earth
	Is room enough: this earth that bears thee dead
	Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.
	If thou wert sensible of courtesy,
	I should not make so dear a show of zeal:
	But let my favours hide thy mangled face;
	And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself
	For doing these fair rites of tenderness.
	Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven!
	Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,
	But not remember'd in thy epitaph!

	[He spieth FALSTAFF on the ground]

	What, old acquaintance! could not all this flesh
	Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell!
	I could have better spared a better man:
	O, I should have a heavy miss of thee,
	If I were much in love with vanity!
	Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day,
	Though many dearer, in this bloody fray.
	Embowell'd will I see thee by and by:
	Till then in blood by noble Percy lie.

	[Exit PRINCE HENRY]

FALSTAFF	[Rising up]  Embowelled! if thou embowel me to-day,
	I'll give you leave to powder me and eat me too
	to-morrow. 'Sblood,'twas time to counterfeit, or
	that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too.
	Counterfeit? I lie, I am no counterfeit: to die,
	is to be a counterfeit; for he is but the
	counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a man:
	but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby
	liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and
	perfect image of life indeed. The better part of
	valour is discretion; in the which better part I
	have saved my life.'Zounds, I am afraid of this
	gunpowder Percy, though he be dead: how, if he
	should counterfeit too and rise? by my faith, I am
	afraid he would prove the better counterfeit.
	Therefore I'll make him sure; yea, and I'll swear I
	killed him. Why may not he rise as well as I?
	Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me.
	Therefore, sirrah,

	[Stabbing him]

	with a new wound in your thigh, come you along with me.

	[Takes up HOTSPUR on his back]

	[Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER]

PRINCE HENRY	Come, brother John; full bravely hast thou flesh'd
	Thy maiden sword.

LANCASTER	                  But, soft! whom have we here?
	Did you not tell me this fat man was dead?

PRINCE HENRY	I did; I saw him dead,
	Breathless and bleeding on the ground. Art
	thou alive?
	Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eyesight?
	I prithee, speak; we will not trust our eyes
	Without our ears: thou art not what thou seem'st.

FALSTAFF	No, that's certain; I am not a double man: but if I
	be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There is Percy:

	[Throwing the body down]

	if your father will do me any honour, so; if not, let
	him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either
	earl or duke, I can assure you.

PRINCE HENRY	Why, Percy I killed myself and saw thee dead.

FALSTAFF	Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how this world is given to
	lying! I grant you I was down and out of breath;
	and so was he: but we rose both at an instant and
	fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. If I may be
	believed, so; if not, let them that should reward
	valour bear the sin upon their own heads. I'll take
	it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the
	thigh: if the man were alive and would deny it,
	'zounds, I would make him eat a piece of my sword.

LANCASTER	This is the strangest tale that ever I heard.

PRINCE HENRY	This is the strangest fellow, brother John.
	Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back:
	For my part, if a lie may do thee grace,
	I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.

	[A retreat is sounded]

	The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours.
	Come, brother, let us to the highest of the field,
	To see what friends are living, who are dead.

	[Exeunt PRINCE HENRY and LANCASTER]

FALSTAFF	I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that
	rewards me, God reward him! If I do grow great,
	I'll grow less; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and
	live cleanly as a nobleman should do.

	[Exit]




	1 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE V	Another part of the field.


	[The trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY IV, PRINCE
	HENRY, LORD JOHN LANCASTER, EARL OF WESTMORELAND,
	with WORCESTER and VERNON prisoners]

KING HENRY IV	Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.
	Ill-spirited Worcester! did not we send grace,
	Pardon and terms of love to all of you?
	And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary?
	Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust?
	Three knights upon our party slain to-day,
	A noble earl and many a creature else
	Had been alive this hour,
	If like a Christian thou hadst truly borne
	Betwixt our armies true intelligence.

EARL OF WORCESTER	What I have done my safety urged me to;
	And I embrace this fortune patiently,
	Since not to be avoided it falls on me.

KING HENRY IV	Bear Worcester to the death and Vernon too:
	Other offenders we will pause upon.

	[Exeunt WORCESTER and VERNON, guarded]

	How goes the field?

PRINCE HENRY	The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when he saw
	The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him,
	The noble Percy slain, and all his men
	Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest;
	And falling from a hill, he was so bruised
	That the pursuers took him. At my tent
	The Douglas is; and I beseech your grace
	I may dispose of him.

KING HENRY IV	With all my heart.


PRINCE HENRY	Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you
	This honourable bounty shall belong:
	Go to the Douglas, and deliver him
	Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free:
	His valour shown upon our crests to-day
	Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds
	Even in the bosom of our adversaries.

LANCASTER	I thank your grace for this high courtesy,
	Which I shall give away immediately.

KING HENRY IV	Then this remains, that we divide our power.
	You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland
	Towards York shall bend you with your dearest speed,
	To meet Northumberland and the prelate Scroop,
	Who, as we hear, are busily in arms:
	Myself and you, son Harry, will towards Wales,
	To fight with Glendower and the Earl of March.
	Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway,
	Meeting the cheque of such another day:
	And since this business so fair is done,
	Let us not leave till all our own be won.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


RUMOUR	the Presenter.

KING HENRY	the Fourth. (KING HENRY IV:)


PRINCE HENRY			|
OF WALES		(PRINCE HENRY:)	|
	afterwards KING HENRY V.	|
			|
THOMAS, DUKE OF			|  sons of King Henry.
CLARENCE		(CLARENCE:)	|
			|
PRINCE HUMPHREY			|
OF GLOUCESTER		(GLOUCESTER:)	|


EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

EARL OF
WESTMORELAND	(WESTMORELAND:)

EARL OF SURREY:

GOWER:

HARCOURT:

BLUNT:

	Lord Chief-Justice of the King's Bench:
	(Lord Chief-Justice:)

	A Servant of the Chief-Justice.

EARL OF
NORTHUMBERLAND	(NORTHUMBERLAND:)

SCROOP,
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	(ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)

LORD MOWBRAY	(MOWBRAY:)

LORD HASTINGS	(HASTINGS:)

LORD BARDOLPH:

SIR JOHN COLEVILE	(COLEVILE:)


TRAVERS	|
	|  retainers of Northumberland.
MORTON	|


SIR JOHN FALSTAFF	(FALSTAFF:)

	His Page. (Page:)

BARDOLPH:

PISTOL:

POINS:

PETO:


SHALLOW	|
	|  country justices.
SILENCE	|


DAVY	servant to Shallow.


MOULDY	|
	|
SHADOW	|
	|
WART	|  recruits.
	|
FEEBLE	|
	|
BULLCALF	|


FANG	|
	|  sheriff's officers.
SNARE	|


LADY
NORTHUMBERLAND:

LADY PERCY:

MISTRESS QUICKLY	hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap.

DOLL TEARSHEET:

	Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers,
	Beadles, Grooms, &c.
	(First Messenger:)
	(Porter:)
	(First Drawer:)
	(Second Drawer:)
	(First Beadle:)
	(First Groom:)
	(Second Groom:)

	A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue.


SCENE	England.




	2 KING HENRY IV

	INDUCTION


	[Warkworth. Before the castle]

	[Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues]

RUMOUR	Open your ears; for which of you will stop
	The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?
	I, from the orient to the drooping west,
	Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
	The acts commenced on this ball of earth:
	Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
	The which in every language I pronounce,
	Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
	I speak of peace, while covert enmity
	Under the smile of safety wounds the world:
	And who but Rumour, who but only I,
	Make fearful musters and prepared defence,
	Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief,
	Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
	And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
	Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures
	And of so easy and so plain a stop
	That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
	The still-discordant wavering multitude,
	Can play upon it. But what need I thus
	My well-known body to anatomize
	Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
	I run before King Harry's victory;
	Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury
	Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,
	Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
	Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I
	To speak so true at first? my office is
	To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell
	Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,
	And that the king before the Douglas' rage
	Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
	This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
	Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
	And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
	Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
	Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on,
	And not a man of them brings other news
	Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's tongues
	They bring smooth comforts false, worse than
	true wrongs.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE I	The same.


	[Enter LORD BARDOLPH]

LORD BARDOLPH	Who keeps the gate here, ho?

	[The Porter opens the gate]

		       Where is the earl?

Porter	What shall I say you are?

LORD BARDOLPH	Tell thou the earl
	That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.

Porter	His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard;
	Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,
	And he himself wilt answer.

	[Enter NORTHUMBERLAND]

LORD BARDOLPH	Here comes the earl.

	[Exit Porter]

NORTHUMBERLAND	What news, Lord Bardolph? every minute now
	Should be the father of some stratagem:
	The times are wild: contention, like a horse
	Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose
	And bears down all before him.

LORD BARDOLPH	Noble earl,
	I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Good, an God will!

LORD BARDOLPH	                  As good as heart can wish:
	The king is almost wounded to the death;
	And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
	Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
	Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John
	And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field;
	And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
	Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day,
	So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won,
	Came not till now to dignify the times,
	Since Caesar's fortunes!

NORTHUMBERLAND	How is this derived?
	Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?

LORD BARDOLPH	I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,
	A gentleman well bred and of good name,
	That freely render'd me these news for true.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent
	On Tuesday last to listen after news.

	[Enter TRAVERS]

LORD BARDOLPH	My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
	And he is furnish'd with no certainties
	More than he haply may retail from me.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?

TRAVERS	My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
	With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed,
	Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
	A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,
	That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
	He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
	I did demand what news from Shrewsbury:
	He told me that rebellion had bad luck
	And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
	With that, he gave his able horse the head,
	And bending forward struck his armed heels
	Against the panting sides of his poor jade
	Up to the rowel-head, and starting so
	He seem'd in running to devour the way,
	Staying no longer question.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Ha! Again:
	Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
	Of Hotspur Coldspur? that rebellion
	Had met ill luck?

LORD BARDOLPH	                  My lord, I'll tell you what;
	If my young lord your son have not the day,
	Upon mine honour, for a silken point
	I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers
	Give then such instances of loss?

LORD BARDOLPH	Who, he?
	He was some hilding fellow that had stolen
	The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,
	Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.

	[Enter MORTON]

NORTHUMBERLAND	Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
	Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:
	So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood
	Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
	Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?

MORTON	I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
	Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask
	To fright our party.

NORTHUMBERLAND	How doth my son and brother?
	Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
	Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
	Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
	So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
	Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
	And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;
	But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,
	And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it.
	This thou wouldst say, 'Your son did thus and thus;
	Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas:'
	Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
	But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,
	Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
	Ending with 'Brother, son, and all are dead.'

MORTON	Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;
	But, for my lord your son--

NORTHUMBERLAND	Why, he is dead.
	See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
	He that but fears the thing he would not know
	Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes
	That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;
	Tell thou an earl his divination lies,
	And I will take it as a sweet disgrace
	And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.

MORTON	You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
	Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
	I see a strange confession in thine eye:
	Thou shakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin
	To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so;
	The tongue offends not that reports his death:
	And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,
	Not he which says the dead is not alive.
	Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
	Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
	Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
	Remember'd tolling a departing friend.

LORD BARDOLPH	I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

MORTON	I am sorry I should force you to believe
	That which I would to God I had not seen;
	But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
	Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed,
	To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down
	The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
	From whence with life he never more sprung up.
	In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire
	Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,
	Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
	From the best temper'd courage in his troops;
	For from his metal was his party steel'd;
	Which once in him abated, all the rest
	Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead:
	And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
	Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,
	So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
	Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear
	That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim
	Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
	Fly from the field. Then was the noble Worcester
	Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
	The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
	Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
	'Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame
	Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight,
	Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
	Is that the king hath won, and hath sent out
	A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
	Under the conduct of young Lancaster
	And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.

NORTHUMBERLAND	For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
	In poison there is physic; and these news,
	Having been well, that would have made me sick,
	Being sick, have in some measure made me well:
	And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
	Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
	Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
	Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,
	Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief,
	Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch!
	A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel
	Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif!
	Thou art a guard too wanton for the head
	Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
	Now bind my brows with iron; and approach
	The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring
	To frown upon the enraged Northumberland!
	Let heaven kiss earth! now let not Nature's hand
	Keep the wild flood confined! let order die!
	And let this world no longer be a stage
	To feed contention in a lingering act;
	But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
	Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
	On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
	And darkness be the burier of the dead!

TRAVERS	This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.

LORD BARDOLPH	Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.

MORTON	The lives of all your loving complices
	Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
	To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
	You cast the event of war, my noble lord,
	And summ'd the account of chance, before you said
	'Let us make head.' It was your presurmise,
	That, in the dole of blows, your son might drop:
	You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge,
	More likely to fall in than to get o'er;
	You were advised his flesh was capable
	Of wounds and scars and that his forward spirit
	Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged:
	Yet did you say 'Go forth;' and none of this,
	Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
	The stiff-borne action: what hath then befallen,
	Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth,
	More than that being which was like to be?

LORD BARDOLPH	We all that are engaged to this loss
	Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas
	That if we wrought our life 'twas ten to one;
	And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed
	Choked the respect of likely peril fear'd;
	And since we are o'erset, venture again.
	Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.

MORTON	'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord,
	I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,
	The gentle Archbishop of York is up
	With well-appointed powers: he is a man
	Who with a double surety binds his followers.
	My lord your son had only but the corpse,
	But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;
	For that same word, rebellion, did divide
	The action of their bodies from their souls;
	And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
	As men drink potions, that their weapons only
	Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and souls,
	This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
	As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop
	Turns insurrection to religion:
	Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts,
	He's followed both with body and with mind;
	And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
	Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones;
	Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause;
	Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land,
	Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;
	And more and less do flock to follow him.

NORTHUMBERLAND	I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,
	This present grief had wiped it from my mind.
	Go in with me; and counsel every man
	The aptest way for safety and revenge:
	Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed:
	Never so few, and never yet more need.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE II	London. A street.


	[Enter FALSTAFF, with his Page bearing his sword
	and buckler]

FALSTAFF	Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water?

Page	He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy
	water; but, for the party that owed it, he might
	have more diseases than he knew for.

FALSTAFF	Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the
	brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not
	able to invent anything that tends to laughter, more
	than I invent or is invented on me: I am not only
	witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other
	men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that
	hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the
	prince put thee into my service for any other reason
	than to set me off, why then I have no judgment.
	Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn
	in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never
	manned with an agate till now: but I will inset you
	neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and
	send you back again to your master, for a jewel,--
	the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is
	not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in
	the palm of my hand than he shall get one on his
	cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is
	a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, 'tis
	not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still at a
	face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence
	out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if he had
	writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He
	may keep his own grace, but he's almost out of mine,
	I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about
	the satin for my short cloak and my slops?

Page	He said, sir, you should procure him better
	assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his
	band and yours; he liked not the security.

FALSTAFF	Let him be damned, like the glutton! pray God his
	tongue be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally
	yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand,
	and then stand upon security! The whoreson
	smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and
	bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is
	through with them in honest taking up, then they
	must stand upon security. I had as lief they would
	put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with
	security. I looked a' should have sent me two and
	twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he
	sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security;
	for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness
	of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he
	see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him.
	Where's Bardolph?

Page	He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship a horse.

FALSTAFF	I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in
	Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in the
	stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived.

	[Enter the Lord Chief-Justice and Servant]

Page	Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the
	Prince for striking him about Bardolph.

FALSTAFF	Wait, close; I will not see him.

Lord Chief-Justice	What's he that goes there?

Servant	Falstaff, an't please your lordship.

Lord Chief-Justice	He that was in question for the robbery?

Servant	He, my lord: but he hath since done good service at
	Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going with some
	charge to the Lord John of Lancaster.

Lord Chief-Justice	What, to York? Call him back again.

Servant	Sir John Falstaff!

FALSTAFF	Boy, tell him I am deaf.

Page	You must speak louder; my master is deaf.

Lord Chief-Justice	I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good.
	Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him.

Servant	Sir John!

FALSTAFF	What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not
	wars? is there not employment? doth not the king
	lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers?
	Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it
	is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side,
	were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell
	how to make it.

Servant	You mistake me, sir.

FALSTAFF	Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? setting
	my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied
	in my throat, if I had said so.

Servant	I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and our
	soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you,
	you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other
	than an honest man.

FALSTAFF	I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that
	which grows to me! if thou gettest any leave of me,
	hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be
	hanged. You hunt counter: hence! avaunt!

Servant	Sir, my lord would speak with you.

Lord Chief-Justice	Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.

FALSTAFF	My good lord! God give your lordship good time of
	day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I heard
	say your lordship was sick: I hope your lordship
	goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not
	clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in
	you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I must
	humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverent care
	of your health.

Lord Chief-Justice	Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to
	Shrewsbury.

FALSTAFF	An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is
	returned with some discomfort from Wales.

Lord Chief-Justice	I talk not of his majesty: you would not come when
	I sent for you.

FALSTAFF	And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen into
	this same whoreson apoplexy.

Lord Chief-Justice	Well, God mend him! I pray you, let me speak with
	you.

FALSTAFF	This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy,
	an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the
	blood, a whoreson tingling.

Lord Chief-Justice	What tell you me of it? be it as it is.

FALSTAFF	It hath its original from much grief, from study and
	perturbation of the brain: I have read the cause of
	his effects in Galen: it is a kind of deafness.

Lord Chief-Justice	I think you are fallen into the disease; for you
	hear not what I say to you.

FALSTAFF	Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an't please
	you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady
	of not marking, that I am troubled withal.

Lord Chief-Justice	To punish you by the heels would amend the
	attention of your ears; and I care not if I do
	become your physician.

FALSTAFF	I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient:
	your lordship may minister the potion of
	imprisonment to me in respect of poverty; but how
	should I be your patient to follow your
	prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a
	scruple, or indeed a scruple itself.

Lord Chief-Justice	I sent for you, when there were matters against you
	for your life, to come speak with me.

FALSTAFF	As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the
	laws of this land-service, I did not come.

Lord Chief-Justice	Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy.

FALSTAFF	He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less.

Lord Chief-Justice	Your means are very slender, and your waste is great.

FALSTAFF	I would it were otherwise; I would my means were
	greater, and my waist slenderer.

Lord Chief-Justice	You have misled the youthful prince.

FALSTAFF	The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow
	with the great belly, and he my dog.

Lord Chief-Justice	Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your
	day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded
	over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill: you may
	thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting
	that action.

FALSTAFF	My lord?

Lord Chief-Justice	But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a
	sleeping wolf.

FALSTAFF	To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox.

Lord Chief-Justice	What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt
	out.

FALSTAFF	A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say
	of wax, my growth would approve the truth.

Lord Chief-Justice	There is not a white hair on your face but should
	have his effect of gravity.

FALSTAFF	His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.

Lord Chief-Justice	You follow the young prince up and down, like his
	ill angel.

FALSTAFF	Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but I hope
	he that looks upon me will take me without weighing:
	and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go: I
	cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these
	costermonger times that true valour is turned
	bear-herd: pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath
	his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the
	other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of
	this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry.
	You that are old consider not the capacities of us
	that are young; you do measure the heat of our
	livers with the bitterness of your galls: and we
	that are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess,
	are wags too.

Lord Chief-Justice	Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth,
	that are written down old with all the characters of
	age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a
	yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an
	increasing belly? is not your voice broken? your
	wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and
	every part about you blasted with antiquity? and
	will you yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John!

FALSTAFF	My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the
	afternoon, with a white head and something a round
	belly. For my voice, I have lost it with halloing
	and singing of anthems. To approve my youth
	further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in
	judgment and understanding; and he that will caper
	with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the
	money, and have at him! For the box of the ear that
	the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince,
	and you took it like a sensible lord. I have
	chequed him for it, and the young lion repents;
	marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk
	and old sack.

Lord Chief-Justice	Well, God send the prince a better companion!

FALSTAFF	God send the companion a better prince! I cannot
	rid my hands of him.

Lord Chief-Justice	Well, the king hath severed you and Prince Harry: I
	hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster
	against the Archbishop and the Earl of
	Northumberland.

FALSTAFF	Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look
	you pray, all you that kiss my lady Peace at home,
	that our armies join not in a hot day; for, by the
	Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean
	not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day,
	and I brandish any thing but a bottle, I would I
	might never spit white again. There is not a
	dangerous action can peep out his head but I am
	thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever: but it
	was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if
	they have a good thing, to make it too common. If
	ye will needs say I am an old man, you should give
	me rest. I would to God my name were not so
	terrible to the enemy as it is: I were better to be
	eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to
	nothing with perpetual motion.

Lord Chief-Justice	Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your
	expedition!

FALSTAFF	Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to
	furnish me forth?

Lord Chief-Justice	Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to
	bear crosses. Fare you well: commend me to my
	cousin Westmoreland.

	[Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant]

FALSTAFF	If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man
	can no more separate age and covetousness than a'
	can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout
	galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and
	so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy!

Page	Sir?

FALSTAFF	What money is in my purse?

Page	Seven groats and two pence.

FALSTAFF	I can get no remedy against this consumption of the
	purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out,
	but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter
	to my Lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this
	to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old
	Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry
	since I perceived the first white hair on my chin.
	About it: you know where to find me.

	[Exit Page]

	A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for
	the one or the other plays the rogue with my great
	toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars
	for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more
	reasonable. A good wit will make use of any thing:
	I will turn diseases to commodity.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT I



SCENE III	York. The Archbishop's palace.


	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the Lords HASTINGS,
	MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Thus have you heard our cause and known our means;
	And, my most noble friends, I pray you all,
	Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes:
	And first, lord marshal, what say you to it?

MOWBRAY	I well allow the occasion of our arms;
	But gladly would be better satisfied
	How in our means we should advance ourselves
	To look with forehead bold and big enough
	Upon the power and puissance of the king.

HASTINGS	Our present musters grow upon the file
	To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
	And our supplies live largely in the hope
	Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns
	With an incensed fire of injuries.

LORD BARDOLPH	The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus;
	Whether our present five and twenty thousand
	May hold up head without Northumberland?

HASTINGS	With him, we may.

LORD BARDOLPH	                  Yea, marry, there's the point:
	But if without him we be thought too feeble,
	My judgment is, we should not step too far
	Till we had his assistance by the hand;
	For in a theme so bloody-faced as this
	Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
	Of aids incertain should not be admitted.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed
	It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.

LORD BARDOLPH	It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope,
	Eating the air on promise of supply,
	Flattering himself in project of a power
	Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts:
	And so, with great imagination
	Proper to madmen, led his powers to death
	And winking leap'd into destruction.

HASTINGS	But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt
	To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.

LORD BARDOLPH	Yes, if this present quality of war,
	Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot
	Lives so in hope as in an early spring
	We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit,
	Hope gives not so much warrant as despair
	That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,
	We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
	And when we see the figure of the house,
	Then must we rate the cost of the erection;
	Which if we find outweighs ability,
	What do we then but draw anew the model
	In fewer offices, or at last desist
	To build at all? Much more, in this great work,
	Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down
	And set another up, should we survey
	The plot of situation and the model,
	Consent upon a sure foundation,
	Question surveyors, know our own estate,
	How able such a work to undergo,
	To weigh against his opposite; or else
	We fortify in paper and in figures,
	Using the names of men instead of men:
	Like one that draws the model of a house
	Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
	Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost
	A naked subject to the weeping clouds
	And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.

HASTINGS	Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth,
	Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd
	The utmost man of expectation,
	I think we are a body strong enough,
	Even as we are, to equal with the king.

LORD BARDOLPH	What, is the king but five and twenty thousand?

HASTINGS	To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph.
	For his divisions, as the times do brawl,
	Are in three heads: one power against the French,
	And one against Glendower; perforce a third
	Must take up us: so is the unfirm king
	In three divided; and his coffers sound
	With hollow poverty and emptiness.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	That he should draw his several strengths together
	And come against us in full puissance,
	Need not be dreaded.

HASTINGS	If he should do so,
	He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
	Baying him at the heels: never fear that.

LORD BARDOLPH	Who is it like should lead his forces hither?

HASTINGS	The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland;
	Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth:
	But who is substituted 'gainst the French,
	I have no certain notice.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Let us on,
	And publish the occasion of our arms.
	The commonwealth is sick of their own choice;
	Their over-greedy love hath surfeited:
	An habitation giddy and unsure
	Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
	O thou fond many, with what loud applause
	Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke,
	Before he was what thou wouldst have him be!
	And being now trimm'd in thine own desires,
	Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,
	That thou provokest thyself to cast him up.
	So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
	Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;
	And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up,
	And howl'st to find it. What trust is in
	these times?
	They that, when Richard lived, would have him die,
	Are now become enamour'd on his grave:
	Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head
	When through proud London he came sighing on
	After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,
	Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again,
	And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accursed!
	Past and to come seems best; things present worst.

MOWBRAY	Shall we go draw our numbers and set on?

HASTINGS	We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE I	London. A street.


	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, FANG and his Boy with her,
	and SNARE following.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Master Fang, have you entered the action?

FANG	It is entered.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? will a'
	stand to 't?

FANG	Sirrah, where's Snare?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O Lord, ay! good Master Snare.

SNARE	Here, here.

FANG	Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all.

SNARE	It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in
	mine own house, and that most beastly: in good
	faith, he cares not what mischief he does. If his
	weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he will
	spare neither man, woman, nor child.

FANG	If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow.

FANG	An I but fist him once; an a' come but within my vice,--

MISTRESS QUICKLY	I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an
	infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang,
	hold him sure: good Master Snare, let him not
	'scape. A' comes continuantly to Pie-corner--saving
	your manhoods--to buy a saddle; and he is indited to
	dinner to the Lubber's-head in Lumbert street, to
	Master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my
	exion is entered and my case so openly known to the
	world, let him be brought in to his answer. A
	hundred mark is a long one for a poor lone woman to
	bear: and I have borne, and borne, and borne, and
	have been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed
	off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame
	to be thought on. There is no honesty in such
	dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and a
	beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder he
	comes; and that errant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph,
	with him. Do your offices, do your offices: Master
	Fang and Master Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices.

	[Enter FALSTAFF, Page, and BARDOLPH]

FALSTAFF	How now! whose mare's dead? what's the matter?

FANG	Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly.

FALSTAFF	Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph: cut me off the
	villain's head: throw the quean in the channel.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the
	channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly
	rogue! Murder, murder! Ah, thou honeysuckle
	villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the
	king's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a
	honey-seed, a man-queller, and a woman-queller.

FALSTAFF	Keep them off, Bardolph.

FANG	A rescue! a rescue!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wo't, wo't
	thou? Thou wo't, wo't ta? do, do, thou rogue! do,
	thou hemp-seed!

FALSTAFF	Away, you scullion! you rampallion! You
	fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe.

	[Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, and his men]

Lord Chief-Justice	What is the matter? keep the peace here, ho!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me.

Lord Chief-Justice	How now, Sir John! what are you brawling here?
	Doth this become your place, your time and business?
	You should have been well on your way to York.
	Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st upon him?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O most worshipful lord, an't please your grace, I am
	a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit.

Lord Chief-Justice	For what sum?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all,
	all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and home;
	he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of
	his: but I will have some of it out again, or I
	will ride thee o' nights like the mare.

FALSTAFF	I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have
	any vantage of ground to get up.

Lord Chief-Justice	How comes this, Sir John? Fie! what man of good
	temper would endure this tempest of exclamation?
	Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so
	rough a course to come by her own?

FALSTAFF	What is the gross sum that I owe thee?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the
	money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a
	parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber,
	at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon
	Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the prince broke
	thy head for liking his father to a singing-man of
	Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was
	washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady
	thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife
	Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then and call me
	gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of
	vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of prawns;
	whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I
	told thee they were ill for a green wound? And
	didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs,
	desire me to be no more so familiarity with such
	poor people; saying that ere long they should call
	me madam? And didst thou not kiss me and bid me
	fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy
	book-oath: deny it, if thou canst.

FALSTAFF	My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says up
	and down the town that the eldest son is like you:
	she hath been in good case, and the truth is,
	poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish
	officers, I beseech you I may have redress against them.

Lord Chief-Justice	Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your
	manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It
	is not a confident brow, nor the throng of words
	that come with such more than impudent sauciness
	from you, can thrust me from a level consideration:
	you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the
	easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made her
	serve your uses both in purse and in person.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Yea, in truth, my lord.

Lord Chief-Justice	Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and
	unpay the villany you have done her: the one you
	may do with sterling money, and the other with
	current repentance.

FALSTAFF	My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without
	reply. You call honourable boldness impudent
	sauciness: if a man will make courtesy and say
	nothing, he is virtuous: no, my lord, my humble
	duty remembered, I will not be your suitor. I say
	to you, I do desire deliverance from these officers,
	being upon hasty employment in the king's affairs.

Lord Chief-Justice	You speak as having power to do wrong: but answer
	in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy this
	poor woman.

FALSTAFF	Come hither, hostess.

	[Enter GOWER]

Lord Chief-Justice	Now, Master Gower, what news?

GOWER	The king, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales
	Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells.

FALSTAFF	As I am a gentleman.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Faith, you said so before.

FALSTAFF	As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words of it.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain
	to pawn both my plate and the tapestry of my
	dining-chambers.

FALSTAFF	Glasses, glasses is the only drinking: and for thy
	walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of
	the Prodigal, or the German hunting in water-work,
	is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings and these
	fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou
	canst. Come, an 'twere not for thy humours, there's
	not a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face,
	and draw the action. Come, thou must not be in
	this humour with me; dost not know me? come, come, I
	know thou wast set on to this.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles: i'
	faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me,
	la!

FALSTAFF	Let it alone; I'll make other shift: you'll be a
	fool still.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. I
	hope you'll come to supper. You'll pay me all together?

FALSTAFF	Will I live?

	[To BARDOLPH]

	Go, with her, with her; hook on, hook on.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper?

FALSTAFF	No more words; let's have her.

	[Exeunt MISTRESS QUICKLY, BARDOLPH, Officers and Boy]

Lord Chief-Justice	I have heard better news.

FALSTAFF	What's the news, my lord?

Lord Chief-Justice	Where lay the king last night?

GOWER	At Basingstoke, my lord.

FALSTAFF	I hope, my lord, all's well: what is the news, my lord?

Lord Chief-Justice	Come all his forces back?

GOWER	No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse,
	Are marched up to my lord of Lancaster,
	Against Northumberland and the Archbishop.

FALSTAFF	Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord?

Lord Chief-Justice	You shall have letters of me presently:
	Come, go along with me, good Master Gower.

FALSTAFF	My lord!

Lord Chief-Justice	What's the matter?

FALSTAFF	Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner?

GOWER	I must wait upon my good lord here; I thank you,
	good Sir John.

Lord Chief-Justice	Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to
	take soldiers up in counties as you go.

FALSTAFF	Will you sup with me, Master Gower?

Lord Chief-Justice	What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir John?

FALSTAFF	Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool
	that taught them me. This is the right fencing
	grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair.

Lord Chief-Justice	Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a great fool.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE II	London. Another street.


	[Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS]

PRINCE HENRY	Before God, I am exceeding weary.

POINS	Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not
	have attached one of so high blood.

PRINCE HENRY	Faith, it does me; though it discolours the
	complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth
	it not show vilely in me to desire small beer?

POINS	Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as
	to remember so weak a composition.

PRINCE HENRY	Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for,
	by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature,
	small beer. But, indeed, these humble
	considerations make me out of love with my
	greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember
	thy name! or to know thy face to-morrow! or to
	take note how many pair of silk stockings thou
	hast, viz. these, and those that were thy
	peach-coloured ones! or to bear the inventory of thy
	shirts, as, one for superfluity, and another for
	use! But that the tennis-court-keeper knows better
	than I; for it is a low ebb of linen with thee when
	thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done
	a great while, because the rest of thy low
	countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland:
	and God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins
	of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom: but the
	midwives say the children are not in the fault;
	whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are
	mightily strengthened.

POINS	How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard,
	you should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good
	young princes would do so, their fathers being so
	sick as yours at this time is?

PRINCE HENRY	Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?

POINS	Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing.

PRINCE HENRY	It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine.

POINS	Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you
	will tell.

PRINCE HENRY	Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be
	sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell
	thee, as to one it pleases me, for fault of a
	better, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad
	indeed too.

POINS	Very hardly upon such a subject.

PRINCE HENRY	By this hand thou thinkest me as far in the devil's
	book as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and
	persistency: let the end try the man. But I tell
	thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so
	sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art
	hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.

POINS	The reason?

PRINCE HENRY	What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep?

POINS	I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.

PRINCE HENRY	It would be every man's thought; and thou art a
	blessed fellow to think as every man thinks: never
	a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way
	better than thine: every man would think me an
	hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most
	worshipful thought to think so?

POINS	Why, because you have been so lewd and so much
	engraffed to Falstaff.

PRINCE HENRY	And to thee.

POINS	By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it
	with my own ears: the worst that they can say of
	me is that I am a second brother and that I am a
	proper fellow of my hands; and those two things, I
	confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph.

	[Enter BARDOLPH and Page]

PRINCE HENRY	And the boy that I gave Falstaff: a' had him from
	me Christian; and look, if the fat villain have not
	transformed him ape.

BARDOLPH	God save your grace!

PRINCE HENRY	And yours, most noble Bardolph!

BARDOLPH	Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you
	be blushing? wherefore blush you now? What a
	maidenly man-at-arms are you become! Is't such a
	matter to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead?

Page	A' calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red
	lattice, and I could discern no part of his face
	from the window: at last I spied his eyes, and
	methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's
	new petticoat and so peeped through.

PRINCE HENRY	Has not the boy profited?

BARDOLPH	Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!

Page	Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away!

PRINCE HENRY	Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy?

Page	Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed she was delivered
	of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream.

PRINCE HENRY	A crown's worth of good interpretation: there 'tis,
	boy.

POINS	O, that this good blossom could be kept from
	cankers! Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee.

BARDOLPH	An you do not make him hanged among you, the
	gallows shall have wrong.

PRINCE HENRY	And how doth thy master, Bardolph?

BARDOLPH	Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to
	town: there's a letter for you.

POINS	Delivered with good respect. And how doth the
	martlemas, your master?

BARDOLPH	In bodily health, sir.

POINS	Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but
	that moves not him: though that be sick, it dies
	not.

PRINCE HENRY	I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my
	dog; and he holds his place; for look you how be writes.

POINS	[Reads]  'John Falstaff, knight,'--every man must
	know that, as oft as he has occasion to name
	himself: even like those that are kin to the king;
	for they never prick their finger but they say,
	'There's some of the king's blood spilt.' 'How
	comes that?' says he, that takes upon him not to
	conceive. The answer is as ready as a borrower's
	cap, 'I am the king's poor cousin, sir.'

PRINCE HENRY	Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it
	from Japhet. But to the letter.

POINS	[Reads]  'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of
	the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of
	Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a certificate.

PRINCE HENRY	Peace!

POINS	[Reads]  'I will imitate the honourable Romans in
	brevity:' he sure means brevity in breath,
	short-winded. 'I commend me to thee, I commend
	thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with
	Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he
	swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent
	at idle times as thou mayest; and so, farewell.
	Thine, by yea and no, which is as much as to
	say, as thou usest him, JACK FALSTAFF with my
	familiars, JOHN with my brothers and sisters,
	and SIR JOHN with all Europe.'
	My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it.

PRINCE HENRY	That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do
	you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister?

POINS	God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so.

PRINCE HENRY	Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the
	spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us.
	Is your master here in London?

BARDOLPH	Yea, my lord.

PRINCE HENRY	Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank?

BARDOLPH	At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.

PRINCE HENRY	What company?

Page	Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.

PRINCE HENRY	Sup any women with him?

Page	None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and
	Mistress Doll Tearsheet.

PRINCE HENRY	What pagan may that be?

Page	A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's.

PRINCE HENRY	Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town
	bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?

POINS	I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you.

PRINCE HENRY	Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your
	master that I am yet come to town: there's for
	your silence.

BARDOLPH	I have no tongue, sir.

Page	And for mine, sir, I will govern it.

PRINCE HENRY	Fare you well; go.

	[Exeunt BARDOLPH and Page]

	This Doll Tearsheet should be some road.

POINS	I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint
	Alban's and London.

PRINCE HENRY	How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night
	in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen?

POINS	Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait
	upon him at his table as drawers.

PRINCE HENRY	From a God to a bull? a heavy decension! it was
	Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low
	transformation! that shall be mine; for in every
	thing the purpose must weigh with the folly.
	Follow me, Ned.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE III	Warkworth. Before the castle.


	[Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY]

NORTHUMBERLAND	I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,
	Give even way unto my rough affairs:
	Put not you on the visage of the times
	And be like them to Percy troublesome.

LADY
NORTHUMBERLAND	I have given over, I will speak no more:
	Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn;
	And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.

LADY PERCY	O yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!
	The time was, father, that you broke your word,
	When you were more endeared to it than now;
	When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry,
	Threw many a northward look to see his father
	Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.
	Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
	There were two honours lost, yours and your son's.
	For yours, the God of heaven brighten it!
	For his, it stuck upon him as the sun
	In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light
	Did all the chivalry of England move
	To do brave acts: he was indeed the glass
	Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves:
	He had no legs that practised not his gait;
	And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
	Became the accents of the valiant;
	For those that could speak low and tardily
	Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
	To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait,
	In diet, in affections of delight,
	In military rules, humours of blood,
	He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
	That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous him!
	O miracle of men! him did you leave,
	Second to none, unseconded by you,
	To look upon the hideous god of war
	In disadvantage; to abide a field
	Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
	Did seem defensible: so you left him.
	Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong
	To hold your honour more precise and nice
	With others than with him! let them alone:
	The marshal and the archbishop are strong:
	Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
	To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
	Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Beshrew your heart,
	Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me
	With new lamenting ancient oversights.
	But I must go and meet with danger there,
	Or it will seek me in another place
	And find me worse provided.

LADY
NORTHUMBERLAND	O, fly to Scotland,
	Till that the nobles and the armed commons
	Have of their puissance made a little taste.

LADY PERCY	If they get ground and vantage of the king,
	Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
	To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,
	First let them try themselves. So did your son;
	He was so suffer'd: so came I a widow;
	And never shall have length of life enough
	To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
	That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,
	For recordation to my noble husband.

NORTHUMBERLAND	Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind
	As with the tide swell'd up unto his height,
	That makes a still-stand, running neither way:
	Fain would I go to meet the archbishop,
	But many thousand reasons hold me back.
	I will resolve for Scotland: there am I,
	Till time and vantage crave my company.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT II



SCENE IV	London. The Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap.


	[Enter two Drawers]

First Drawer	What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-johns?
	thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.

Second Drawer	Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish
	of apple-johns before him, and told him there were
	five more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said
	'I will now take my leave of these six dry, round,
	old, withered knights.' It angered him to the
	heart: but he hath forgot that.

First Drawer	Why, then, cover, and set them down: and see if
	thou canst find out Sneak's noise; Mistress
	Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch: the
	room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight.

Second Drawer	Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Poins
	anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and
	aprons; and Sir John must not know of it: Bardolph
	hath brought word.

First Drawer	By the mass, here will be old Utis: it will be an
	excellent stratagem.

Second Drawer	I'll see if I can find out Sneak.

	[Exit]

	[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an
	excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as
	extraordinarily as heart would desire; and your
	colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in good
	truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much
	canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine,
	and it perfumes the blood ere one can say 'What's
	this?' How do you now?

DOLL TEARSHEET	Better than I was: hem!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth gold.
	Lo, here comes Sir John.

	[Enter FALSTAFF]

FALSTAFF	[Singing]  'When Arthur first in court,'
	--Empty the jordan.

	[Exit First Drawer]

	[Singing]

	--'And was a worthy king.' How now, Mistress Doll!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.

FALSTAFF	So is all her sect; an they be once in a calm, they are sick.

DOLL TEARSHEET	You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?

FALSTAFF	You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.

DOLL TEARSHEET	I make them! gluttony and diseases make them; I
	make them not.

FALSTAFF	If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to
	make the diseases, Doll: we catch of you, Doll, we
	catch of you; grant that, my poor virtue grant that.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.

FALSTAFF	'Your broaches, pearls, and ouches:' for to serve
	bravely is to come halting off, you know: to come
	off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to
	surgery bravely; to venture upon the charged
	chambers bravely,--

DOLL TEARSHEET	Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never
	meet but you fall to some discord: you are both,
	i' good truth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts; you
	cannot one bear with another's confirmities. What
	the good-year! one must bear, and that must be
	you: you are the weaker vessel, as they say, the
	emptier vessel.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full
	hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture of
	Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have not seen a hulk
	better stuffed in the hold. Come, I'll be friends
	with thee, Jack: thou art going to the wars; and
	whether I shall ever see thee again or no, there is
	nobody cares.

	[Re-enter First Drawer]

First Drawer	Sir, Ancient Pistol's below, and would speak with
	you.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come
	hither: it is the foul-mouthed'st rogue in England.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	If he swagger, let him not come here: no, by my
	faith; I must live among my neighbours: I'll no
	swaggerers: I am in good name and fame with the
	very best: shut the door; there comes no swaggerers
	here: I have not lived all this while, to have
	swaggering now: shut the door, I pray you.

FALSTAFF	Dost thou hear, hostess?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John: there comes no
	swaggerers here.

FALSTAFF	Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me: your ancient
	swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before Master
	Tisick, the debuty, t'other day; and, as he said to
	me, 'twas no longer ago than Wednesday last, 'I'
	good faith, neighbour Quickly,' says he; Master
	Dumbe, our minister, was by then; 'neighbour
	Quickly,' says he, 'receive those that are civil;
	for,' said he, 'you are in an ill name:' now a'
	said so, I can tell whereupon; 'for,' says he, 'you
	are an honest woman, and well thought on; therefore
	take heed what guests you receive: receive,' says
	he, 'no swaggering companions.' There comes none
	here: you would bless you to hear what he said:
	no, I'll no swaggerers.

FALSTAFF	He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, i'
	faith; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy
	greyhound: he'll not swagger with a Barbary hen, if
	her feathers turn back in any show of resistance.
	Call him up, drawer.

	[Exit First Drawer]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my
	house, nor no cheater: but I do not love
	swaggering, by my troth; I am the worse, when one
	says swagger: feel, masters, how I shake; look you,
	I warrant you.

DOLL TEARSHEET	So you do, hostess.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an aspen
	leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers.

	[Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and Page]

PISTOL	God save you, Sir John!

FALSTAFF	Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge
	you with a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine hostess.

PISTOL	I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.

FALSTAFF	She is Pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly offend
	her.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets: I'll
	drink no more than will do me good, for no man's
	pleasure, I.

PISTOL	Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What!
	you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen
	mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat for
	your master.

PISTOL	I know you, Mistress Dorothy.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away!
	by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy
	chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away,
	you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale
	juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir? God's
	light, with two points on your shoulder? much!

PISTOL	God let me not live, but I will murder your ruff for this.

FALSTAFF	No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here:
	discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	No, Good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, art thou
	not ashamed to be called captain? An captains were
	of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for
	taking their names upon you before you have earned
	them. You a captain! you slave, for what? for
	tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a
	captain! hang him, rogue! he lives upon mouldy
	stewed prunes and dried cakes. A captain! God's
	light, these villains will make the word as odious
	as the word 'occupy;' which was an excellent good
	word before it was ill sorted: therefore captains
	had need look to 't.

BARDOLPH	Pray thee, go down, good ancient.

FALSTAFF	Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.

PISTOL	Not I	I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could
	tear her: I'll be revenged of her.

Page	Pray thee, go down.

PISTOL	I'll see her damned first; to Pluto's damned lake,
	by this hand, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and
	tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I.
	Down, down, dogs! down, faitors! Have we not
	Hiren here?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i'
	faith: I beseek you now, aggravate your choler.

PISTOL	These be good humours, indeed! Shall pack-horses
	And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
	Which cannot go but thirty mile a-day,
	Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,
	And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
	King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
	Shall we fall foul for toys?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.

BARDOLPH	Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to abrawl anon.

PISTOL	Die men like dogs! give crowns like pins! Have we
	not Heren here?

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O' my word, captain, there's none such here. What
	the good-year! do you think I would deny her? For
	God's sake, be quiet.

PISTOL	Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
	Come, give's some sack.
	'Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contento.'
	Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire:
	Give me some sack: and, sweetheart, lie thou there.

	[Laying down his sword]

	Come we to full points here; and are etceteras nothing?

FALSTAFF	Pistol, I would be quiet.

PISTOL	Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf: what! we have seen
	the seven stars.

DOLL TEARSHEET	For God's sake, thrust him down stairs: I cannot
	endure such a fustian rascal.

PISTOL	Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags?

FALSTAFF	Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat
	shilling: nay, an a' do nothing but speak nothing,
	a' shall be nothing here.

BARDOLPH	Come, get you down stairs.

PISTOL	What! shall we have incision? shall we imbrue?

	[Snatching up his sword]

	Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
	Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
	Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Here's goodly stuff toward!

FALSTAFF	Give me my rapier, boy.

DOLL TEARSHEET	I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.

FALSTAFF	Get you down stairs.

	[Drawing, and driving PISTOL out]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping
	house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and frights.
	So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! put up
	your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.

	[Exeunt PISTOL and BARDOLPH]

DOLL TEARSHEET	I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone.
	Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	He you not hurt i' the groin? methought a' made a
	shrewd thrust at your belly.

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH]

FALSTAFF	Have you turned him out o' doors?

BARDOLPH	Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have hurt him,
	sir, i' the shoulder.

FALSTAFF	A rascal! to brave me!

DOLL TEARSHEET	Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! alas, poor ape,
	how thou sweatest! come, let me wipe thy face;
	come on, you whoreson chops: ah, rogue! i'faith, I
	love thee: thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy,
	worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than
	the Nine Worthies: ah, villain!

FALSTAFF	A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Do, an thou darest for thy heart: an thou dost,
	I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets.

	[Enter Music]

Page	The music is come, sir.

FALSTAFF	Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Doll.
	A rascal bragging slave! the rogue fled from me
	like quicksilver.

DOLL TEARSHEET	I' faith, and thou followedst him like a church.
	Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig,
	when wilt thou leave fighting o' days and foining
	o' nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

	[Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS, disguised]

FALSTAFF	Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's-head;
	do not bid me remember mine end.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Sirrah, what humour's the prince of?

FALSTAFF	A good shallow young fellow: a' would have made a
	good pantler, a' would ha' chipp'd bread well.

DOLL TEARSHEET	They say Poins has a good wit.

FALSTAFF	He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his wit's as thick
	as Tewksbury mustard; there's no more conceit in him
	than is in a mallet.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Why does the prince love him so, then?

FALSTAFF	Because their legs are both of a bigness, and a'
	plays at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel,
	and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons, and
	rides the wild-mare with the boys, and jumps upon
	joined-stools, and swears with a good grace, and
	wears his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of
	the leg, and breeds no bate with telling of discreet
	stories; and such other gambol faculties a' has,
	that show a weak mind and an able body, for the
	which the prince admits him: for the prince himself
	is such another; the weight of a hair will turn the
	scales between their avoirdupois.

PRINCE HENRY	Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

POINS	Let's beat him before his whore.

PRINCE HENRY	Look, whether the withered elder hath not his poll
	clawed like a parrot.

POINS	Is it not strange that desire should so many years
	outlive performance?

FALSTAFF	Kiss me, Doll.

PRINCE HENRY	Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what
	says the almanac to that?

POINS	And look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not
	lisping to his master's old tables, his note-book,
	his counsel-keeper.

FALSTAFF	Thou dost give me flattering busses.

DOLL TEARSHEET	By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.

FALSTAFF	I am old, I am old.

DOLL TEARSHEET	I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young
	boy of them all.

FALSTAFF	What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive
	money o' Thursday: shalt have a cap to-morrow. A
	merry song, come: it grows late; we'll to bed.
	Thou'lt forget me when I am gone.

DOLL TEARSHEET	By my troth, thou'lt set me a-weeping, an thou
	sayest so: prove that ever I dress myself handsome
	till thy return: well, harken at the end.

FALSTAFF	Some sack, Francis.


PRINCE HENRY	|
	|  Anon, anon, sir.
POINS	|


	[Coming forward]

FALSTAFF	Ha! a bastard son of the king's? And art not thou
	Poins his brother?

PRINCE HENRY	Why, thou globe of sinful continents! what a life
	dost thou lead!

FALSTAFF	A better than thou: I am a gentleman; thou art a drawer.

PRINCE HENRY	Very true, sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by my troth,
	welcome to London. Now, the Lord bless that sweet
	face of thine! O, Jesu, are you come from Wales?

FALSTAFF	Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light
	flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.

DOLL TEARSHEET	How, you fat fool! I scorn you.

POINS	My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and
	turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat.

PRINCE HENRY	You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you
	speak of me even now before this honest, virtuous,
	civil gentlewoman!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	God's blessing of your good heart! and so she is,
	by my troth.

FALSTAFF	Didst thou hear me?

PRINCE HENRY	Yea, and you knew me, as you did when you ran away
	by Gad's-hill: you knew I was at your back, and
	spoke it on purpose to try my patience.

FALSTAFF	No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within hearing.

PRINCE HENRY	I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse;
	and then I know how to handle you.

FALSTAFF	No abuse, Hal, o' mine honour, no abuse.

PRINCE HENRY	Not to dispraise me, and call me pantier and
	bread-chipper and I know not what?

FALSTAFF	No abuse, Hal.

POINS	No abuse?

FALSTAFF	No abuse, Ned, i' the world; honest Ned, none. I
	dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked
	might not fall in love with him; in which doing, I
	have done the part of a careful friend and a true
	subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it.
	No abuse, Hal: none, Ned, none: no, faith, boys, none.

PRINCE HENRY	See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth
	not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to
	close with us? is she of the wicked? is thine
	hostess here of the wicked? or is thy boy of the
	wicked? or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his
	nose, of the wicked?

POINS	Answer, thou dead elm, answer.

FALSTAFF	The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irrecoverable;
	and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he
	doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For the boy,
	there is a good angel about him; but the devil
	outbids him too.

PRINCE HENRY	For the women?

FALSTAFF	For one of them, she is in hell already, and burns
	poor souls. For the other, I owe her money, and
	whether she be damned for that, I know not.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	No, I warrant you.

FALSTAFF	No, I think thou art not; I think thou art quit for
	that. Marry, there is another indictment upon thee,
	for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house,
	contrary to the law; for the which I think thou wilt howl.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	All victuallers do so; what's a joint of mutton or
	two in a whole Lent?

PRINCE HENRY	You, gentlewoman,-

DOLL TEARSHEET	What says your grace?

FALSTAFF	His grace says that which his flesh rebels against.

	[Knocking within]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Who knocks so loud at door? Look to the door there, Francis.

	[Enter PETO]

PRINCE HENRY	Peto, how now! what news?

PETO	The king your father is at Westminster:
	And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
	Come from the north: and, as I came along,
	I met and overtook a dozen captains,
	Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
	And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

PRINCE HENRY	By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,
	So idly to profane the precious time,
	When tempest of commotion, like the south
	Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
	And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
	Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night.

	[Exeunt PRINCE HENRY, POINS, PETO and BARDOLPH]

FALSTAFF	Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and
	we must hence and leave it unpicked.

	[Knocking within]

	More knocking at the door!

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH]

	How now! what's the matter?

BARDOLPH	You must away to court, sir, presently;
	A dozen captains stay at door for you.

FALSTAFF	[To the Page]  Pay the musicians, sirrah. Farewell,
	hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches,
	how men of merit are sought after: the undeserver
	may sleep, when the man of action is called on.
	Farewell good wenches: if I be not sent away post,
	I will see you again ere I go.

DOLL TEARSHEET	I cannot speak; if my heart be not read to burst,--
	well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.

FALSTAFF	Farewell, farewell.

	[Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these
	twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; but an
	honester and truer-hearted man,--well, fare thee well.

BARDOLPH	[Within]  Mistress Tearsheet!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	What's the matter?

BARDOLPH	[Within]  Good Mistress Tearsheet, come to my master.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O, run, Doll, run; run, good Doll: come.

	[She comes blubbered]

	Yea, will you come, Doll?

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT III



SCENE I	Westminster. The palace.


	[Enter KING HENRY IV in his nightgown, with a Page]

KING HENRY IV	Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;
	But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters,
	And well consider of them; make good speed.

	[Exit Page]

	How many thousand of my poorest subjects
	Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,
	Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
	That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down
	And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
	Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
	Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee
	And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
	Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
	Under the canopies of costly state,
	And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?
	O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile
	In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch
	A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell?
	Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
	Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
	In cradle of the rude imperious surge
	And in the visitation of the winds,
	Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
	Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them
	With deafening clamour in the slippery clouds,
	That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
	Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
	To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,
	And in the calmest and most stillest night,
	With all appliances and means to boot,
	Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down!
	Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

	[Enter WARWICK and SURREY]

WARWICK	Many good morrows to your majesty!

KING HENRY IV	Is it good morrow, lords?

WARWICK	'Tis one o'clock, and past.

KING HENRY IV	Why, then, good morrow to you all, my lords.
	Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?

WARWICK	We have, my liege.

KING HENRY IV	Then you perceive the body of our kingdom
	How foul it is; what rank diseases grow
	And with what danger, near the heart of it.

WARWICK	It is but as a body yet distemper'd;
	Which to his former strength may be restored
	With good advice and little medicine:
	My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.

KING HENRY IV	O God! that one might read the book of fate,
	And see the revolution of the times
	Make mountains level, and the continent,
	Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
	Into the sea! and, other times, to see
	The beachy girdle of the ocean
	Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock,
	And changes fill the cup of alteration
	With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,
	The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,
	What perils past, what crosses to ensue,
	Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
	'Tis not 'ten years gone
	Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends,
	Did feast together, and in two years after
	Were they at wars: it is but eight years since
	This Percy was the man nearest my soul,
	Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs
	And laid his love and life under my foot,
	Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard
	Gave him defiance. But which of you was by--
	You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember--

	[To WARWICK]

	When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears,
	Then cheque'd and rated by Northumberland,
	Did speak these words, now proved a prophecy?
	'Northumberland, thou ladder by the which
	My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne;'
	Though then, God knows, I had no such intent,
	But that necessity so bow'd the state
	That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss:
	'The time shall come,' thus did he follow it,
	'The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head,
	Shall break into corruption:' so went on,
	Foretelling this same time's condition
	And the division of our amity.

WARWICK	There is a history in all men's lives,
	Figuring the nature of the times deceased;
	The which observed, a man may prophesy,
	With a near aim, of the main chance of things
	As yet not come to life, which in their seeds
	And weak beginnings lie intreasured.
	Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
	And by the necessary form of this
	King Richard might create a perfect guess
	That great Northumberland, then false to him,
	Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness;
	Which should not find a ground to root upon,
	Unless on you.

KING HENRY IV	                  Are these things then necessities?
	Then let us meet them like necessities:
	And that same word even now cries out on us:
	They say the bishop and Northumberland
	Are fifty thousand strong.

WARWICK	It cannot be, my lord;
	Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,
	The numbers of the fear'd. Please it your grace
	To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord,
	The powers that you already have sent forth
	Shall bring this prize in very easily.
	To comfort you the more, I have received
	A certain instance that Glendower is dead.
	Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill,
	And these unseason'd hours perforce must add
	Unto your sickness.

KING HENRY IV	I will take your counsel:
	And were these inward wars once out of hand,
	We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT III



SCENE II	Gloucestershire. Before SHALLOW'S house.


	[Enter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; MOULDY,
	SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, BULLCALF, a Servant or two
	with them]

SHALLOW	Come on, come on, come on, sir; give me your hand,
	sir, give me your hand, sir: an early stirrer, by
	the rood! And how doth my good cousin Silence?

SILENCE	Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.

SHALLOW	And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? and your
	fairest daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?

SILENCE	Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow!

SHALLOW	By yea and nay, sir, I dare say my cousin William is
	become a good scholar: he is at Oxford still, is he not?

SILENCE	Indeed, sir, to my cost.

SHALLOW	A' must, then, to the inns o' court shortly. I was
	once of Clement's Inn, where I think they will
	talk of mad Shallow yet.

SILENCE	You were called 'lusty Shallow' then, cousin.

SHALLOW	By the mass, I was called any thing; and I would
	have done any thing indeed too, and roundly too.
	There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire,
	and black George Barnes, and Francis Pickbone, and
	Will Squele, a Cotswold man; you had not four such
	swinge-bucklers in all the inns o' court again: and
	I may say to you, we knew where the bona-robas were
	and had the best of them all at commandment. Then
	was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, a boy, and page to
	Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.

SILENCE	This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about soldiers?

SHALLOW	The same Sir John, the very same. I  see him break
	Skogan's head at the court-gate, when a' was a
	crack not thus high: and the very same day did I
	fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer,
	behind Gray's Inn. Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I
	have spent! and to see how many of my old
	acquaintance are dead!

SILENCE	We shall all follow, cousin.

SHADOW	Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure: death,
	as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall
	die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair?

SILENCE	By my troth, I was not there.

SHALLOW	Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living
	yet?

SILENCE	Dead, sir.

SHALLOW	Jesu, Jesu, dead! a' drew a good bow; and dead! a'
	shot a fine shoot: John a Gaunt loved him well, and
	betted much money on his head. Dead! a' would have
	clapped i' the clout at twelve score; and carried
	you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a
	half, that it would have done a man's heart good to
	see. How a score of ewes now?

SILENCE	Thereafter as they be: a score of good ewes may be
	worth ten pounds.

SHALLOW	And is old Double dead?

SILENCE	Here come two of Sir John Falstaff's men, as I think.

	[Enter BARDOLPH and one with him]

BARDOLPH	Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I beseech you, which
	is Justice Shallow?

SHALLOW	I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this
	county, and one of the king's justices of the peace:
	What is your good pleasure with me?

BARDOLPH	My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain,
	Sir John Falstaff, a tall gentleman, by heaven, and
	a most gallant leader.

SHALLOW	He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword
	man. How doth the good knight? may I ask how my
	lady his wife doth?

BARDOLPH	Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated than
	with a wife.

SHALLOW	It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said
	indeed too. Better accommodated! it is good; yea,
	indeed, is it: good phrases are surely, and ever
	were, very commendable. Accommodated! it comes of
	'accommodo' very good; a good phrase.

BARDOLPH	Pardon me, sir; I have heard the word. Phrase call
	you it? by this good day, I know not the phrase;
	but I will maintain the word with my sword to be a
	soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding good
	command, by heaven. Accommodated; that is, when a
	man is, as they say, accommodated; or when a man is,
	being, whereby a' may be thought to be accommodated;
	which is an excellent thing.

SHALLOW	It is very just.

	[Enter FALSTAFF]

	Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me your good
	hand, give me your worship's good hand: by my
	troth, you like well and bear your years very well:
	welcome, good Sir John.

FALSTAFF	I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert
	Shallow: Master Surecard, as I think?

SHALLOW	No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission with me.

FALSTAFF	Good Master Silence, it well befits you should be of
	the peace.

SILENCE	Your good-worship is welcome.

FALSTAFF	Fie! this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you
	provided me here half a dozen sufficient men?

SHALLOW	Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit?

FALSTAFF	Let me see them, I beseech you.

SHALLOW	Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's the
	roll? Let me see, let me see, let me see. So, so:
	yea, marry, sir: Ralph Mouldy! Let them appear as
	I call; let them do so, let them do so. Let me
	see; where is Mouldy?

MOULDY	Here, an't please you.

SHALLOW	What think you, Sir John? a good-limbed fellow;
	young, strong, and of good friends.

FALSTAFF	Is thy name Mouldy?

MOULDY	Yea, an't please you.

FALSTAFF	'Tis the more time thou wert used.

SHALLOW	Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that
	are mouldy lack use: very singular good! in faith,
	well said, Sir John, very well said.

FALSTAFF	Prick him.

MOULDY	I was pricked well enough before, an you could have
	let me alone: my old dame will be undone now for
	one to do her husbandry and her drudgery: you need
	not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter
	to go out than I.

FALSTAFF	Go to: peace, Mouldy; you shall go. Mouldy, it is
	time you were spent.

MOULDY	Spent!

SHALLOW	Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside: know you where
	you are? For the other, Sir John: let me see:
	Simon Shadow!

FALSTAFF	Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under: he's like
	to be a cold soldier.

SHALLOW	Where's Shadow?

SHADOW	Here, sir.

FALSTAFF	Shadow, whose son art thou?

SHADOW	My mother's son, sir.

FALSTAFF	Thy mother's son! like enough, and thy father's
	shadow: so the son of the female is the shadow of
	the male: it is often so, indeed; but much of the
	father's substance!

SHALLOW	Do you like him, Sir John?

FALSTAFF	Shadow will serve for summer; prick him, for we have
	a number of shadows to fill up the muster-book.

SHALLOW	Thomas Wart!

FALSTAFF	Where's he?

WART	Here, sir.

FALSTAFF	Is thy name Wart?

WART	Yea, sir.

FALSTAFF	Thou art a very ragged wart.

SHALLOW	Shall I prick him down, Sir John?

FALSTAFF	It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon
	his back and the whole frame stands upon pins:
	prick him no more.

SHALLOW	Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you can do it: I
	commend you well. Francis Feeble!

FEEBLE	Here, sir.

FALSTAFF	What trade art thou, Feeble?

FEEBLE	A woman's tailor, sir.

SHALLOW	Shall I prick him, sir?

FALSTAFF	You may: but if he had been a man's tailor, he'ld
	ha' pricked you. Wilt thou make as many holes in
	an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat?

FEEBLE	I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.

FALSTAFF	Well said, good woman's tailor! well said,
	courageous Feeble! thou wilt be as valiant as the
	wrathful dove or most magnanimous mouse. Prick the
	woman's tailor: well, Master Shallow; deep, Master Shallow.

FEEBLE	I would Wart might have gone, sir.

FALSTAFF	I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst
	mend him and make him fit to go. I cannot put him
	to a private soldier that is the leader of so many
	thousands: let that suffice, most forcible Feeble.

FEEBLE	It shall suffice, sir.

FALSTAFF	I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?

SHALLOW	Peter Bullcalf o' the green!

FALSTAFF	Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf.

BULLCALF	Here, sir.

FALSTAFF	'Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf
	till he roar again.

BULLCALF	O Lord! good my lord captain,--

FALSTAFF	What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked?

BULLCALF	O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man.

FALSTAFF	What disease hast thou?

BULLCALF	A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught
	with ringing in the king's affairs upon his
	coronation-day, sir.

FALSTAFF	Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown; we wilt
	have away thy cold; and I will take such order that
	my friends shall ring for thee. Is here all?

SHALLOW	Here is two more called than your number, you must
	have but four here, sir: and so, I pray you, go in
	with me to dinner.

FALSTAFF	Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry
	dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW	O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night
	in the windmill in Saint George's field?

FALSTAFF	No more of that, good Master Shallow, no more of that.

SHALLOW	Ha! 'twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive?

FALSTAFF	She lives, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW	She never could away with me.

FALSTAFF	Never, never; she would always say she could not
	abide Master Shallow.

SHALLOW	By the mass, I could anger her to the heart. She
	was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well?

FALSTAFF	Old, old, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW	Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old;
	certain she's old; and had Robin Nightwork by old
	Nightwork before I came to Clement's Inn.

SILENCE	That's fifty-five year ago.

SHALLOW	Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that
	this knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well?

FALSTAFF	We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW	That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith,
	Sir John, we have: our watch-word was 'Hem boys!'
	Come, let's to dinner; come, let's to dinner:
	Jesus, the days that we have seen! Come, come.

	[Exeunt FALSTAFF and Justices]

BULLCALF	Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend;
	and here's four Harry ten shillings in French crowns
	for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be
	hanged, sir, as go: and yet, for mine own part, sir,
	I do not care; but rather, because I am unwilling,
	and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with
	my friends; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own
	part, so much.

BARDOLPH	Go to; stand aside.

MOULDY	And, good master corporal captain, for my old
	dame's sake, stand my friend: she has nobody to do
	any thing about her when I am gone; and she is old,
	and cannot help herself: You shall have forty, sir.

BARDOLPH	Go to; stand aside.

FEEBLE	By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once: we
	owe God a death: I'll ne'er bear a base mind:
	an't be my destiny, so; an't be not, so: no man is
	too good to serve's prince; and let it go which way
	it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next.

BARDOLPH	Well said; thou'rt a good fellow.

FEEBLE	Faith, I'll bear no base mind.

	[Re-enter FALSTAFF and the Justices]

FALSTAFF	Come, sir, which men shall I have?

SHALLOW	Four of which you please.

BARDOLPH	Sir, a word with you: I have three pound to free
	Mouldy and Bullcalf.

FALSTAFF	Go to; well.

SHALLOW	Come, Sir John, which four will you have?

FALSTAFF	Do you choose for me.

SHALLOW	Marry, then, Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble and Shadow.

FALSTAFF	Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home
	till you are past service: and for your part,
	Bullcalf, grow till you come unto it: I will none of you.

SHALLOW	Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong: they are
	your likeliest men, and I would have you served with the best.

FALSTAFF	Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a
	man? Care I for the limb, the thewes, the stature,
	bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the
	spirit, Master Shallow. Here's Wart; you see what a
	ragged appearance it is; a' shall charge you and
	discharge you with the motion of a pewterer's
	hammer, come off and on swifter than he that gibbets
	on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-faced
	fellow, Shadow; give me this man: he presents no
	mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim
	level at the edge of a penknife. And for a retreat;
	how swiftly will this Feeble the woman's tailor run
	off! O, give me the spare men, and spare me the
	great ones. Put me a caliver into Wart's hand, Bardolph.

BARDOLPH	Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, thus.

FALSTAFF	Come, manage me your caliver. So: very well: go
	to: very good, exceeding good. O, give me always a
	little, lean, old, chapt, bald shot. Well said, i'
	faith, Wart; thou'rt a good scab: hold, there's a
	tester for thee.

SHALLOW	He is not his craft's master; he doth not do it
	right. I remember at Mile-end Green, when I lay at
	Clement's Inn--I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthur's
	show,--there was a little quiver fellow, and a'
	would manage you his piece thus; and a' would about
	and about, and come you in and come you in: 'rah,
	tah, tah,' would a' say; 'bounce' would a' say; and
	away again would a' go, and again would a' come: I
	shall ne'er see such a fellow.

FALSTAFF	These fellows will do well, Master Shallow. God
	keep you, Master Silence: I will not use many words
	with you. Fare you well, gentlemen both: I thank
	you: I must a dozen mile to-night. Bardolph, give
	the soldiers coats.

SHALLOW	Sir John, the Lord bless you! God prosper your
	affairs! God send us peace! At your return visit
	our house; let our old acquaintance be renewed;
	peradventure I will with ye to the court.

FALSTAFF	'Fore God, I would you would, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW	Go to; I have spoke at a word. God keep you.

FALSTAFF	Fare you well, gentle gentlemen.

	[Exeunt Justices]

	On, Bardolph; lead the men away.

	[Exeunt BARDOLPH, Recruits, &c]

	As I return, I will fetch off these justices: I do
	see the bottom of Justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how
	subject we old men are to this vice of lying! This
	same starved justice hath done nothing but prate to
	me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he
	hath done about Turnbull Street: and every third
	word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's
	tribute. I do remember him at Clement's Inn like a
	man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a'
	was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked
	radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it
	with a knife: a' was so forlorn, that his
	dimensions to any thick sight were invincible: a'
	was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous as a
	monkey, and the whores called him mandrake: a' came
	ever in the rearward of the fashion, and sung those
	tunes to the overscutched huswives that he heard the
	carmen whistle, and swear they were his fancies or
	his good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger
	become a squire, and talks as familiarly of John a
	Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother to him; and
	I'll be sworn a' ne'er saw him but once in the
	Tilt-yard; and then he burst his head for crowding
	among the marshal's men. I saw it, and told John a
	Gaunt he beat his own name; for you might have
	thrust him and all his apparel into an eel-skin; the
	case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a
	court: and now has he land and beefs. Well, I'll
	be acquainted with him, if I return; and it shall
	go hard but I will make him a philosopher's two
	stones to me: if the young dace be a bait for the
	old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I
	may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE I	Yorkshire. Gaultree Forest.


	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, LORD
	HASTINGS, and others]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	What is this forest call'd?

HASTINGS	'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your grace.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Here stand, my lords; and send discoverers forth
	To know the numbers of our enemies.

HASTINGS	We have sent forth already.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	'Tis well done.
	My friends and brethren in these great affairs,
	I must acquaint you that I have received
	New-dated letters from Northumberland;
	Their cold intent, tenor and substance, thus:
	Here doth he wish his person, with such powers
	As might hold sortance with his quality,
	The which he could not levy; whereupon
	He is retired, to ripe his growing fortunes,
	To Scotland: and concludes in hearty prayers
	That your attempts may overlive the hazard
	And fearful melting of their opposite.

MOWBRAY	Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground
	And dash themselves to pieces.

	[Enter a Messenger]

HASTINGS	Now, what news?

Messenger	West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,
	In goodly form comes on the enemy;
	And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
	Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.

MOWBRAY	The just proportion that we gave them out
	Let us sway on and face them in the field.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	What well-appointed leader fronts us here?

	[Enter WESTMORELAND]

MOWBRAY	I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland.

WESTMORELAND	Health and fair greeting from our general,
	The prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace:
	What doth concern your coming?

WESTMORELAND	Then, my lord,
	Unto your grace do I in chief address
	The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
	Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
	Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags,
	And countenanced by boys and beggary,
	I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd,
	In his true, native and most proper shape,
	You, reverend father, and these noble lords
	Had not been here, to dress the ugly form
	Of base and bloody insurrection
	With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop,
	Whose see is by a civil peace maintained,
	Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd,
	Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd,
	Whose white investments figure innocence,
	The dove and very blessed spirit of peace,
	Wherefore do you so ill translate ourself
	Out of the speech of peace that bears such grace,
	Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war;
	Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood,
	Your pens to lances and your tongue divine
	To a trumpet and a point of war?

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Wherefore do I this? so the question stands.
	Briefly to this end: we are all diseased,
	And with our surfeiting and wanton hours
	Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,
	And we must bleed for it; of which disease
	Our late king, Richard, being infected, died.
	But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland,
	I take not on me here as a physician,
	Nor do I as an enemy to peace
	Troop in the throngs of military men;
	But rather show awhile like fearful war,
	To diet rank minds sick of happiness
	And purge the obstructions which begin to stop
	Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
	I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
	What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
	And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
	We see which way the stream of time doth run,
	And are enforced from our most quiet there
	By the rough torrent of occasion;
	And have the summary of all our griefs,
	When time shall serve, to show in articles;
	Which long ere this we offer'd to the king,
	And might by no suit gain our audience:
	When we are wrong'd and would unfold our griefs,
	We are denied access unto his person
	Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
	The dangers of the days but newly gone,
	Whose memory is written on the earth
	With yet appearing blood, and the examples
	Of every minute's instance, present now,
	Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms,
	Not to break peace or any branch of it,
	But to establish here a peace indeed,
	Concurring both in name and quality.

WESTMORELAND	When ever yet was your appeal denied?
	Wherein have you been galled by the king?
	What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you,
	That you should seal this lawless bloody book
	Of forged rebellion with a seal divine
	And consecrate commotion's bitter edge?

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	My brother general, the commonwealth,
	To brother born an household cruelty,
	I make my quarrel in particular.

WESTMORELAND	There is no need of any such redress;
	Or if there were, it not belongs to you.

MOWBRAY	Why not to him in part, and to us all
	That feel the bruises of the days before,
	And suffer the condition of these times
	To lay a heavy and unequal hand
	Upon our honours?

WESTMORELAND	                  O, my good Lord Mowbray,
	Construe the times to their necessities,
	And you shall say indeed, it is the time,
	And not the king, that doth you injuries.
	Yet for your part, it not appears to me
	Either from the king or in the present time
	That you should have an inch of any ground
	To build a grief on: were you not restored
	To all the Duke of Norfolk's signories,
	Your noble and right well remember'd father's?

MOWBRAY	What thing, in honour, had my father lost,
	That need to be revived and breathed in me?
	The king that loved him, as the state stood then,
	Was force perforce compell'd to banish him:
	And then that Harry Bolingbroke and he,
	Being mounted and both roused in their seats,
	Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,
	Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,
	Their eyes of fire sparking through sights of steel
	And the loud trumpet blowing them together,
	Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd
	My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
	O when the king did throw his warder down,
	His own life hung upon the staff he threw;
	Then threw he down himself and all their lives
	That by indictment and by dint of sword
	Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.

WESTMORELAND	You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what.
	The Earl of Hereford was reputed then
	In England the most valiant gentlemen:
	Who knows on whom fortune would then have smiled?
	But if your father had been victor there,
	He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry:
	For all the country in a general voice
	Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love
	Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on
	And bless'd and graced indeed, more than the king.
	But this is mere digression from my purpose.
	Here come I from our princely general
	To know your griefs; to tell you from his grace
	That he will give you audience; and wherein
	It shall appear that your demands are just,
	You shall enjoy them, every thing set off
	That might so much as think you enemies.

MOWBRAY	But he hath forced us to compel this offer;
	And it proceeds from policy, not love.

WESTMORELAND	Mowbray, you overween to take it so;
	This offer comes from mercy, not from fear:
	For, lo! within a ken our army lies,
	Upon mine honour, all too confident
	To give admittance to a thought of fear.
	Our battle is more full of names than yours,
	Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
	Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
	Then reason will our heart should be as good
	Say you not then our offer is compell'd.

MOWBRAY	Well, by my will we shall admit no parley.

WESTMORELAND	That argues but the shame of your offence:
	A rotten case abides no handling.

HASTINGS	Hath the Prince John a full commission,
	In very ample virtue of his father,
	To hear and absolutely to determine
	Of what conditions we shall stand upon?

WESTMORELAND	That is intended in the general's name:
	I muse you make so slight a question.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this schedule,
	For this contains our general grievances:
	Each several article herein redress'd,
	All members of our cause, both here and hence,
	That are insinew'd to this action,
	Acquitted by a true substantial form
	And present execution of our wills
	To us and to our purposes confined,
	We come within our awful banks again
	And knit our powers to the arm of peace.

WESTMORELAND	This will I show the general. Please you, lords,
	In sight of both our battles we may meet;
	And either end in peace, which God so frame!
	Or to the place of difference call the swords
	Which must decide it.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	My lord, we will do so.

	[Exit WESTMORELAND]

MOWBRAY	There is a thing within my bosom tells me
	That no conditions of our peace can stand.

HASTINGS	Fear you not that: if we can make our peace
	Upon such large terms and so absolute
	As our conditions shall consist upon,
	Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.

MOWBRAY	Yea, but our valuation shall be such
	That every slight and false-derived cause,
	Yea, every idle, nice and wanton reason
	Shall to the king taste of this action;
	That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
	We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind
	That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff
	And good from bad find no partition.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	No, no, my lord. Note this; the king is weary
	Of dainty and such picking grievances:
	For he hath found to end one doubt by death
	Revives two greater in the heirs of life,
	And therefore will he wipe his tables clean
	And keep no tell-tale to his memory
	That may repeat and history his loss
	To new remembrance; for full well he knows
	He cannot so precisely weed this land
	As his misdoubts present occasion:
	His foes are so enrooted with his friends
	That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
	He doth unfasten so and shake a friend:
	So that this land, like an offensive wife
	That hath enraged him on to offer strokes,
	As he is striking, holds his infant up
	And hangs resolved correction in the arm
	That was uprear'd to execution.

HASTINGS	Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods
	On late offenders, that he now doth lack
	The very instruments of chastisement:
	So that his power, like to a fangless lion,
	May offer, but not hold.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	'Tis very true:
	And therefore be assured, my good lord marshal,
	If we do now make our atonement well,
	Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
	Grow stronger for the breaking.

MOWBRAY	Be it so.
	Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland.

	[Re-enter WESTMORELAND]

WESTMORELAND	The prince is here at hand: pleaseth your lordship
	To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies.

MOWBRAY	Your grace of York, in God's name then, set forward.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Before, and greet his grace: my lord, we come.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE II	Another part of the forest.


	[Enter, from one side, MOWBRAY, attended; afterwards
	the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, HASTINGS, and others: from
	the other side, Prince John of LANCASTER, and
	WESTMORELAND; Officers, and others with them]

LANCASTER	You are well encounter'd here, my cousin Mowbray:
	Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop;
	And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.
	My Lord of York, it better show'd with you
	When that your flock, assembled by the bell,
	Encircled you to hear with reverence
	Your exposition on the holy text
	Than now to see you here an iron man,
	Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum,
	Turning the word to sword and life to death.
	That man that sits within a monarch's heart,
	And ripens in the sunshine of his favour,
	Would he abuse the countenance of the king,
	Alack, what mischiefs might he set abrooch
	In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord bishop,
	It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken
	How deep you were within the books of God?
	To us the speaker in his parliament;
	To us the imagined voice of God himself;
	The very opener and intelligencer
	Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven
	And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
	But you misuse the reverence of your place,
	Employ the countenance and grace of heaven,
	As a false favourite doth his prince's name,
	In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up,
	Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
	The subjects of his substitute, my father,
	And both against the peace of heaven and him
	Have here up-swarm'd them.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Good my Lord of Lancaster,
	I am not here against your father's peace;
	But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland,
	The time misorder'd doth, in common sense,
	Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form,
	To hold our safety up. I sent your grace
	The parcels and particulars of our grief,
	The which hath been with scorn shoved from the court,
	Whereon this Hydra son of war is born;
	Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep
	With grant of our most just and right desires,
	And true obedience, of this madness cured,
	Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.

MOWBRAY	If not, we ready are to try our fortunes
	To the last man.

HASTINGS	                  And though we here fall down,
	We have supplies to second our attempt:
	If they miscarry, theirs shall second them;
	And so success of mischief shall be born
	And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up
	Whiles England shall have generation.

LANCASTER	You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow,
	To sound the bottom of the after-times.

WESTMORELAND	Pleaseth your grace to answer them directly
	How far forth you do like their articles.

LANCASTER	I like them all, and do allow them well,
	And swear here, by the honour of my blood,
	My father's purposes have been mistook,
	And some about him have too lavishly
	Wrested his meaning and authority.
	My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd;
	Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you,
	Discharge your powers unto their several counties,
	As we will ours: and here between the armies
	Let's drink together friendly and embrace,
	That all their eyes may bear those tokens home
	Of our restored love and amity.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	I take your princely word for these redresses.

LANCASTER	I give it you, and will maintain my word:
	And thereupon I drink unto your grace.

HASTINGS	Go, captain, and deliver to the army
	This news of peace: let them have pay, and part:
	I know it will well please them. Hie thee, captain.

	[Exit Officer]

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland.

WESTMORELAND	I pledge your grace; and, if you knew what pains
	I have bestow'd to breed this present peace,
	You would drink freely: but my love to ye
	Shall show itself more openly hereafter.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	I do not doubt you.

WESTMORELAND	I am glad of it.
	Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray.

MOWBRAY	You wish me health in very happy season;
	For I am, on the sudden, something ill.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Against ill chances men are ever merry;
	But heaviness foreruns the good event.

WESTMORELAND	Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow
	Serves to say thus, 'some good thing comes
	to-morrow.'

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.

MOWBRAY	So much the worse, if your own rule be true.

	[Shouts within]

LANCASTER	The word of peace is render'd: hark, how they shout!

MOWBRAY	This had been cheerful after victory.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
	For then both parties nobly are subdued,
	And neither party loser.

LANCASTER	Go, my lord,
	And let our army be discharged too.

	[Exit WESTMORELAND]

	And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains
	March, by us, that we may peruse the men
	We should have coped withal.

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Go, good Lord Hastings,
	And, ere they be dismissed, let them march by.

	[Exit HASTINGS]

LANCASTER	I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together.

	[Re-enter WESTMORELAND]

	Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?

WESTMORELAND	The leaders, having charge from you to stand,
	Will not go off until they hear you speak.

LANCASTER	They know their duties.

	[Re-enter HASTINGS]

HASTINGS	My lord, our army is dispersed already;
	Like youthful steers unyoked, they take their courses
	East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke up,
	Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place.

WESTMORELAND	Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which
	I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason:
	And you, lord archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray,
	Of capitol treason I attach you both.

MOWBRAY	Is this proceeding just and honourable?

WESTMORELAND	Is your assembly so?

ARCHBISHOP OF YORK	Will you thus break your faith?

LANCASTER	I pawn'd thee none:
	I promised you redress of these same grievances
	Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour,
	I will perform with a most Christian care.
	But for you, rebels, look to taste the due
	Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours.
	Most shallowly did you these arms commence,
	Fondly brought here and foolishly sent hence.
	Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray:
	God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.
	Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
	Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE III	Another part of the forest.


	[Alarum. Excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and COLEVILE, meeting]

FALSTAFF	What's your name, sir? of what condition are you,
	and of what place, I pray?

COLEVILE	I am a knight, sir, and my name is Colevile of the dale.

FALSTAFF	Well, then, Colevile is your name, a knight is your
	degree, and your place the dale: Colevile shall be
	still your name, a traitor your degree, and the
	dungeon your place, a place deep enough; so shall
	you be still Colevile of the dale.

COLEVILE	Are not you Sir John Falstaff?

FALSTAFF	As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do ye
	yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? if I do
	sweat, they are the drops of thy lovers, and they
	weep for thy death: therefore rouse up fear and
	trembling, and do observance to my mercy.

COLEVILE	I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that
	thought yield me.

FALSTAFF	I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of
	mine, and not a tongue of them all speaks any other
	word but my name. An I had but a belly of any
	indifference, I were simply the most active fellow
	in Europe: my womb, my womb, my womb, undoes me.
	Here comes our general.

	[Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND,
	BLUNT, and others]

LANCASTER	The heat is past; follow no further now:
	Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.

	[Exit WESTMORELAND]

	Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?
	When every thing is ended, then you come:
	These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
	One time or other break some gallows' back.

FALSTAFF	I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I
	never knew yet but rebuke and cheque was the reward
	of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or a
	bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion, the
	expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with
	the very extremest inch of possibility; I have
	foundered nine score and odd posts: and here,
	travel-tainted as I am, have in my pure and
	immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colevile of the
	dale, a most furious knight and valorous enemy.
	But what of that? he saw me, and yielded; that I
	may justly say, with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome,
	'I came, saw, and overcame.'

LANCASTER	It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.

FALSTAFF	I know not: here he is, and here I yield him: and
	I beseech your grace, let it be booked with the
	rest of this day's deeds; or, by the Lord, I will
	have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own
	picture on the top on't, Colevile kissing my foot:
	to the which course if I be enforced, if you do not
	all show like gilt twopences to me, and I in the
	clear sky of fame o'ershine you as much as the full
	moon doth the cinders of the element, which show
	like pins' heads to her, believe not the word of
	the noble: therefore let me have right, and let
	desert mount.

LANCASTER	Thine's too heavy to mount.

FALSTAFF	Let it shine, then.

LANCASTER	Thine's too thick to shine.

FALSTAFF	Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me
	good, and call it what you will.

LANCASTER	Is thy name Colevile?

COLEVILE	It is, my lord.

LANCASTER	A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.

FALSTAFF	And a famous true subject took him.

COLEVILE	I am, my lord, but as my betters are
	That led me hither: had they been ruled by me,
	You should have won them dearer than you have.

FALSTAFF	I know not how they sold themselves: but thou, like
	a kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I
	thank thee for thee.

	[Re-enter WESTMORELAND]

LANCASTER	Now, have you left pursuit?

WESTMORELAND	Retreat is made and execution stay'd.

LANCASTER	Send Colevile with his confederates
	To York, to present execution:
	Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure.

	[Exeunt BLUNT and others with COLEVILE]

	And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords:
	I hear the king my father is sore sick:
	Our news shall go before us to his majesty,
	Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him,
	And we with sober speed will follow you.

FALSTAFF	My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go
	Through Gloucestershire: and, when you come to court,
	Stand my good lord, pray, in your good report.

LANCASTER	Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my condition,
	Shall better speak of you than you deserve.

	[Exeunt all but Falstaff]

FALSTAFF	I would you had but the wit: 'twere better than
	your dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-
	blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make
	him laugh; but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine.
	There's never none of these demure boys come to any
	proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood,
	and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a
	kind of male green-sickness; and then when they
	marry, they get wenches: they are generally fools
	and cowards; which some of us should be too, but for
	inflammation. A good sherris sack hath a two-fold
	operation in it. It ascends me into the brain;
	dries me there all the foolish and dull and curdy
	vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive,
	quick, forgetive, full of nimble fiery and
	delectable shapes, which, delivered o'er to the
	voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes
	excellent wit. The second property of your
	excellent sherris is, the warming of the blood;
	which, before cold and settled, left the liver
	white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity
	and cowardice; but the sherris warms it and makes
	it course from the inwards to the parts extreme:
	it illumineth the face, which as a beacon gives
	warning to all the rest of this little kingdom,
	man, to arm; and then the vital commoners and
	inland petty spirits muster me all to their captain,
	the heart, who, great and puffed up with this
	retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this valour
	comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon is
	nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and
	learning a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till
	sack commences it and sets it in act and use.
	Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for
	the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his
	father, he hath, like lean, sterile and bare land,
	manured, husbanded and tilled with excellent
	endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile
	sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant. If
	I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I
	would teach them should be, to forswear thin
	potations and to addict themselves to sack.

	[Enter BARDOLPH]

	How now Bardolph?

BARDOLPH	The army is discharged all and gone.

FALSTAFF	Let them go. I'll through Gloucestershire; and
	there will I visit Master Robert Shallow, esquire:
	I have him already tempering between my finger and
	my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come away.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE IV	Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber.


	[Enter KING HENRY IV, the Princes Thomas of CLARENCE
	and Humphrey of GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and others]

KING HENRY IV	Now, lords, if God doth give successful end
	To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,
	We will our youth lead on to higher fields
	And draw no swords but what are sanctified.
	Our navy is address'd, our power collected,
	Our substitutes in absence well invested,
	And every thing lies level to our wish:
	Only, we want a little personal strength;
	And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot,
	Come underneath the yoke of government.

WARWICK	Both which we doubt not but your majesty
	Shall soon enjoy.

KING HENRY IV	                  Humphrey, my son of Gloucester,
	Where is the prince your brother?

GLOUCESTER	I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.

KING HENRY IV	And how accompanied?

GLOUCESTER	I do not know, my lord.

KING HENRY IV	Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?

GLOUCESTER	No, my good lord; he is in presence here.

CLARENCE	What would my lord and father?

KING HENRY IV	Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.
	How chance thou art not with the prince thy brother?
	He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas;
	Thou hast a better place in his affection
	Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy,
	And noble offices thou mayst effect
	Of mediation, after I am dead,
	Between his greatness and thy other brethren:
	Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love,
	Nor lose the good advantage of his grace
	By seeming cold or careless of his will;
	For he is gracious, if he be observed:
	He hath a tear for pity and a hand
	Open as day for melting charity:
	Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he's flint,
	As humorous as winter and as sudden
	As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
	His temper, therefore, must be well observed:
	Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
	When thou perceive his blood inclined to mirth;
	But, being moody, give him line and scope,
	Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
	Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas,
	And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends,
	A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,
	That the united vessel of their blood,
	Mingled with venom of suggestion--
	As, force perforce, the age will pour it in--
	Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
	As aconitum or rash gunpowder.

CLARENCE	I shall observe him with all care and love.

KING HENRY IV	Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?

CLARENCE	He is not there to-day; he dines in London.

KING HENRY IV	And how accompanied? canst thou tell that?

CLARENCE	With Poins, and other his continual followers.

KING HENRY IV	Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds;
	And he, the noble image of my youth,
	Is overspread with them: therefore my grief
	Stretches itself beyond the hour of death:
	The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape
	In forms imaginary the unguided days
	And rotten times that you shall look upon
	When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
	For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,
	When rage and hot blood are his counsellors,
	When means and lavish manners meet together,
	O, with what wings shall his affections fly
	Towards fronting peril and opposed decay!

WARWICK	My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite:
	The prince but studies his companions
	Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language,
	'Tis needful that the most immodest word
	Be look'd upon and learn'd; which once attain'd,
	Your highness knows, comes to no further use
	But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,
	The prince will in the perfectness of time
	Cast off his followers; and their memory
	Shall as a pattern or a measure live,
	By which his grace must mete the lives of others,
	Turning past evils to advantages.

KING HENRY IV	'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb
	In the dead carrion.

	[Enter WESTMORELAND]

		Who's here? Westmoreland?

WESTMORELAND	Health to my sovereign, and new happiness
	Added to that that I am to deliver!
	Prince John your son doth kiss your grace's hand:
	Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings and all
	Are brought to the correction of your law;
	There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd
	But peace puts forth her olive every where.
	The manner how this action hath been borne
	Here at more leisure may your highness read,
	With every course in his particular.

KING HENRY IV	O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
	Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
	The lifting up of day.

	[Enter HARCOURT]

		 Look, here's more news.

HARCOURT	From enemies heaven keep your majesty;
	And, when they stand against you, may they fall
	As those that I am come to tell you of!
	The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph,
	With a great power of English and of Scots
	Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown:
	The manner and true order of the fight
	This packet, please it you, contains at large.

KING HENRY IV	And wherefore should these good news make me sick?
	Will fortune never come with both hands full,
	But write her fair words still in foulest letters?
	She either gives a stomach and no food;
	Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast
	And takes away the stomach; such are the rich,
	That have abundance and enjoy it not.
	I should rejoice now at this happy news;
	And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy:
	O me! come near me; now I am much ill.

GLOUCESTER	Comfort, your majesty!

CLARENCE	O my royal father!

WESTMORELAND	My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up.

WARWICK	Be patient, princes; you do know, these fits
	Are with his highness very ordinary.
	Stand from him. Give him air; he'll straight be well.

CLARENCE	No, no, he cannot long hold out these pangs:
	The incessant care and labour of his mind
	Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in
	So thin that life looks through and will break out.

GLOUCESTER	The people fear me; for they do observe
	Unfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature:
	The seasons change their manners, as the year
	Had found some months asleep and leap'd them over.

CLARENCE	The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between;
	And the old folk, time's doting chronicles,
	Say it did so a little time before
	That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died.

WARWICK	Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers.

GLOUCESTER	This apoplexy will certain be his end.

KING HENRY IV	I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence
	Into some other chamber: softly, pray.




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT IV



SCENE V	Another chamber.


	[KING HENRY IV lying on a bed: CLARENCE,
	GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and others in attendance]

KING HENRY IV	Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends;
	Unless some dull and favourable hand
	Will whisper music to my weary spirit.

WARWICK	Call for the music in the other room.

KING HENRY IV	Set me the crown upon my pillow here.

CLARENCE	His eye is hollow, and he changes much.

WARWICK	Less noise, less noise!

	[Enter PRINCE HENRY]

PRINCE HENRY	Who saw the Duke of Clarence?

CLARENCE	I am here, brother, full of heaviness.

PRINCE HENRY	How now! rain within doors, and none abroad!
	How doth the king?

GLOUCESTER	Exceeding ill.

PRINCE HENRY	                  Heard he the good news yet?
	Tell it him.

GLOUCESTER	He alter'd much upon the hearing it.

PRINCE HENRY	If he be sick with joy, he'll recover without physic.

WARWICK	Not so much noise, my lords: sweet prince,
	speak low;
	The king your father is disposed to sleep.

CLARENCE	Let us withdraw into the other room.

WARWICK	Will't please your grace to go along with us?

PRINCE HENRY	No; I will sit and watch here by the king.

	[Exeunt all but PRINCE HENRY]

	Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
	Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
	O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
	That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide
	To many a watchful night! sleep with it now!
	Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet
	As he whose brow with homely biggen bound
	Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!
	When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
	Like a rich armour worn in heat of day,
	That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath
	There lies a downy feather which stirs not:
	Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
	Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father!
	This sleep is sound indeed, this is a sleep
	That from this golden rigol hath divorced
	So many English kings. Thy due from me
	Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood,
	Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
	Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously:
	My due from thee is this imperial crown,
	Which, as immediate as thy place and blood,
	Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits,
	Which God shall guard: and put the world's whole strength
	Into one giant arm, it shall not force
	This lineal honour from me: this from thee
	Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY IV	Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!

	[Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the rest]

CLARENCE	Doth the king call?

WARWICK	What would your majesty? How fares your grace?

KING HENRY IV	Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?

CLARENCE	We left the prince my brother here, my liege,
	Who undertook to sit and watch by you.

KING HENRY IV	The Prince of Wales! Where is he? let me see him:
	He is not here.

WARWICK	This door is open; he is gone this way.

GLOUCESTER	He came not through the chamber where we stay'd.

KING HENRY IV	Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow?

WARWICK	When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.

KING HENRY IV	The prince hath ta'en it hence: go, seek him out.
	Is he so hasty that he doth suppose
	My sleep my death?
	Find him, my Lord of Warwick; chide him hither.

	[Exit WARWICK]

	This part of his conjoins with my disease,
	And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are!
	How quickly nature falls into revolt
	When gold becomes her object!
	For this the foolish over-careful fathers
	Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care,
	Their bones with industry;
	For this they have engrossed and piled up
	The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold;
	For this they have been thoughtful to invest
	Their sons with arts and martial exercises:
	When, like the bee, culling from every flower
	The virtuous sweets,
	Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey,
	We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees,
	Are murdered for our pains. This bitter taste
	Yield his engrossments to the ending father.

	[Re-enter WARWICK]

	Now, where is he that will not stay so long
	Till his friend sickness hath determined me?

WARWICK	My lord, I found the prince in the next room,
	Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks,
	With such a deep demeanor in great sorrow
	That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood,
	Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife
	With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.

KING HENRY IV	But wherefore did he take away the crown?

	[Re-enter PRINCE HENRY]

	Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry.
	Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.

	[Exeunt WARWICK and the rest]

PRINCE HENRY	I never thought to hear you speak again.

KING HENRY IV	Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought:
	I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
	Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair
	That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours
	Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
	Thou seek'st the greatness that will o'erwhelm thee.
	Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity
	Is held from falling with so weak a wind
	That it will quickly drop: my day is dim.
	Thou hast stolen that which after some few hours
	Were thine without offence; and at my death
	Thou hast seal'd up my expectation:
	Thy life did manifest thou lovedst me not,
	And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
	Thou hidest a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,
	Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
	To stab at half an hour of my life.
	What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
	Then get thee gone and dig my grave thyself,
	And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
	That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
	Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
	Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head:
	Only compound me with forgotten dust
	Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.
	Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
	For now a time is come to mock at form:
	Harry the Fifth is crown'd: up, vanity!
	Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence!
	And to the English court assemble now,
	From every region, apes of idleness!
	Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum:
	Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
	Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit
	The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
	Be happy, he will trouble you no more;
	England shall double gild his treble guilt,
	England shall give him office, honour, might;
	For the fifth Harry from curb'd licence plucks
	The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
	Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.
	O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
	When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
	What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
	O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,
	Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!

PRINCE HENRY	O, pardon me, my liege! but for my tears,
	The moist impediments unto my speech,
	I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke
	Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard
	The course of it so far. There is your crown;
	And He that wears the crown immortally
	Long guard it yours! If I affect it more
	Than as your honour and as your renown,
	Let me no more from this obedience rise,
	Which my most inward true and duteous spirit
	Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending.
	God witness with me, when I here came in,
	And found no course of breath within your majesty,
	How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
	O, let me in my present wildness die
	And never live to show the incredulous world
	The noble change that I have purposed!
	Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
	And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,
	I spake unto this crown as having sense,
	And thus upbraided it: 'The care on thee depending
	Hath fed upon the body of my father;
	Therefore, thou best of gold art worst of gold:
	Other, less fine in carat, is more precious,
	Preserving life in medicine potable;
	But thou, most fine, most honour'd: most renown'd,
	Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most royal liege,
	Accusing it, I put it on my head,
	To try with it, as with an enemy
	That had before my face murder'd my father,
	The quarrel of a true inheritor.
	But if it did infect my blood with joy,
	Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride;
	If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
	Did with the least affection of a welcome
	Give entertainment to the might of it,
	Let God for ever keep it from my head
	And make me as the poorest vassal is
	That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!

KING HENRY IV	O my son,
	God put it in thy mind to take it hence,
	That thou mightst win the more thy father's love,
	Pleading so wisely in excuse of it!
	Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed;
	And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
	That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son,
	By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways
	I met this crown; and I myself know well
	How troublesome it sat upon my head.
	To thee it shall descend with bitter quiet,
	Better opinion, better confirmation;
	For all the soil of the achievement goes
	With me into the earth. It seem'd in me
	But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand,
	And I had many living to upbraid
	My gain of it by their assistances;
	Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed,
	Wounding supposed peace: all these bold fears
	Thou see'st with peril I have answered;
	For all my reign hath been but as a scene
	Acting that argument: and now my death
	Changes the mode; for what in me was purchased,
	Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;
	So thou the garland wear'st successively.
	Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do,
	Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green;
	And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends,
	Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out;
	By whose fell working I was first advanced
	And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
	To be again displaced: which to avoid,
	I cut them off; and had a purpose now
	To lead out many to the Holy Land,
	Lest rest and lying still might make them look
	Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
	Be it thy course to busy giddy minds
	With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out,
	May waste the memory of the former days.
	More would I, but my lungs are wasted so
	That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
	How I came by the crown, O God forgive;
	And grant it may with thee in true peace live!

PRINCE HENRY	My gracious liege,
	You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
	Then plain and right must my possession be:
	Which I with more than with a common pain
	'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.

	[Enter Lord John of LANCASTER]

KING HENRY IV	Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.

LANCASTER	Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father!

KING HENRY IV	Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John;
	But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
	From this bare wither'd trunk: upon thy sight
	My worldly business makes a period.
	Where is my Lord of Warwick?

PRINCE HENRY	My Lord of Warwick!

	[Enter WARWICK, and others]

KING HENRY IV	Doth any name particular belong
	Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?

WARWICK	'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord.

KING HENRY IV	Laud be to God! even there my life must end.
	It hath been prophesied to me many years,
	I should not die but in Jerusalem;
	Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land:
	But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie;
	In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE I	Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S house.


	[Enter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and Page]

SHALLOW	By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to-night.
	What, Davy, I say!

FALSTAFF	You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow.

SHALLOW	I will not excuse you; you shall not be excused;
	excuses shall not be admitted; there is no excuse
	shall serve; you shall not be excused. Why, Davy!

	[Enter DAVY]

DAVY	Here, sir.

SHALLOW	Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy, let me see, Davy; let me
	see, Davy; let me see: yea, marry, William cook,
	bid him come hither. Sir John, you shall not be excused.

DAVY	Marry, sir, thus; those precepts cannot be served:
	and, again, sir, shall we sow the headland with wheat?

SHALLOW	With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook: are
	there no young pigeons?

DAVY	Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note for shoeing
	and plough-irons.

SHALLOW	Let it be cast and paid. Sir John, you shall not be excused.

DAVY	Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must need be
	had: and, sir, do you mean to stop any of William's
	wages, about the sack he lost the other day at
	Hinckley fair?

SHALLOW	A' shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a couple
	of short-legged hens, a joint of mutton, and any
	pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook.

DAVY	Doth the man of war stay all night, sir?

SHALLOW	Yea, Davy. I will use him well: a friend i' the
	court is better than a penny in purse. Use his men
	well, Davy; for they are arrant knaves, and will backbite.

DAVY	No worse than they are backbitten, sir; for they
	have marvellous foul linen.

SHALLOW	Well conceited, Davy: about thy business, Davy.

DAVY	I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor of
	Woncot against Clement Perkes of the hill.

SHALLOW	There is many complaints, Davy, against that Visor:
	that Visor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge.

DAVY	I grant your worship that he is a knave, sir; but
	yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should have some
	countenance at his friend's request. An honest
	man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave
	is not. I have served your worship truly, sir,
	this eight years; and if I cannot once or twice in
	a quarter bear out a knave against an honest man, I
	have but a very little credit with your worship. The
	knave is mine honest friend, sir; therefore, I
	beseech your worship, let him be countenanced.

SHALLOW	Go to; I say he shall have no wrong. Look about, Davy.

	[Exit DAVY]

	Where are you, Sir John? Come, come, come, off
	with your boots. Give me your hand, Master Bardolph.

BARDOLPH	I am glad to see your worship.

SHALLOW	I thank thee with all my heart, kind
	Master Bardolph: and welcome, my tall fellow.

	[To the Page]

	Come, Sir John.

FALSTAFF	I'll follow you, good Master Robert Shallow.

	[Exit SHALLOW]

	Bardolph, look to our horses.

	[Exeunt BARDOLPH and Page]

	If I were sawed into quantities, I should make four
	dozen of such bearded hermits' staves as Master
	Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see the
	semblable coherence of his men's spirits and his:
	they, by observing of him, do bear themselves like
	foolish justices; he, by conversing with them, is
	turned into a justice-like serving-man: their
	spirits are so married in conjunction with the
	participation of society that they flock together in
	consent, like so many wild-geese. If I had a suit
	to Master Shallow, I would humour his men with the
	imputation of being near their master: if to his
	men, I would curry with Master Shallow that no man
	could better command his servants. It is certain
	that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is
	caught, as men take diseases, one of another:
	therefore let men take heed of their company. I
	will devise matter enough out of this Shallow to
	keep Prince Harry in continual laughter the wearing
	out of six fashions, which is four terms, or two
	actions, and a' shall laugh without intervallums. O,
	it is much that a lie with a slight oath and a jest
	with a sad brow will do with a fellow that never
	had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall see him
	laugh till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up!

SHALLOW	[Within]  Sir John!

FALSTAFF	I come, Master Shallow; I come, Master Shallow.

	[Exit]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE II	Westminster. The palace.


	[Enter WARWICK and the Lord Chief-Justice, meeting]

WARWICK	How now, my lord chief-justice! whither away?

Lord Chief-Justice	How doth the king?

WARWICK	Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended.

Lord Chief-Justice	I hope, not dead.

WARWICK	He's walk'd the way of nature;
	And to our purposes he lives no more.

Lord Chief-Justice	I would his majesty had call'd me with him:
	The service that I truly did his life
	Hath left me open to all injuries.

WARWICK	Indeed I think the young king loves you not.

Lord Chief-Justice	I know he doth not, and do arm myself
	To welcome the condition of the time,
	Which cannot look more hideously upon me
	Than I have drawn it in my fantasy.

	[Enter LANCASTER, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER,
	WESTMORELAND, and others]

WARWICK	Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry:
	O that the living Harry had the temper
	Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen!
	How many nobles then should hold their places
	That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort!

Lord Chief-Justice	O God, I fear all will be overturn'd!

LANCASTER	Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morrow.


GLOUCESTER	|
	|  Good morrow, cousin.
CLARENCE	|


LANCASTER	We meet like men that had forgot to speak.

WARWICK	We do remember; but our argument
	Is all too heavy to admit much talk.

LANCASTER	Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy.

Lord Chief-Justice	Peace be with us, lest we be heavier!

GLOUCESTER	O, good my lord, you have lost a friend indeed;
	And I dare swear you borrow not that face
	Of seeming sorrow, it is sure your own.

LANCASTER	Though no man be assured what grace to find,
	You stand in coldest expectation:
	I am the sorrier; would 'twere otherwise.

CLARENCE	Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair;
	Which swims against your stream of quality.

Lord Chief-Justice	Sweet princes, what I did, I did in honour,
	Led by the impartial conduct of my soul:
	And never shall you see that I will beg
	A ragged and forestall'd remission.
	If truth and upright innocency fail me,
	I'll to the king my master that is dead,
	And tell him who hath sent me after him.

WARWICK	Here comes the prince.

	[Enter KING HENRY V, attended]

Lord Chief-Justice	Good morrow; and God save your majesty!

KING HENRY V	This new and gorgeous garment, majesty,
	Sits not so easy on me as you think.
	Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear:
	This is the English, not the Turkish court;
	Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds,
	But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers,
	For, by my faith, it very well becomes you:
	Sorrow so royally in you appears
	That I will deeply put the fashion on
	And wear it in my heart: why then, be sad;
	But entertain no more of it, good brothers,
	Than a joint burden laid upon us all.
	For me, by heaven, I bid you be assured,
	I'll be your father and your brother too;
	Let me but bear your love, I 'll bear your cares:
	Yet weep that Harry's dead; and so will I;
	But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears
	By number into hours of happiness.

Princes	We hope no other from your majesty.

KING HENRY V	You all look strangely on me: and you most;
	You are, I think, assured I love you not.

Lord Chief-Justice	I am assured, if I be measured rightly,
	Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me.

KING HENRY V	No!
	How might a prince of my great hopes forget
	So great indignities you laid upon me?
	What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison
	The immediate heir of England! Was this easy?
	May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten?

Lord Chief-Justice	I then did use the person of your father;
	The image of his power lay then in me:
	And, in the administration of his law,
	Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth,
	Your highness pleased to forget my place,
	The majesty and power of law and justice,
	The image of the king whom I presented,
	And struck me in my very seat of judgment;
	Whereon, as an offender to your father,
	I gave bold way to my authority
	And did commit you. If the deed were ill,
	Be you contented, wearing now the garland,
	To have a son set your decrees at nought,
	To pluck down justice from your awful bench,
	To trip the course of law and blunt the sword
	That guards the peace and safety of your person;
	Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image
	And mock your workings in a second body.
	Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
	Be now the father and propose a son,
	Hear your own dignity so much profaned,
	See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted,
	Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd;
	And then imagine me taking your part
	And in your power soft silencing your son:
	After this cold considerance, sentence me;
	And, as you are a king, speak in your state
	What I have done that misbecame my place,
	My person, or my liege's sovereignty.

KING HENRY V	You are right, justice, and you weigh this well;
	Therefore still bear the balance and the sword:
	And I do wish your honours may increase,
	Till you do live to see a son of mine
	Offend you and obey you, as I did.
	So shall I live to speak my father's words:
	'Happy am I, that have a man so bold,
	That dares do justice on my proper son;
	And not less happy, having such a son,
	That would deliver up his greatness so
	Into the hands of justice.' You did commit me:
	For which, I do commit into your hand
	The unstained sword that you have used to bear;
	With this remembrance, that you use the same
	With the like bold, just and impartial spirit
	As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand.
	You shall be as a father to my youth:
	My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear,
	And I will stoop and humble my intents
	To your well-practised wise directions.
	And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you;
	My father is gone wild into his grave,
	For in his tomb lie my affections;
	And with his spirit sadly I survive,
	To mock the expectation of the world,
	To frustrate prophecies and to raze out
	Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down
	After my seeming. The tide of blood in me
	Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now:
	Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea,
	Where it shall mingle with the state of floods
	And flow henceforth in formal majesty.
	Now call we our high court of parliament:
	And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel,
	That the great body of our state may go
	In equal rank with the best govern'd nation;
	That war, or peace, or both at once, may be
	As things acquainted and familiar to us;
	In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.
	Our coronation done, we will accite,
	As I before remember'd, all our state:
	And, God consigning to my good intents,
	No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say,
	God shorten Harry's happy life one day!

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE III	Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S orchard.


	[Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, SILENCE, DAVY, BARDOLPH,
	and the Page]

SHALLOW	Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour,
	we will eat a last year's pippin of my own graffing,
	with a dish of caraways, and so forth: come,
	cousin Silence: and then to bed.

FALSTAFF	'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and a rich.

SHALLOW	Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all,
	Sir John: marry, good air. Spread, Davy; spread,
	Davy; well said, Davy.

FALSTAFF	This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your
	serving-man and your husband.

SHALLOW	A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet,
	Sir John: by the mass, I have drunk too much sack
	at supper: a good varlet. Now sit down, now sit
	down: come, cousin.

SILENCE	Ah, sirrah! quoth-a, we shall
	Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer,

	[Singing]

	And praise God for the merry year;
	When flesh is cheap and females dear,
	And lusty lads roam here and there
	So merrily,
	And ever among so merrily.

FALSTAFF	There's a merry heart! Good Master Silence, I'll
	give you a health for that anon.

SHALLOW	Give Master Bardolph some wine, Davy.

DAVY	Sweet sir, sit; I'll be with you anon. most sweet
	sir, sit. Master page, good master page, sit.
	Proface! What you want in meat, we'll have in drink:
	but you must bear; the heart's all.

	[Exit]

SHALLOW	Be merry, Master Bardolph; and, my little soldier
	there, be merry.

SILENCE	Be merry, be merry, my wife has all;

	[Singing]

	For women are shrews, both short and tall:
	'Tis merry in hall when beards wag all,
	And welcome merry Shrove-tide.
	Be merry, be merry.

FALSTAFF	I did not think Master Silence had been a man of
	this mettle.

SILENCE	Who, I? I have been merry twice and once ere now.

	[Re-enter DAVY]

DAVY	There's a dish of leather-coats for you.

	[To BARDOLPH]

SHALLOW	Davy!

DAVY	Your worship! I'll be with you straight.

	[To BARDOLPH]

	A cup of wine, sir?

SILENCE	A cup of wine that's brisk and fine,

	[Singing]

	And drink unto the leman mine;
	And a merry heart lives long-a.

FALSTAFF	Well said, Master Silence.

SILENCE	An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet o' the night.

FALSTAFF	Health and long life to you, Master Silence.

SILENCE	Fill the cup, and let it come;

	[Singing]

	I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom.

SHALLOW	Honest Bardolph, welcome: if thou wantest any
	thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart.
	Welcome, my little tiny thief.

	[To the Page]

	And welcome indeed too. I'll drink to Master
	Bardolph, and to all the cavaleros about London.

DAVY	I hove to see London once ere I die.

BARDOLPH	An I might see you there, Davy,--

SHALLOW	By the mass, you'll crack a quart together, ha!
	Will you not, Master Bardolph?

BARDOLPH	Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot.

SHALLOW	By God's liggens, I thank thee: the knave will
	stick by thee, I can assure thee that. A' will not
	out; he is true bred.

BARDOLPH	And I'll stick by him, sir.

SHALLOW	Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing: be merry.

	[Knocking within]

	Look who's at door there, ho! who knocks?

	[Exit DAVY]

FALSTAFF	Why, now you have done me right.

	[To SILENCE, seeing him take off a bumper]

SILENCE	[Singing]

	Do me right,
	And dub me knight: Samingo.
	Is't not so?

FALSTAFF	'Tis so.

SILENCE	Is't so? Why then, say an old man can do somewhat.

	[Re-enter DAVY]

DAVY	An't please your worship, there's one Pistol come
	from the court with news.

FALSTAFF	From the court! let him come in.

	[Enter PISTOL]

	How now, Pistol!

PISTOL	Sir John, God save you!

FALSTAFF	What wind blew you hither, Pistol?

PISTOL	Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet
	knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in this realm.

SILENCE	By'r lady, I think a' be, but goodman Puff of Barson.

PISTOL	Puff!
	Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!
	Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend,
	And helter-skelter have I rode to thee,
	And tidings do I bring and lucky joys
	And golden times and happy news of price.

FALSTAFF	I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world.

PISTOL	A foutre for the world and worldlings base!
	I speak of Africa and golden joys.

FALSTAFF	O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?
	Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.

SILENCE	And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John.

	[Singing]

PISTOL	Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons?
	And shall good news be baffled?
	Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap.

SILENCE	Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.

PISTOL	Why then, lament therefore.

SHALLOW	Give me pardon, sir: if, sir, you come with news
	from the court, I take it there's but two ways,
	either to utter them, or to conceal them. I am,
	sir, under the king, in some authority.

PISTOL	Under which king, Besonian? speak, or die.

SHALLOW	Under King Harry.

PISTOL	                  Harry the Fourth? or Fifth?

SHALLOW	Harry the Fourth.

PISTOL	A foutre for thine office!
	Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king;
	Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the truth:
	When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like
	The bragging Spaniard.

FALSTAFF	What, is the old king dead?

PISTOL	As nail in door: the things I speak are just.

FALSTAFF	Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse. Master Robert
	Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the land,
	'tis thine. Pistol, I will double-charge thee with dignities.

BARDOLPH	O joyful day!
	I would not take a knighthood for my fortune.

PISTOL	What! I do bring good news.

FALSTAFF	Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shallow, my
	Lord Shallow,--be what thou wilt; I am fortune's
	steward--get on thy boots: we'll ride all night.
	O sweet Pistol! Away, Bardolph!

	[Exit BARDOLPH]

	Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal devise
	something to do thyself good. Boot, boot, Master
	Shallow: I know the young king is sick for me. Let
	us take any man's horses; the laws of England are at
	my commandment. Blessed are they that have been my
	friends; and woe to my lord chief-justice!

PISTOL	Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also!
	'Where is the life that late I led?' say they:
	Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days!

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE IV	London. A street.


	[Enter Beadles, dragging in HOSTESS QUICKLY
	and DOLL TEARSHEET]

MISTRESS QUICKLY	No, thou arrant knave; I would to God that I might
	die, that I might have thee hanged: thou hast
	drawn my shoulder out of joint.

First Beadle	The constables have delivered her over to me; and
	she shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant
	her: there hath been a man or two lately killed about her.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I 'll tell
	thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal, an
	the child I now go with do miscarry, thou wert
	better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou
	paper-faced villain.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O the Lord, that Sir John were come! he would make
	this a bloody day to somebody. But I pray God the
	fruit of her womb miscarry!

First Beadle	If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again;
	you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go
	with me; for the man is dead that you and Pistol
	beat amongst you.

DOLL TEARSHEET	I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I
	will have you as soundly swinged for this,--you
	blue-bottle rogue, you filthy famished correctioner,
	if you be not swinged, I'll forswear half-kirtles.

First Beadle	Come, come, you she knight-errant, come.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	O God, that right should thus overcome might!
	Well, of sufferance comes ease.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice.

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Ay, come, you starved blood-hound.

DOLL TEARSHEET	Goodman death, goodman bones!

MISTRESS QUICKLY	Thou atomy, thou!

DOLL TEARSHEET	Come, you thin thing; come you rascal.

First Beadle	Very well.

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV


ACT V



SCENE V	A public place near Westminster Abbey.


	[Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes]

First Groom	More rushes, more rushes.

Second Groom	The trumpets have sounded twice.

First Groom	'Twill be two o'clock ere they come from the
	coronation: dispatch, dispatch.

	[Exeunt]

	[Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, PISTOL,
	BARDOLPH, and Page]

FALSTAFF	Stand here by me, Master Robert Shallow; I will
	make the king do you grace: I will leer upon him as
	a' comes by; and do but mark the countenance that he
	will give me.

PISTOL	God bless thy lungs, good knight.

FALSTAFF	Come here, Pistol; stand behind me. O, if I had had
	time to have made new liveries, I would have
	bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of you. But
	'tis no matter; this poor show doth better: this
	doth infer the zeal I had to see him.

SHALLOW	It doth so.

FALSTAFF	It shows my earnestness of affection,--

SHALLOW	It doth so.

FALSTAFF	My devotion,--

SHALLOW	It doth, it doth, it doth.

FALSTAFF	As it were, to ride day and night; and not to
	deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience
	to shift me,--

SHALLOW	It is best, certain.

FALSTAFF	But to stand stained with travel, and sweating with
	desire to see him; thinking of nothing else,
	putting all affairs else in oblivion, as if there
	were nothing else to be done but to see him.

PISTOL	'Tis 'semper idem,' for 'obsque hoc nihil est:'
	'tis all in every part.

SHALLOW	'Tis so, indeed.

PISTOL	My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver,
	And make thee rage.
	Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts,
	Is in base durance and contagious prison;
	Haled thither
	By most mechanical and dirty hand:
	Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell
	Alecto's snake,
	For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth.

FALSTAFF	I will deliver her.

	[Shouts within, and the trumpets sound]

PISTOL	There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds.

	[Enter KING HENRY V and his train, the Lord Chief-
	Justice among them]

FALSTAFF	God save thy grace, King Hal! my royal Hal!

PISTOL	The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame!

FALSTAFF	God save thee, my sweet boy!

KING HENRY IV	My lord chief-justice, speak to that vain man.

Lord Chief-Justice	Have you your wits? know you what 'tis to speak?

FALSTAFF	My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!

KING HENRY IV	I know thee not, old man: fall to thy prayers;
	How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
	I have long dream'd of such a kind of man,
	So surfeit-swell'd, so old and so profane;
	But, being awaked, I do despise my dream.
	Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;
	Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape
	For thee thrice wider than for other men.
	Reply not to me with a fool-born jest:
	Presume not that I am the thing I was;
	For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,
	That I have turn'd away my former self;
	So will I those that kept me company.
	When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
	Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
	The tutor and the feeder of my riots:
	Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death,
	As I have done the rest of my misleaders,
	Not to come near our person by ten mile.
	For competence of life I will allow you,
	That lack of means enforce you not to evil:
	And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,
	We will, according to your strengths and qualities,
	Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord,
	To see perform'd the tenor of our word. Set on.

	[Exeunt KING HENRY V, &c]

FALSTAFF	Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound.

SHALLOW	Yea, marry, Sir John; which I beseech you to let me
	have home with me.

FALSTAFF	That can hardly be, Master Shallow. Do not you
	grieve at this; I shall be sent for in private to
	him: look you, he must seem thus to the world:
	fear not your advancements; I will be the man yet
	that shall make you great.

SHALLOW	I cannot well perceive how, unless you should give
	me your doublet and stuff me out with straw. I
	beseech you, good Sir John, let me have five hundred
	of my thousand.

FALSTAFF	Sir, I will be as good as my word: this that you
	heard was but a colour.

SHALLOW	A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir John.

FALSTAFF	Fear no colours: go with me to dinner: come,
	Lieutenant Pistol; come, Bardolph: I shall be sent
	for soon at night.

	[Re-enter Prince John of LANCASTER, the Lord
	Chief-Justice; Officers with them]

Lord Chief-Justice	Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the Fleet:
	Take all his company along with him.

FALSTAFF	My lord, my lord,--

Lord Chief-Justice	I cannot now speak: I will hear you soon.
	Take them away.

PISTOL	Si fortune me tormenta, spero contenta.

	[Exeunt all but PRINCE JOHN and the Lord
	Chief-Justice]

LANCASTER	I like this fair proceeding of the king's:
	He hath intent his wonted followers
	Shall all be very well provided for;
	But all are banish'd till their conversations
	Appear more wise and modest to the world.

Lord Chief-Justice	And so they are.

LANCASTER	The king hath call'd his parliament, my lord.

Lord Chief-Justice	He hath.

LANCASTER	I will lay odds that, ere this year expire,
	We bear our civil swords and native fire
	As far as France: I beard a bird so sing,
	Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the king.
	Come, will you hence?

	[Exeunt]




	2 KING HENRY IV

	EPILOGUE


	[Spoken by a Dancer]

	First my fear; then my courtesy; last my speech.
	My fear is, your displeasure; my courtesy, my duty;
	and my speech, to beg your pardons. If you look
	for a good speech now, you undo me: for what I have
	to say is of mine own making; and what indeed I
	should say will, I doubt, prove mine own marring.
	But to the purpose, and so to the venture. Be it
	known to you, as it is very well, I was lately here
	in the end of a displeasing play, to pray your
	patience for it and to promise you a better. I
	meant indeed to pay you with this; which, if like an
	ill venture it come unluckily home, I break, and
	you, my gentle creditors, lose. Here I promised you
	I would be and here I commit my body to your
	mercies: bate me some and I will pay you some and,
	as most debtors do, promise you infinitely.

	If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will
	you command me to use my legs? and yet that were but
	light payment, to dance out of your debt. But a
	good conscience will make any possible satisfaction,
	and so would I. All the gentlewomen here have
	forgiven me: if the gentlemen will not, then the
	gentlemen do not agree with the gentlewomen, which
	was never seen before in such an assembly.

	One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too
	much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author will
	continue the story, with Sir John in it, and make
	you merry with fair Katharine of France: where, for
	any thing I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat,
	unless already a' be killed with your hard
	opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is
	not the man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are
	too, I will bid you good night: and so kneel down
	before you; but, indeed, to pray for the queen.




	KING HENRY V


	DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING HENRY	the Fifth. (KING HENRY V)

DUKE OF GLOUCESTER	(GLOUCESTER:)	|
		|  brothers to the King.
DUKE OF BEDFORD	(BEDFORD:)	|


DUKE OF EXETER	uncle to the King. (EXETER:)

DUKE OF YORK	cousin to the King. (YORK:)

EARL OF SALISBURY	(SALISBURY:)

EARL OF
WESTMORELAND	(WESTMORELAND:)

EARL OF WARWICK	(WARWICK:)

BISHOP OF
CANTERBURY	(CANTERBURY:)

BISHOP OF ELY	(ELY:)

EARL OF CAMBRIDGE	(CAMBRIDGE:)

LORD SCROOP	(SCROOP:)

SIR THOMAS GREY	(GREY:)


SIR
THOMAS ERPINGHAM	(ERPINGHAM:)	|
		|
GOWER		|
		|
FLUELLEN		|  Officers in King Henry's army.
		|
MACMORRIS		|
		|
JAMY		|


BATES	|
	|
COURT	|  soldiers in the same.
	|
WILLIAMS	|


PISTOL:

NYM:

BARDOLPH:

	Boy
	A Herald.

CHARLES the Sixth	King of France. (KING OF FRANCE:) (FRENCH KING:)

LEWIS	the Dauphin. (DAUPHIN:)

DUKE OF BURGUNDY	(BURGUNDY:)

DUKE OF ORLEANS	(ORLEANS:)

DUKE OF BOURBON	(BOURBON:)

	The Constable of France. (Constable:)


RAMBURES	|
	|  French Lords.
GRANDPRE	|


GOVERNOR	of Harfleur.

MONTJOY	a French Herald.

	Ambassadors to the King of England.

ISABEL	Queen of France. (QUEEN ISABEL:)

KATHARINE	daughter to Charles and Isabel.

ALICE	a lady attending on her.

	Hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap formerly
	Mistress Quickly, and now married to Pistol.
	Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Citizens,
	Messengers, and Attendants. Chorus.
	(Hostess:)
	(First Ambassador:)
	(Messenger:)
	(French Soldier:)

SCENE	England; afterwards France.




	KING HENRY V

	PROLOGUE


	[Enter Chorus]

Chorus	O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
	The brightest heaven of invention,
	A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
	And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
	Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
	Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,
	Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire
	Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all,
	The flat unraised spirits that have dared
	On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
	So great an object: can this cockpit hold
	The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
	Within this wooden O the very casques
	That did affright the air at Agincourt?
	O, pardon! since a crooked figure may
	Attest in little place a million;
	And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
	On your imaginary forces work.
	Suppose within the girdle of these walls
	Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
	Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
	The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder:
	Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
	Into a thousand parts divide on man,
	And make imaginary puissance;
	Think when we talk of horses, that you see them
	Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;
	For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
	Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times,
	Turning the accomplishment of many years
	Into an hour-glass: for the which supply,
	Admit me Chorus to this history;
	Who prologue-like your humble patience pray,
	Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.

	[Exit]




	KING HENRY V


ACT I



SCENE I	London. An ante-chamber in the KING'S palace.


	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP OF ELY]

CANTERBURY	My lord, I'll tell you; that self bill is urged,
	Which in the eleventh year of the last king's reign
	Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd,
	But that the scambling and unquiet time
	Did push it out of farther question.

ELY	But how, my lord, shall we resist it now?

CANTERBURY	It must be thought on. If it pass against us,
	We lose the better half of our possession:
	For all the temporal lands which men devout
	By testament have given to the church
	Would they strip from us; being valued thus:
	As much as would maintain, to the king's honour,
	Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights,
	Six thousand and two hundred good esquires;
	And, to relief of lazars and weak age,
	Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil.
	A hundred almshouses right well supplied;
	And to the coffers of the king beside,
	A thousand pounds by the year: thus runs the bill.

ELY	This would drink deep.

CANTERBURY	'Twould drink the cup and all.

ELY	But what prevention?

CANTERBURY	The king is full of grace and fair regard.

ELY	And a true lover of the holy church.

CANTERBURY	The courses of his youth promised it not.
	The breath no sooner left his father's body,
	But that his wildness, mortified in him,
	Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment
	Consideration, like an angel, came
	And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him,
	Leaving his body as a paradise,
	To envelop and contain celestial spirits.
	Never was such a sudden scholar made;
	Never came reformation in a flood,
	With such a heady currance, scouring faults
	Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness
	So soon did lose his seat and all at once
	As in this king.

ELY	                  We are blessed in the change.

CANTERBURY	Hear him but reason in divinity,
	And all-admiring with an inward wish
	You would desire the king were made a prelate:
	Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,
	You would say it hath been all in all his study:
	List his discourse of war, and you shall hear
	A fearful battle render'd you in music:
	Turn him to any cause of policy,
	The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,
	Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks,
	The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,
	And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
	To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences;
	So that the art and practic part of life
	Must be the mistress to this theoric:
	Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it,
	Since his addiction was to courses vain,
	His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow,
	His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports,
	And never noted in him any study,
	Any retirement, any sequestration
	From open haunts and popularity.

ELY	The strawberry grows underneath the nettle
	And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best
	Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality:
	And so the prince obscured his contemplation
	Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt,
	Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night,
	Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty.

CANTERBURY	It must be so; for miracles are ceased;
	And therefore we must needs admit the means
	How things are perfected.

ELY	But, my good lord,
	How now for mitigation of this bill
	Urged by the commons? Doth his majesty
	Incline to it, or no?

CANTERBURY	He seems indifferent,
	Or rather swaying more upon our part
	Than cherishing the exhibiters against us;
	For I have made an offer to his majesty,
	Upon our spiritual convocation
	And in regard of causes now in hand,
	Which I have open'd to his grace at large,
	As touching France, to give a greater sum
	Than ever at one time the clergy yet
	Did to his predecessors part withal.

ELY	How did this offer seem received, my lord?

CANTERBURY	With good acceptance of his majesty;
	Save that there was not time enough to hear,
	As I perceived his grace would fain have done,
	The severals and unhidden passages
	Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms
	And generally to the crown and seat of France
	Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather.

ELY	What was the impediment that broke this off?

CANTERBURY	The French ambassador upon that instant
	Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is come
	To give him hearing: is it four o'clock?

ELY	It is.

CANTERBURY	Then go we in, to know his embassy;
	Which I could with a ready guess declare,
	Before the Frenchman speak a word of it.

ELY	I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT I



SCENE II	The same. The Presence chamber.


	[Enter KING HENRY V, GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER,
	WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and Attendants]

KING HENRY V	Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?

EXETER	Not here in presence.

KING HENRY V	Send for him, good uncle.

WESTMORELAND	Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege?

KING HENRY V	Not yet, my cousin: we would be resolved,
	Before we hear him, of some things of weight
	That task our thoughts, concerning us and France.

	[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP of ELY]

CANTERBURY	God and his angels guard your sacred throne
	And make you long become it!

KING HENRY V	Sure, we thank you.
	My learned lord, we pray you to proceed
	And justly and religiously unfold
	Why the law Salique that they have in France
	Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim:
	And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord,
	That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,
	Or nicely charge your understanding soul
	With opening titles miscreate, whose right
	Suits not in native colours with the truth;
	For God doth know how many now in health
	Shall drop their blood in approbation
	Of what your reverence shall incite us to.
	Therefore take heed how you impawn our person,
	How you awake our sleeping sword of war:
	We charge you, in the name of God, take heed;
	For never two such kingdoms did contend
	Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops
	Are every one a woe, a sore complaint
	'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the swords
	That make such waste in brief mortality.
	Under this conjuration, speak, my lord;
	For we will hear, note and believe in heart
	That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd
	As pure as sin with baptism.

CANTERBURY	Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers,
	That owe yourselves, your lives and services
	To this imperial throne. There is no bar
	To make against your highness' claim to France
	But this, which they produce from Pharamond,
	'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant:'
	'No woman shall succeed in Salique land:'
	Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze
	To be the realm of France, and Pharamond
	The founder of this law and female bar.
	Yet their own authors faithfully affirm
	That the land Salique is in Germany,
	Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe;
	Where Charles the Great, having subdued the Saxons,
	There left behind and settled certain French;
	Who, holding in disdain the German women
	For some dishonest manners of their life,
	Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female
	Should be inheritrix in Salique land:
	Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala,
	Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen.
	Then doth it well appear that Salique law
	Was not devised for the realm of France:
	Nor did the French possess the Salique land
	Until four hundred one and twenty years
	After defunction of King Pharamond,
	Idly supposed the founder of this law;
	Who died within the year of our redemption
	Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great
	Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French
	Beyond the river Sala, in the year
	Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say,
	King Pepin, which deposed Childeric,
	Did, as heir general, being descended
	Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair,
	Make claim and title to the crown of France.
	Hugh Capet also, who usurped the crown
	Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir male
	Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great,
	To find his title with some shows of truth,
	'Through, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,
	Convey'd himself as heir to the Lady Lingare,
	Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son
	To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son
	Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the Tenth,
	Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet,
	Could not keep quiet in his conscience,
	Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied
	That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother,
	Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare,
	Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorraine:
	By the which marriage the line of Charles the Great
	Was re-united to the crown of France.
	So that, as clear as is the summer's sun.
	King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim,
	King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear
	To hold in right and title of the female:
	So do the kings of France unto this day;
	Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law
	To bar your highness claiming from the female,
	And rather choose to hide them in a net
	Than amply to imbar their crooked titles
	Usurp'd from you and your progenitors.

KING HENRY V	May I with right and conscience make this claim?

CANTERBURY	The sin upon my head, dread sovereign!
	For in the book of Numbers is it writ,
	When the man dies, let the inheritance
	Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord,
	Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag;
	Look back into your mighty ancestors:
	Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's tomb,
	From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit,
	And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince,
	Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy,
	Making defeat on the full power of France,
	Whiles his most mighty father on a hill
	Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp
	Forage in blood of French nobility.
	O noble English. that could entertain
	With half their forces the full Pride of France
	And let another half stand laughing by,
	All out of work and cold for action!

ELY	Awake remembrance of these valiant dead
	And with your puissant arm renew their feats:
	You are their heir; you sit upon their throne;
	The blood and courage that renowned them
	Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege
	Is in the very May-morn of his youth,
	Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises.

EXETER	Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth
	Do all expect that you should rouse yourself,
	As did the former lions of your blood.

WESTMORELAND	They know your grace hath cause and means and might;
	So hath your highness; never king of England
	Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects,
	Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England
	And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France.

CANTERBURY	O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege,
	With blood and sword and fire to win your right;
	In aid whereof we of the spiritualty
	Will raise your highness such a mighty sum
	As never did the clergy at one time
	Bring in to any of your ancestors.

KING HENRY V	We must not only arm to invade the French,
	But lay down our proportions to defend
	Against the Scot, who will make road upon us
	With all advantages.

CANTERBURY	They of those marches, gracious sovereign,
	Shall be a wall sufficient to defend
	Our inland from the pilfering borderers.

KING HENRY V	We do not mean the coursing snatchers only,
	But fear the main intendment of the Scot,
	Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us;
	For you shall read that my great-grandfather
	Never went with his forces into France
	But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom
	Came pouring, like the tide into a breach,
	With ample and brim fulness of his force,
	Galling the gleaned land with hot assays,
	Girding with grievous siege castles and towns;
	That England, being empty of defence,
	Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood.

CANTERBURY	She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd, my liege;
	For hear her but exampled by herself:
	When all her chivalry hath been in France
	And she a mourning widow of her nobles,
	She hath herself not only well defended
	But taken and impounded as a stray
	The King of Scots; whom she did send to France,
	To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings
	And make her chronicle as rich with praise
	As is the ooze and bottom of the sea
	With sunken wreck and sunless treasuries.

WESTMORELAND	But there's a saying very old and true,
	'If that you will France win,
	Then with Scotland first begin:'
	For once the eagle England being in prey,
	To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot
	Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs,
	Playing the mouse in absence of the cat,
	To tear and havoc more than she can eat.

EXETER	It follows then the cat must stay at home:
	Yet that is but a crush'd necessity,
	Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries,
	And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves.
	While that the armed hand doth fight abroad,
	The advised head defends itself at home;
	For government, though high and low and lower,
	Put into parts, doth keep in one consent,
	Congreeing in a full and natural close,
	Like music.

CANTERBURY	          Therefore doth heaven divide
	The state of man in divers functions,
	Setting endeavour in continual motion;
	To which is fixed, as an aim or butt,
	Obedience: for so work the honey-bees,
	Creatures that by a rule in nature teach
	The act of order to a peopled kingdom.
	They have a king and officers of sorts;
	Where some, like magistrates, correct at home,
	Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad,
	Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,
	Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds,
	Which pillage they with merry march bring home
	To the tent-royal of their emperor;
	Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
	The singing masons building roofs of gold,
	The civil citizens kneading up the honey,
	The poor mechanic porters crowding in
	Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate,
	The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,
	Delivering o'er to executors pale
	The lazy yawning drone. I this infer,
	That many things, having full reference
	To one consent, may work contrariously:
	As many arrows, loosed several ways,
	Come to one mark; as many ways meet in one town;
	As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea;
	As many lines close in the dial's centre;
	So may a thousand actions, once afoot.
	End in one purpose, and be all well borne
	Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege.
	Divide your happy England into four;
	Whereof take you one quarter into France,
	And you withal shall make all Gallia shake.
	If we, with thrice such powers left at home,
	Cannot defend our own doors from the dog,
	Let us be worried and our nation lose
	The name of hardiness and policy.

KING HENRY V	Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin.

	[Exeunt some Attendants]

	Now are we well resolved; and, by God's help,
	And yours, the noble sinews of our power,
	France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe,
	Or break it all to pieces: or there we'll sit,
	Ruling in large and ample empery
	O'er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms,
	Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn,
	Tombless, with no remembrance over them:
	Either our history shall with full mouth
	Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave,
	Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,
	Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph.

	[Enter Ambassadors of France]

	Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure
	Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear
	Your greeting is from him, not from the king.

First Ambassador	May't please your majesty to give us leave
	Freely to render what we have in charge;
	Or shall we sparingly show you far off
	The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy?

KING HENRY V	We are no tyrant, but a Christian king;
	Unto whose grace our passion is as subject
	As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons:
	Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness
	Tell us the Dauphin's mind.

First Ambassador	Thus, then, in few.
	Your highness, lately sending into France,
	Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right
	Of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third.
	In answer of which claim, the prince our master
	Says that you savour too much of your youth,
	And bids you be advised there's nought in France
	That can be with a nimble galliard won;
	You cannot revel into dukedoms there.
	He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit,
	This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this,
	Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim
	Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks.

KING HENRY V	What treasure, uncle?

EXETER	Tennis-balls, my liege.

KING HENRY V	We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us;
	His present and your pains we thank you for:
	When we have march'd our rackets to these balls,
	We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set
	Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.
	Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler
	That all the courts of France will be disturb'd
	With chaces. And we understand him well,
	How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,
	Not measuring what use we made of them.
	We never valued this poor seat of England;
	And therefore, living hence, did give ourself
	To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common
	That men are merriest when they are from home.
	But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state,
	Be like a king and show my sail of greatness
	When I do rouse me in my throne of France:
	For that I have laid by my majesty
	And plodded like a man for working-days,
	But I will rise there with so full a glory
	That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,
	Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.
	And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his
	Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul
	Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance
	That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows
	Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands;
	Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;
	And some are yet ungotten and unborn
	That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn.
	But this lies all within the will of God,
	To whom I do appeal; and in whose name
	Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on,
	To venge me as I may and to put forth
	My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.
	So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin
	His jest will savour but of shallow wit,
	When thousands weep more than did laugh at it.
	Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well.

	[Exeunt Ambassadors]

EXETER	This was a merry message.

KING HENRY V	We hope to make the sender blush at it.
	Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour
	That may give furtherance to our expedition;
	For we have now no thought in us but France,
	Save those to God, that run before our business.
	Therefore let our proportions for these wars
	Be soon collected and all things thought upon
	That may with reasonable swiftness add
	More feathers to our wings; for, God before,
	We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door.
	Therefore let every man now task his thought,
	That this fair action may on foot be brought.

	[Exeunt. Flourish]




	KING HENRY V


ACT II


	PROLOGUE


	[Enter Chorus]

Chorus	Now all the youth of England are on fire,
	And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies:
	Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought
	Reigns solely in the breast of every man:
	They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,
	Following the mirror of all Christian kings,
	With winged heels, as English Mercuries.
	For now sits Expectation in the air,
	And hides a sword from hilts unto the point
	With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets,
	Promised to Harry and his followers.
	The French, advised by good intelligence
	Of this most dreadful preparation,
	Shake in their fear and with pale policy
	Seek to divert the English purposes.
	O England! model to thy inward greatness,
	Like little body with a mighty heart,
	What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,
	Were all thy children kind and natural!
	But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out
	A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills
	With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men,
	One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second,
	Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,
	Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland,
	Have, for the gilt of France,--O guilt indeed!
	Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France;
	And by their hands this grace of kings must die,
	If hell and treason hold their promises,
	Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton.
	Linger your patience on; and we'll digest
	The abuse of distance; force a play:
	The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed;
	The king is set from London; and the scene
	Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton;
	There is the playhouse now, there must you sit:
	And thence to France shall we convey you safe,
	And bring you back, charming the narrow seas
	To give you gentle pass; for, if we may,
	We'll not offend one stomach with our play.
	But, till the king come forth, and not till then,
	Unto Southampton do we shift our scene.

	[Exit]




	KING HENRY V


ACT II



SCENE I	London. A street.


	[Enter Corporal NYM and Lieutenant BARDOLPH]

BARDOLPH	Well met, Corporal Nym.

NYM	Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.

BARDOLPH	What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet?

NYM	For my part, I care not: I say little; but when
	time shall serve, there shall be smiles; but that
	shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will
	wink and hold out mine iron: it is a simple one; but
	what though? it will toast cheese, and it will
	endure cold as another man's sword will: and
	there's an end.

BARDOLPH	I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and
	we'll be all three sworn brothers to France: let it
	be so, good Corporal Nym.

NYM	Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the
	certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I
	will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the
	rendezvous of it.

BARDOLPH	It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell
	Quickly: and certainly she did you wrong; for you
	were troth-plight to her.

NYM	I cannot tell: things must be as they may: men may
	sleep, and they may have their throats about them at
	that time; and some say knives have edges. It must
	be as it may: though patience be a tired mare, yet
	she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I
	cannot tell.

	[Enter PISTOL and Hostess]

BARDOLPH	Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife: good
	corporal, be patient here. How now, mine host Pistol!

PISTOL	Base tike, call'st thou me host? Now, by this hand,
	I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.

Hostess	No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and
	board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live
	honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will
	be thought we keep a bawdy house straight.

	[NYM and PISTOL draw]

	O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! we
	shall see wilful adultery and murder committed.

BARDOLPH	Good lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here.

NYM	Pish!

PISTOL	Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland!

Hostess	Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword.

NYM	Will you shog off? I would have you solus.

PISTOL	'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile!
	The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face;
	The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat,
	And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy,
	And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!
	I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels;
	For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up,
	And flashing fire will follow.

NYM	I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an
	humour to knock you indifferently well. If you grow
	foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my
	rapier, as I may, in fair terms: if you would walk
	off, I would prick your guts a little, in good
	terms, as I may: and that's the humour of it.

PISTOL	O braggart vile and damned furious wight!
	The grave doth gape, and doting death is near;
	Therefore exhale.

BARDOLPH	Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the
	first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.

	[Draws]

PISTOL	An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.
	Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give:
	Thy spirits are most tall.

NYM	I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair
	terms: that is the humour of it.

PISTOL	'Couple a gorge!'
	That is the word. I thee defy again.
	O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get?
	No; to the spital go,
	And from the powdering tub of infamy
	Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,
	Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse:
	I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly
	For the only she; and--pauca, there's enough. Go to.

	[Enter the Boy]

Boy	Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and
	you, hostess: he is very sick, and would to bed.
	Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets, and
	do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he's very ill.

BARDOLPH	Away, you rogue!

Hostess	By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of
	these days. The king has killed his heart. Good
	husband, come home presently.

	[Exeunt Hostess and Boy]

BARDOLPH	Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to
	France together: why the devil should we keep
	knives to cut one another's throats?

PISTOL	Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on!

NYM	You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?

PISTOL	Base is the slave that pays.

NYM	That now I will have: that's the humour of it.

PISTOL	As manhood shall compound: push home.

	[They draw]

BARDOLPH	By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll
	kill him; by this sword, I will.

PISTOL	Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course.

BARDOLPH	Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends:
	an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies with me too.
	Prithee, put up.

NYM	I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting?

PISTOL	A noble shalt thou have, and present pay;
	And liquor likewise will I give to thee,
	And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood:
	I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me;
	Is not this just? for I shall sutler be
	Unto the camp, and profits will accrue.
	Give me thy hand.

NYM	I shall have my noble?

PISTOL	In cash most justly paid.

NYM	Well, then, that's the humour of't.

	[Re-enter Hostess]

Hostess	As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir
	John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning
	quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to
	behold. Sweet men, come to him.

NYM	The king hath run bad humours on the knight; that's
	the even of it.

PISTOL	Nym, thou hast spoke the right;
	His heart is fracted and corroborate.

NYM	The king is a good king: but it must be as it may;
	he passes some humours and careers.

PISTOL	Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins we will live.




	KING HENRY V


ACT II



SCENE II	Southampton. A council-chamber.


	[Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND]

BEDFORD	'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors.

EXETER	They shall be apprehended by and by.

WESTMORELAND	How smooth and even they do bear themselves!
	As if allegiance in their bosoms sat,
	Crowned with faith and constant loyalty.

BEDFORD	The king hath note of all that they intend,
	By interception which they dream not of.

EXETER	Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow,
	Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours,
	That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell
	His sovereign's life to death and treachery.

	[Trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY V, SCROOP,
	CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and Attendants]

KING HENRY V	Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard.
	My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham,
	And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts:
	Think you not that the powers we bear with us
	Will cut their passage through the force of France,
	Doing the execution and the act
	For which we have in head assembled them?

SCROOP	No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.

KING HENRY V	I doubt not that; since we are well persuaded
	We carry not a heart with us from hence
	That grows not in a fair consent with ours,
	Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish
	Success and conquest to attend on us.

CAMBRIDGE	Never was monarch better fear'd and loved
	Than is your majesty: there's not, I think, a subject
	That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness
	Under the sweet shade of your government.

GREY	True: those that were your father's enemies
	Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve you
	With hearts create of duty and of zeal.

KING HENRY V	We therefore have great cause of thankfulness;
	And shall forget the office of our hand,
	Sooner than quittance of desert and merit
	According to the weight and worthiness.

SCROOP	So service shall with steeled sinews toil,
	And labour shall refresh itself with hope,
	To do your grace incessant services.

KING HENRY V	We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter,
	Enlarge the man committed yesterday,
	That rail'd against our person: we consider
	it was excess of wine that set him on;
	And on his more advice we pardon him.

SCROOP	That's mercy, but too much security:
	Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example
	Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.

KING HENRY V	O, let us yet be merciful.

CAMBRIDGE	So may your highness, and yet punish too.

GREY	Sir,
	You show great mercy, if you give him life,
	After the taste of much correction.

KING HENRY V	Alas, your too much love and care of me
	Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch!
	If little faults, proceeding on distemper,
	Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye
	When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and digested,
	Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man,
	Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their dear care
	And tender preservation of our person,
	Would have him punished. And now to our French causes:
	Who are the late commissioners?

CAMBRIDGE	I one, my lord:
	Your highness bade me ask for it to-day.

SCROOP	So did you me, my liege.

GREY	And I, my royal sovereign.

KING HENRY V	Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours;
	There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight,
	Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours:
	Read them; and know, I know your worthiness.
	My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter,
	We will aboard to night. Why, how now, gentlemen!
	What see you in those papers that you lose
	So much complexion? Look ye, how they change!
	Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there
	That hath so cowarded and chased your blood
	Out of appearance?

CAMBRIDGE	                  I do confess my fault;
	And do submit me to your highness' mercy.


GREY	|
	|  To which we all appeal.
SCROOP	|


KING HENRY V	The mercy that was quick in us but late,
	By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd:
	You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy;
	For your own reasons turn into your bosoms,
	As dogs upon their masters, worrying you.
	See you, my princes, and my noble peers,
	These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here,
	You know how apt our love was to accord
	To furnish him with all appertinents
	Belonging to his honour; and this man
	Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired,
	And sworn unto the practises of France,
	To kill us here in Hampton: to the which
	This knight, no less for bounty bound to us
	Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O,
	What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel,
	Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature!
	Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels,
	That knew'st the very bottom of my soul,
	That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold,
	Wouldst thou have practised on me for thy use,
	May it be possible, that foreign hire
	Could out of thee extract one spark of evil
	That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange,
	That, though the truth of it stands off as gross
	As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it.
	Treason and murder ever kept together,
	As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose,
	Working so grossly in a natural cause,
	That admiration did not whoop at them:
	But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in
	Wonder to wait on treason and on murder:
	And whatsoever cunning fiend it was
	That wrought upon thee so preposterously
	Hath got the voice in hell for excellence:
	All other devils that suggest by treasons
	Do botch and bungle up damnation
	With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd
	From glistering semblances of piety;
	But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up,
	Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,
	Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
	If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus
	Should with his lion gait walk the whole world,
	He might return to vasty Tartar back,
	And tell the legions 'I can never win
	A soul so easy as that Englishman's.'
	O, how hast thou with 'jealousy infected
	The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful?
	Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and learned?
	Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family?
	Why, so didst thou: seem they religious?
	Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet,
	Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger,
	Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
	Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement,
	Not working with the eye without the ear,
	And but in purged judgment trusting neither?
	Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem:
	And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot,
	To mark the full-fraught man and best indued
	With some suspicion. I will weep for thee;
	For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like
	Another fall of man. Their faults are open:
	Arrest them to the answer of the law;
	And God acquit them of their practises!

EXETER	   I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of
	Richard Earl of Cambridge.
	I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of
	Henry Lord Scroop of Masham.
	I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of
	Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland.

SCROOP	Our purposes God justly hath discover'd;
	And I repent my fault more than my death;
	Which I beseech your highness to forgive,
	Although my body pay the price of it.

CAMBRIDGE	For me, the gold of France did not seduce;
	Although I did admit it as a motive
	The sooner to effect what I intended:
	But God be thanked for prevention;
	Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice,
	Beseeching God and you to pardon me.

GREY	Never did faithful subject more rejoice
	At the discovery of most dangerous treason
	Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself.
	Prevented from a damned enterprise:
	My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign.

KING HENRY V	God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence.
	You have conspired against our royal person,
	Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd and from his coffers
	Received the golden earnest of our death;
	Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter,
	His princes and his peers to servitude,
	His subjects to oppression and contempt
	And his whole kingdom into desolation.
	Touching our person seek we no revenge;
	But we our kingdom's safety must so tender,
	Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws
	We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence,
	Poor miserable wretches, to your death:
	The taste whereof, God of his mercy give
	You patience to endure, and true repentance
	Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence.

	[Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP and GREY, guarded]

	Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof
	Shall be to you, as us, like glorious.
	We doubt not of a fair and lucky war,
	Since God so graciously hath brought to light
	This dangerous treason lurking in our way
	To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now
	But every rub is smoothed on our way.
	Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver
	Our puissance into the hand of God,
	Putting it straight in expedition.
	Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance:
	No king of England, if not king of France.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT II



SCENE III	London. Before a tavern.


	[Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy]

Hostess	Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.

PISTOL	No; for my manly heart doth yearn.
	Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins:
	Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,
	And we must yearn therefore.

BARDOLPH	Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in
	heaven or in hell!

Hostess	Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's
	bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' made
	a finer end and went away an it had been any
	christom child; a' parted even just between twelve
	and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after
	I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with
	flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew
	there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as
	a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now,
	sir John!' quoth I	'what, man! be o' good
	cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three or
	four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a'
	should not think of God; I hoped there was no need
	to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So
	a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my
	hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as
	cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and
	they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and
	upward, and all was as cold as any stone.

NYM	They say he cried out of sack.

Hostess	Ay, that a' did.

BARDOLPH	And of women.

Hostess	Nay, that a' did not.

Boy	Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils
	incarnate.

Hostess	A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he
	never liked.

Boy	A' said once, the devil would have him about women.

Hostess	A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then
	he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of Babylon.

Boy	Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick upon
	Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soul
	burning in hell-fire?

BARDOLPH	Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire:
	that's all the riches I got in his service.

NYM	Shall we shog? the king will be gone from
	Southampton.

PISTOL	Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips.
	Look to my chattels and my movables:
	Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:'
	Trust none;
	For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes,
	And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck:
	Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor.
	Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms,
	Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys,
	To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!

Boy	And that's but unwholesome food they say.

PISTOL	Touch her soft mouth, and march.

BARDOLPH	Farewell, hostess.

	[Kissing her]

NYM	I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu.

PISTOL	Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command.

Hostess	Farewell; adieu.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT II



SCENE IV	France. The KING'S palace.


	[Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the
	DUKES of BERRI and BRETAGNE, the Constable, and others]

KING OF FRANCE	Thus comes the English with full power upon us;
	And more than carefully it us concerns
	To answer royally in our defences.
	Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne,
	Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth,
	And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch,
	To line and new repair our towns of war
	With men of courage and with means defendant;
	For England his approaches makes as fierce
	As waters to the sucking of a gulf.
	It fits us then to be as provident
	As fear may teach us out of late examples
	Left by the fatal and neglected English
	Upon our fields.

DAUPHIN	                  My most redoubted father,
	It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe;
	For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom,
	Though war nor no known quarrel were in question,
	But that defences, musters, preparations,
	Should be maintain'd, assembled and collected,
	As were a war in expectation.
	Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth
	To view the sick and feeble parts of France:
	And let us do it with no show of fear;
	No, with no more than if we heard that England
	Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance:
	For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd,
	Her sceptre so fantastically borne
	By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth,
	That fear attends her not.

Constable	O peace, Prince Dauphin!
	You are too much mistaken in this king:
	Question your grace the late ambassadors,
	With what great state he heard their embassy,
	How well supplied with noble counsellors,
	How modest in exception, and withal
	How terrible in constant resolution,
	And you shall find his vanities forespent
	Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
	Covering discretion with a coat of folly;
	As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
	That shall first spring and be most delicate.

DAUPHIN	Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable;
	But though we think it so, it is no matter:
	In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh
	The enemy more mighty than he seems:
	So the proportions of defence are fill'd;
	Which of a weak or niggardly projection
	Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting
	A little cloth.

KING OF FRANCE	                  Think we King Harry strong;
	And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him.
	The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us;
	And he is bred out of that bloody strain
	That haunted us in our familiar paths:
	Witness our too much memorable shame
	When Cressy battle fatally was struck,
	And all our princes captiv'd by the hand
	Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales;
	Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing,
	Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun,
	Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him,
	Mangle the work of nature and deface
	The patterns that by God and by French fathers
	Had twenty years been made. This is a stem
	Of that victorious stock; and let us fear
	The native mightiness and fate of him.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	Ambassadors from Harry King of England
	Do crave admittance to your majesty.

KING OF FRANCE	We'll give them present audience. Go, and bring them.

	[Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords]

	You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends.

DAUPHIN	Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward dogs
	Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten
	Runs far before them. Good my sovereign,
	Take up the English short, and let them know
	Of what a monarchy you are the head:
	Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin
	As self-neglecting.

	[Re-enter Lords, with EXETER and train]

KING OF FRANCE	From our brother England?

EXETER	From him; and thus he greets your majesty.
	He wills you, in the name of God Almighty,
	That you divest yourself, and lay apart
	The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven,
	By law of nature and of nations, 'long
	To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown
	And all wide-stretched honours that pertain
	By custom and the ordinance of times
	Unto the crown of France. That you may know
	'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim,
	Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days,
	Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked,
	He sends you this most memorable line,
	In every branch truly demonstrative;
	Willing to overlook this pedigree:
	And when you find him evenly derived
	From his most famed of famous ancestors,
	Edward the Third, he bids you then resign
	Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held
	From him the native and true challenger.

KING OF FRANCE	Or else what follows?

EXETER	Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown
	Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it:
	Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,
	In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove,
	That, if requiring fail, he will compel;
	And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,
	Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy
	On the poor souls for whom this hungry war
	Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head
	Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries
	The dead men's blood, the pining maidens groans,
	For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers,
	That shall be swallow'd in this controversy.
	This is his claim, his threatening and my message;
	Unless the Dauphin be in presence here,
	To whom expressly I bring greeting too.

KING OF FRANCE	For us, we will consider of this further:
	To-morrow shall you bear our full intent
	Back to our brother England.

DAUPHIN	For the Dauphin,
	I stand here for him: what to him from England?

EXETER	Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt,
	And any thing that may not misbecome
	The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.
	Thus says my king; an' if your father's highness
	Do not, in grant of all demands at large,
	Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty,
	He'll call you to so hot an answer of it,
	That caves and womby vaultages of France
	Shall chide your trespass and return your mock
	In second accent of his ordnance.

DAUPHIN	Say, if my father render fair return,
	It is against my will; for I desire
	Nothing but odds with England: to that end,
	As matching to his youth and vanity,
	I did present him with the Paris balls.

EXETER	He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it,
	Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe:
	And, be assured, you'll find a difference,
	As we his subjects have in wonder found,
	Between the promise of his greener days
	And these he masters now: now he weighs time
	Even to the utmost grain: that you shall read
	In your own losses, if he stay in France.

KING OF FRANCE	To-morrow shall you know our mind at full.

EXETER	Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king
	Come here himself to question our delay;
	For he is footed in this land already.

KING OF FRANCE	You shall be soon dispatch's with fair conditions:
	A night is but small breath and little pause
	To answer matters of this consequence.

	[Flourish. Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III


	PROLOGUE.


	[Enter Chorus]

Chorus	Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies
	In motion of no less celerity
	Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen
	The well-appointed king at Hampton pier
	Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet
	With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning:
	Play with your fancies, and in them behold
	Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;
	Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give
	To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails,
	Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,
	Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea,
	Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think
	You stand upon the ravage and behold
	A city on the inconstant billows dancing;
	For so appears this fleet majestical,
	Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow:
	Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy,
	And leave your England, as dead midnight still,
	Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women,
	Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance;
	For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd
	With one appearing hair, that will not follow
	These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
	Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege;
	Behold the ordnance on their carriages,
	With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.
	Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back;
	Tells Harry that the king doth offer him
	Katharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry,
	Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
	The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner
	With linstock now the devilish cannon touches,

	[Alarum, and chambers go off]

	And down goes all before them. Still be kind,
	And eke out our performance with your mind.

	[Exit]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



SCENE I	France. Before Harfleur.


	[Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD,
	GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders]

KING HENRY V	Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
	Or close the wall up with our English dead.
	In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
	As modest stillness and humility:
	But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
	Then imitate the action of the tiger;
	Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
	Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
	Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
	Let pry through the portage of the head
	Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
	As fearfully as doth a galled rock
	O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
	Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
	Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
	Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
	To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
	Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
	Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
	Have in these parts from morn till even fought
	And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
	Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
	That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
	Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
	And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
	Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
	The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
	That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
	For there is none of you so mean and base,
	That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
	I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
	Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
	Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
	Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

	[Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



SCENE II	The same.


	[Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Boy]

BARDOLPH	On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach!

NYM	Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are too hot;
	and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives:
	the humour of it is too hot, that is the very
	plain-song of it.

PISTOL	The plain-song is most just: for humours do abound:
	Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die;
	And sword and shield,
	In bloody field,
	Doth win immortal fame.

Boy	Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give
	all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.

PISTOL	And I:
	If wishes would prevail with me,
	My purpose should not fail with me,
	But thither would I hie.

Boy	          As duly, but not as truly,
	As bird doth sing on bough.

	[Enter FLUELLEN]

FLUELLEN	Up to the breach, you dogs! avaunt, you cullions!

	[Driving them forward]

PISTOL	Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould.
	Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage,
	Abate thy rage, great duke!
	Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck!

NYM	These be good humours! your honour wins bad humours.

	[Exeunt all but Boy]

Boy	As young as I am, I have observed these three
	swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they
	three, though they would serve me, could not be man
	to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to
	a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and
	red-faced; by the means whereof a' faces it out, but
	fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue
	and a quiet sword; by the means whereof a' breaks
	words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath
	heard that men of few words are the best men; and
	therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a'
	should be thought a coward: but his few bad words
	are matched with as few good deeds; for a' never
	broke any man's head but his own, and that was
	against a post when he was drunk. They will steal
	any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a
	lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for
	three half pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn
	brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a
	fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the
	men would carry coals. They would have me as
	familiar with men's pockets as their gloves or their
	handkerchers: which makes much against my manhood,
	if I should take from another's pocket to put into
	mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I
	must leave them, and seek some better service:
	their villany goes against my weak stomach, and
	therefore I must cast it up.

	[Exit]

	[Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following]

GOWER	Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the
	mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.

FLUELLEN	To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not so good
	to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is
	not according to the disciplines of the war: the
	concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you,
	the athversary, you may discuss unto the duke, look
	you, is digt himself four yard under the
	countermines: by Cheshu, I think a' will plough up
	all, if there is not better directions.

GOWER	The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the
	siege is given, is altogether directed by an
	Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i' faith.

FLUELLEN	It is Captain Macmorris, is it not?

GOWER	I think it be.

FLUELLEN	By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will
	verify as much in his beard: be has no more
	directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look
	you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog.

	[Enter MACMORRIS and Captain JAMY]

GOWER	Here a' comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him.

FLUELLEN	Captain Jamy is a marvellous falourous gentleman,
	that is certain; and of great expedition and
	knowledge in th' aunchient wars, upon my particular
	knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will
	maintain his argument as well as any military man in
	the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars
	of the Romans.

JAMY	I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen.

FLUELLEN	God-den to your worship, good Captain James.

GOWER	How now, Captain Macmorris! have you quit the
	mines? have the pioneers given o'er?

MACMORRIS	By Chrish, la! tish ill done: the work ish give
	over, the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I
	swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done;
	it ish give over: I would have blowed up the town, so
	Chrish save me, la! in an hour: O, tish ill done,
	tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done!

FLUELLEN	Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you
	voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you,
	as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of
	the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument,
	look you, and friendly communication; partly to
	satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction,
	look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of
	the military discipline; that is the point.

JAMY	It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath:
	and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick
	occasion; that sall I, marry.

MACMORRIS	It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me: the
	day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the
	king, and the dukes: it is no time to discourse. The
	town is beseeched, and the trumpet call us to the
	breach; and we talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing:
	'tis shame for us all: so God sa' me, 'tis shame to
	stand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is
	throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there
	ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la!

JAMY	By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves
	to slomber, ay'll de gud service, or ay'll lig i'
	the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and ay'll pay
	't as valourously as I may, that sall I suerly do,
	that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full
	fain hear some question 'tween you tway.

FLUELLEN	Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your
	correction, there is not many of your nation--

MACMORRIS	Of my nation! What ish my nation? Ish a villain,
	and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish
	my nation? Who talks of my nation?

FLUELLEN	Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is
	meant, Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think
	you do not use me with that affability as in
	discretion you ought to use me, look you: being as
	good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of
	war, and in the derivation of my birth, and in
	other particularities.

MACMORRIS	I do not know you so good a man as myself: so
	Chrish save me, I will cut off your head.

GOWER	Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.

JAMY	A! that's a foul fault.

	[A parley sounded]

GOWER	The town sounds a parley.

FLUELLEN	Captain Macmorris, when there is more better
	opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so
	bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of war;
	and there is an end.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



SCENE III	The same. Before the gates.


	[The Governor and some Citizens on the walls; the
	English forces below. Enter KING HENRY and his train]

KING HENRY V	How yet resolves the governor of the town?
	This is the latest parle we will admit;
	Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves;
	Or like to men proud of destruction
	Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier,
	A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,
	If I begin the battery once again,
	I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur
	Till in her ashes she lie buried.
	The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,
	And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,
	In liberty of bloody hand shall range
	With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass
	Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants.
	What is it then to me, if impious war,
	Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends,
	Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats
	Enlink'd to waste and desolation?
	What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause,
	If your pure maidens fall into the hand
	Of hot and forcing violation?
	What rein can hold licentious wickedness
	When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
	We may as bootless spend our vain command
	Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil
	As send precepts to the leviathan
	To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
	Take pity of your town and of your people,
	Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command;
	Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
	O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds
	Of heady murder, spoil and villany.
	If not, why, in a moment look to see
	The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
	Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
	Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
	And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls,
	Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,
	Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused
	Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
	At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.
	What say you? will you yield, and this avoid,
	Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd?

GOVERNOR	Our expectation hath this day an end:
	The Dauphin, whom of succors we entreated,
	Returns us that his powers are yet not ready
	To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king,
	We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy.
	Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours;
	For we no longer are defensible.

KING HENRY V	Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter,
	Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain,
	And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French:
	Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,
	The winter coming on and sickness growing
	Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais.
	To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest;
	To-morrow for the march are we addrest.

	[Flourish. The King and his train enter the town]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



SCENE IV	The FRENCH KING's palace.


	[Enter KATHARINE and ALICE]

KATHARINE	Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage.

ALICE	Un peu, madame.

KATHARINE	Je te prie, m'enseignez: il faut que j'apprenne a
	parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglois?

ALICE	La main? elle est appelee de hand.

KATHARINE	De hand. Et les doigts?

ALICE	Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; mais je me
	souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense qu'ils sont
	appeles de fingres; oui, de fingres.

KATHARINE	La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense
	que je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne deux mots
	d'Anglois vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles?

ALICE	Les ongles? nous les appelons de nails.

KATHARINE	De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi, si je parle bien: de
	hand, de fingres, et de nails.

ALICE	C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglois.

KATHARINE	Dites-moi l'Anglois pour le bras.

ALICE	De arm, madame.

KATHARINE	Et le coude?

ALICE	De elbow.

KATHARINE	De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de tous les
	mots que vous m'avez appris des a present.

ALICE	Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense.

KATHARINE	Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de fingres,
	de nails, de arma, de bilbow.

ALICE	De elbow, madame.

KATHARINE	O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! de elbow. Comment
	appelez-vous le col?

ALICE	De neck, madame.

KATHARINE	De nick. Et le menton?

ALICE	De chin.

KATHARINE	De sin. Le col, de nick; de menton, de sin.

ALICE	Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez
	les mots aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre.

KATHARINE	Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la grace de Dieu,
	et en peu de temps.

ALICE	N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ai enseigne?

KATHARINE	Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: de hand, de
	fingres, de mails--

ALICE	De nails, madame.

KATHARINE	De nails, de arm, de ilbow.

ALICE	Sauf votre honneur, de elbow.

KATHARINE	Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment
	appelez-vous le pied et la robe?

ALICE	De foot, madame; et de coun.

KATHARINE	De foot et de coun! O Seigneur Dieu! ce sont mots
	de son mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et
	non pour les dames d'honneur d'user: je ne voudrais
	prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de France
	pour tout le monde. Foh! le foot et le coun!
	Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon
	ensemble: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arm, de
	elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun.

ALICE	Excellent, madame!

KATHARINE	C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



SCENE V	The same.


	[Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, the DUKE oF
	BOURBON, the Constable Of France, and others]

KING OF FRANCE	'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Somme.

Constable	And if he be not fought withal, my lord,
	Let us not live in France; let us quit all
	And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.

DAUPHIN	O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us,
	The emptying of our fathers' luxury,
	Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
	Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds,
	And overlook their grafters?

BOURBON	Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!
	Mort de ma vie! if they march along
	Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,
	To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm
	In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.

Constable	Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle?
	Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull,
	On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,
	Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,
	A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth,
	Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
	And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
	Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land,
	Let us not hang like roping icicles
	Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people
	Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields!
	Poor we may call them in their native lords.

DAUPHIN	By faith and honour,
	Our madams mock at us, and plainly say
	Our mettle is bred out and they will give
	Their bodies to the lust of English youth
	To new-store France with bastard warriors.

BOURBON	They bid us to the English dancing-schools,
	And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos;
	Saying our grace is only in our heels,
	And that we are most lofty runaways.

KING OF FRANCE	Where is Montjoy the herald? speed him hence:
	Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
	Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged
	More sharper than your swords, hie to the field:
	Charles Delabreth, high constable of France;
	You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri,
	Alencon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
	Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont,
	Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg,
	Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois;
	High dukes, great princes, barons, lords and knights,
	For your great seats now quit you of great shames.
	Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
	With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur:
	Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow
	Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat
	The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon:
	Go down upon him, you have power enough,
	And in a captive chariot into Rouen
	Bring him our prisoner.

Constable	This becomes the great.
	Sorry am I his numbers are so few,
	His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march,
	For I am sure, when he shall see our army,
	He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear
	And for achievement offer us his ransom.

KING OF FRANCE	Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy.
	And let him say to England that we send
	To know what willing ransom he will give.
	Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.

DAUPHIN	Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

KING OF FRANCE	Be patient, for you shall remain with us.
	Now forth, lord constable and princes all,
	And quickly bring us word of England's fall.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



SCENE VI	The English camp in Picardy.


	[Enter GOWER and FLUELLEN, meeting]

GOWER	How now, Captain Fluellen! come you from the bridge?

FLUELLEN	I assure you, there is very excellent services
	committed at the bridge.

GOWER	Is the Duke of Exeter safe?

FLUELLEN	The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon;
	and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my
	heart, and my duty, and my life, and my living, and
	my uttermost power: he is not-God be praised and
	blessed!--any hurt in the world; but keeps the
	bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline.
	There is an aunchient lieutenant there at the
	pridge, I think in my very conscience he is as
	valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no
	estimation in the world; but did see him do as
	gallant service.

GOWER	What do you call him?

FLUELLEN	He is called Aunchient Pistol.

GOWER	I know him not.

	[Enter PISTOL]

FLUELLEN	Here is the man.

PISTOL	Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours:
	The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

FLUELLEN	Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at
	his hands.

PISTOL	Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart,
	And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate,
	And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel,
	That goddess blind,
	That stands upon the rolling restless stone--

FLUELLEN	By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. Fortune is
	painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to
	signify to you that Fortune is blind; and she is
	painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which
	is the moral of it, that she is turning, and
	inconstant, and mutability, and variation: and her
	foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone,
	which rolls, and rolls, and rolls: in good truth,
	the poet makes a most excellent description of it:
	Fortune is an excellent moral.

PISTOL	Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him;
	For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' be:
	A damned death!
	Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free
	And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate:
	But Exeter hath given the doom of death
	For pax of little price.
	Therefore, go speak: the duke will hear thy voice:
	And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut
	With edge of penny cord and vile reproach:
	Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.

FLUELLEN	Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.

PISTOL	Why then, rejoice therefore.

FLUELLEN	Certainly, aunchient, it is not a thing to rejoice
	at: for if, look you, he were my brother, I would
	desire the duke to use his good pleasure, and put
	him to execution; for discipline ought to be used.

PISTOL	Die and be damn'd! and figo for thy friendship!

FLUELLEN	It is well.

PISTOL	The fig of Spain!

	[Exit]

FLUELLEN	Very good.

GOWER	Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal; I
	remember him now; a bawd, a cutpurse.

FLUELLEN	I'll assure you, a' uttered as brave words at the
	bridge as you shall see in a summer's day. But it
	is very well; what he has spoke to me, that is well,
	I warrant you, when time is serve.

GOWER	Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that now and then
	goes to the wars, to grace himself at his return
	into London under the form of a soldier. And such
	fellows are perfect in the great commanders' names:
	and they will learn you by rote where services were
	done; at such and such a sconce, at such a breach,
	at such a convoy; who came off bravely, who was
	shot, who disgraced, what terms the enemy stood on;
	and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war,
	which they trick up with new-tuned oaths: and what
	a beard of the general's cut and a horrid suit of
	the camp will do among foaming bottles and
	ale-washed wits, is wonderful to be thought on. But
	you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or
	else you may be marvellously mistook.

FLUELLEN	I tell you what, Captain Gower; I do perceive he is
	not the man that he would gladly make show to the
	world he is: if I find a hole in his coat, I will
	tell him my mind.

	[Drum heard]

	Hark you, the king is coming, and I must speak with
	him from the pridge.

	[Drum and colours. Enter KING HENRY, GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers]

	God pless your majesty!

KING HENRY V	How now, Fluellen! camest thou from the bridge?

FLUELLEN	Ay, so please your majesty. The Duke of Exeter has
	very gallantly maintained the pridge: the French is
	gone off, look you; and there is gallant and most
	prave passages; marry, th' athversary was have
	possession of the pridge; but he is enforced to
	retire, and the Duke of Exeter is master of the
	pridge: I can tell your majesty, the duke is a
	prave man.

KING HENRY V	What men have you lost, Fluellen?

FLUELLEN	The perdition of th' athversary hath been very
	great, reasonable great: marry, for my part, I
	think the duke hath lost never a man, but one that
	is like to be executed for robbing a church, one
	Bardolph, if your majesty know the man: his face is
	all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames o'
	fire: and his lips blows at his nose, and it is like
	a coal of fire, sometimes plue and sometimes red;
	but his nose is executed and his fire's out.

KING HENRY V	We would have all such offenders so cut off: and we
	give express charge, that in our marches through the
	country, there be nothing compelled from the
	villages, nothing taken but paid for, none of the
	French upbraided or abused in disdainful language;
	for when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the
	gentler gamester is the soonest winner.

	[Tucket. Enter MONTJOY]

MONTJOY	You know me by my habit.

KING HENRY V	Well then I know thee: what shall I know of thee?

MONTJOY	My master's mind.

KING HENRY V	Unfold it.

MONTJOY	Thus says my king: Say thou to Harry of England:
	Though we seemed dead, we did but sleep: advantage
	is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him we
	could have rebuked him at Harfleur, but that we
	thought not good to bruise an injury till it were
	full ripe: now we speak upon our cue, and our voice
	is imperial: England shall repent his folly, see
	his weakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid him
	therefore consider of his ransom; which must
	proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we
	have lost, the disgrace we have digested; which in
	weight to re-answer, his pettiness would bow under.
	For our losses, his exchequer is too poor; for the
	effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too
	faint a number; and for our disgrace, his own
	person, kneeling at our feet, but a weak and
	worthless satisfaction. To this add defiance: and
	tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his
	followers, whose condemnation is pronounced. So far
	my king and master; so much my office.

KING HENRY V	What is thy name? I know thy quality.

MONTJOY	Montjoy.

KING HENRY V	Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back.
	And tell thy king I do not seek him now;
	But could be willing to march on to Calais
	Without impeachment: for, to say the sooth,
	Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much
	Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,
	My people are with sickness much enfeebled,
	My numbers lessened, and those few I have
	Almost no better than so many French;
	Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald,
	I thought upon one pair of English legs
	Did march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive me, God,
	That I do brag thus! This your air of France
	Hath blown that vice in me: I must repent.
	Go therefore, tell thy master here I am;
	My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk,
	My army but a weak and sickly guard;
	Yet, God before, tell him we will come on,
	Though France himself and such another neighbour
	Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy.
	Go bid thy master well advise himself:
	If we may pass, we will; if we be hinder'd,
	We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
	Discolour: and so Montjoy, fare you well.
	The sum of all our answer is but this:
	We would not seek a battle, as we are;
	Nor, as we are, we say we will not shun it:
	So tell your master.

MONTJOY	I shall deliver so. Thanks to your highness.

	[Exit]

GLOUCESTER	I hope they will not come upon us now.

KING HENRY V	We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs.
	March to the bridge; it now draws toward night:
	Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves,
	And on to-morrow, bid them march away.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT III



SCENE VII	The French camp, near Agincourt:


	[Enter the Constable of France, the LORD RAMBURES,
	ORLEANS, DAUPHIN, with others]

Constable	Tut! I have the best armour of the world. Would it were day!

ORLEANS	You have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due.

Constable	It is the best horse of Europe.

ORLEANS	Will it never be morning?

DAUPHIN	My lord of Orleans, and my lord high constable, you
	talk of horse and armour?

ORLEANS	You are as well provided of both as any prince in the world.

DAUPHIN	What a long night is this! I will not change my
	horse with any that treads but on four pasterns.
	Ca, ha! he bounds from the earth, as if his
	entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus,
	chez les narines de feu! When I bestride him, I
	soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth
	sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his
	hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.

ORLEANS	He's of the colour of the nutmeg.

DAUPHIN	And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for
	Perseus: he is pure air and fire; and the dull
	elements of earth and water never appear in him, but
	only in Patient stillness while his rider mounts
	him: he is indeed a horse; and all other jades you
	may call beasts.

Constable	Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse.

DAUPHIN	It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the
	bidding of a monarch and his countenance enforces homage.

ORLEANS	No more, cousin.

DAUPHIN	Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the
	rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary
	deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme as
	fluent as the sea: turn the sands into eloquent
	tongues, and my horse is argument for them all:
	'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for
	a sovereign's sovereign to ride on; and for the
	world, familiar to us and unknown to lay apart
	their particular functions and wonder at him. I
	once writ a sonnet in his praise and began thus:
	'Wonder of nature,'--

ORLEANS	I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress.

DAUPHIN	Then did they imitate that which I composed to my
	courser, for my horse is my mistress.

ORLEANS	Your mistress bears well.

DAUPHIN	Me well; which is the prescript praise and
	perfection of a good and particular mistress.

Constable	Nay, for methought yesterday your mistress shrewdly
	shook your back.

DAUPHIN	So perhaps did yours.

Constable	Mine was not bridled.

DAUPHIN	O then belike she was old and gentle; and you rode,
	like a kern of Ireland, your French hose off, and in
	your straight strossers.

Constable	You have good judgment in horsemanship.

DAUPHIN	Be warned by me, then: they that ride so and ride
	not warily, fall into foul bogs. I had rather have
	my horse to my mistress.

Constable	I had as lief have my mistress a jade.

DAUPHIN	I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears his own hair.

Constable	I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow
	to my mistress.

DAUPHIN	'Le chien est retourne a son propre vomissement, et
	la truie lavee au bourbier;' thou makest use of any thing.

Constable	Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress, or any
	such proverb so little kin to the purpose.

RAMBURES	My lord constable, the armour that I saw in your tent
	to-night, are those stars or suns upon it?

Constable	Stars, my lord.

DAUPHIN	Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.

Constable	And yet my sky shall not want.

DAUPHIN	That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and
	'twere more honour some were away.

Constable	Even as your horse bears your praises; who would
	trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted.

DAUPHIN	Would I were able to load him with his desert! Will
	it never be day? I will trot to-morrow a mile, and
	my way shall be paved with English faces.

Constable	I will not say so, for fear I should be faced out of
	my way: but I would it were morning; for I would
	fain be about the ears of the English.

RAMBURES	Who will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners?

Constable	You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them.

DAUPHIN	'Tis midnight; I'll go arm myself.

	[Exit]

ORLEANS	The Dauphin longs for morning.

RAMBURES	He longs to eat the English.

Constable	I think he will eat all he kills.

ORLEANS	By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant prince.

Constable	Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath.

ORLEANS	He is simply the most active gentleman of France.

Constable	Doing is activity; and he will still be doing.

ORLEANS	He never did harm, that I heard of.

Constable	Nor will do none to-morrow: he will keep that good name still.

ORLEANS	I know him to be valiant.

Constable	I was told that by one that knows him better than
	you.

ORLEANS	What's he?

Constable	Marry, he told me so himself; and he said he cared
	not who knew it

ORLEANS	He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him.

Constable	By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body saw it
	but his lackey: 'tis a hooded valour; and when it
	appears, it will bate.

ORLEANS	Ill will never said well.

Constable	I will cap that proverb with 'There is flattery in friendship.'

ORLEANS	And I will take up that with 'Give the devil his due.'

Constable	Well placed: there stands your friend for the
	devil: have at the very eye of that proverb with 'A
	pox of the devil.'

ORLEANS	You are the better at proverbs, by how much 'A
	fool's bolt is soon shot.'

Constable	You have shot over.

ORLEANS	'Tis not the first time you were overshot.

	[Enter a Messenger]

Messenger	My lord high constable, the English lie within
	fifteen hundred paces of your tents.

Constable	Who hath measured the ground?

Messenger	The Lord Grandpre.

Constable	A valiant and most expert gentleman. Would it were
	day! Alas, poor Harry of England! he longs not for
	the dawning as we do.

ORLEANS	What a wretched and peevish fellow is this king of
	England, to mope with his fat-brained followers so
	far out of his knowledge!

Constable	If the English had any apprehension, they would run away.

ORLEANS	That they lack; for if their heads had any
	intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy
	head-pieces.

RAMBURES	That island of England breeds very valiant
	creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.

ORLEANS	Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a
	Russian bear and have their heads crushed like
	rotten apples! You may as well say, that's a
	valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.

Constable	Just, just; and the men do sympathize with the
	mastiffs in robustious and rough coming on, leaving
	their wits with their wives: and then give them
	great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will
	eat like wolves and fight like devils.

ORLEANS	Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.

Constable	Then shall we find to-morrow they have only stomachs
	to eat and none to fight. Now is it time to arm:
	come, shall we about it?

ORLEANS	It is now two o'clock: but, let me see, by ten
	We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV


	PROLOGUE.


	[Enter Chorus]

Chorus	Now entertain conjecture of a time
	When creeping murmur and the poring dark
	Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
	From camp to camp through the foul womb of night
	The hum of either army stilly sounds,
	That the fixed sentinels almost receive
	The secret whispers of each other's watch:
	Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
	Each battle sees the other's umber'd face;
	Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
	Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents
	The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
	With busy hammers closing rivets up,
	Give dreadful note of preparation:
	The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
	And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
	Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,
	The confident and over-lusty French
	Do the low-rated English play at dice;
	And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night
	Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp
	So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
	Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
	Sit patiently and inly ruminate
	The morning's danger, and their gesture sad
	Investing lank-lean; cheeks and war-worn coats
	Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
	So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold
	The royal captain of this ruin'd band
	Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
	Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!'
	For forth he goes and visits all his host.
	Bids them good morrow with a modest smile
	And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen.
	Upon his royal face there is no note
	How dread an army hath enrounded him;
	Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
	Unto the weary and all-watched night,
	But freshly looks and over-bears attaint
	With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;
	That every wretch, pining and pale before,
	Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:
	A largess universal like the sun
	His liberal eye doth give to every one,
	Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all,
	Behold, as may unworthiness define,
	A little touch of Harry in the night.
	And so our scene must to the battle fly;
	Where--O for pity!--we shall much disgrace
	With four or five most vile and ragged foils,
	Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous,
	The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,
	Minding true things by what their mockeries be.

	[Exit]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE I	The English camp at Agincourt.


	[Enter KING HENRY, BEDFORD, and GLOUCESTER]

KING HENRY V	Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in great danger;
	The greater therefore should our courage be.
	Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty!
	There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
	Would men observingly distil it out.
	For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,
	Which is both healthful and good husbandry:
	Besides, they are our outward consciences,
	And preachers to us all, admonishing
	That we should dress us fairly for our end.
	Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
	And make a moral of the devil himself.

	[Enter ERPINGHAM]

	Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham:
	A good soft pillow for that good white head
	Were better than a churlish turf of France.

ERPINGHAM	Not so, my liege: this lodging likes me better,
	Since I may say 'Now lie I like a king.'

KING HENRY V	'Tis good for men to love their present pains
	Upon example; so the spirit is eased:
	And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt,
	The organs, though defunct and dead before,
	Break up their drowsy grave and newly move,
	With casted slough and fresh legerity.
	Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both,
	Commend me to the princes in our camp;
	Do my good morrow to them, and anon
	Desire them an to my pavilion.

GLOUCESTER	We shall, my liege.

ERPINGHAM	Shall I attend your grace?

KING HENRY V	No, my good knight;
	Go with my brothers to my lords of England:
	I and my bosom must debate awhile,
	And then I would no other company.

ERPINGHAM	The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!

	[Exeunt all but KING HENRY]

KING HENRY V	God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully.

	[Enter PISTOL]

PISTOL	Qui va la?

KING HENRY V	A friend.

PISTOL	Discuss unto me; art thou officer?
	Or art thou base, common and popular?

KING HENRY V	I am a gentleman of a company.

PISTOL	Trail'st thou the puissant pike?

KING HENRY V	Even so. What are you?

PISTOL	As good a gentleman as the emperor.

KING HENRY V	Then you are a better than the king.

PISTOL	The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
	A lad of life, an imp of fame;
	Of parents good, of fist most valiant.
	I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string
	I love the lovely bully. What is thy name?

KING HENRY V	Harry le Roy.

PISTOL	Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?

KING HENRY V	No, I am a Welshman.

PISTOL	Know'st thou Fluellen?

KING HENRY V	Yes.

PISTOL	Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate
	Upon Saint Davy's day.

KING HENRY V	Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day,
	lest he knock that about yours.

PISTOL	Art thou his friend?

KING HENRY V	And his kinsman too.

PISTOL	The figo for thee, then!

KING HENRY V	I thank you: God be with you!

PISTOL	My name is Pistol call'd.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY V	It sorts well with your fierceness.

	[Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER]

GOWER	Captain Fluellen!

FLUELLEN	So! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak lower. It is
	the greatest admiration of the universal world, when
	the true and aunchient prerogatifes and laws of the
	wars is not kept: if you would take the pains but to
	examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall
	find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle toddle
	nor pibble pabble in Pompey's camp; I warrant you,
	you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the
	cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety
	of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise.

GOWER	Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night.

FLUELLEN	If the enemy is an ass and a fool and a prating
	coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also,
	look you, be an ass and a fool and a prating
	coxcomb? in your own conscience, now?

GOWER	I will speak lower.

FLUELLEN	I pray you and beseech you that you will.

	[Exeunt GOWER and FLUELLEN]

KING HENRY V	Though it appear a little out of fashion,
	There is much care and valour in this Welshman.

	[Enter three soldiers, JOHN BATES, ALEXANDER COURT,
	and MICHAEL WILLIAMS]

COURT	Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which
	breaks yonder?

BATES	I think it be: but we have no great cause to desire
	the approach of day.

WILLIAMS	We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think
	we shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?

KING HENRY V	A friend.

WILLIAMS	Under what captain serve you?

KING HENRY V	Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.

WILLIAMS	A good old commander and a most kind gentleman: I
	pray you, what thinks he of our estate?

KING HENRY V	Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be
	washed off the next tide.

BATES	He hath not told his thought to the king?

KING HENRY V	No; nor it is not meet he should. For, though I
	speak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I
	am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me: the
	element shows to him as it doth to me; all his
	senses have but human conditions: his ceremonies
	laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and
	though his affections are higher mounted than ours,
	yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like
	wing. Therefore when he sees reason of fears, as we
	do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish
	as ours are: yet, in reason, no man should possess
	him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing
	it, should dishearten his army.

BATES	He may show what outward courage he will; but I
	believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish
	himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I would he
	were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here.

KING HENRY V	By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king:
	I think he would not wish himself any where but
	where he is.

BATES	Then I would he were here alone; so should he be
	sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved.

KING HENRY V	I dare say you love him not so ill, to wish him here
	alone, howsoever you speak this to feel other men's
	minds: methinks I could not die any where so
	contented as in the king's company; his cause being
	just and his quarrel honourable.

WILLIAMS	That's more than we know.

BATES	Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know
	enough, if we know we are the kings subjects: if
	his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes
	the crime of it out of us.

WILLIAMS	But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath
	a heavy reckoning to make, when all those legs and
	arms and heads, chopped off in battle, shall join
	together at the latter day and cry all 'We died at
	such a place;' some swearing, some crying for a
	surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind
	them, some upon the debts they owe, some upon their
	children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die
	well that die in a battle; for how can they
	charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their
	argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it
	will be a black matter for the king that led them to
	it; whom to disobey were against all proportion of
	subjection.

KING HENRY V	So, if a son that is by his father sent about
	merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the
	imputation of his wickedness by your rule, should be
	imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a
	servant, under his master's command transporting a
	sum of money, be assailed by robbers and die in
	many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the
	business of the master the author of the servant's
	damnation: but this is not so: the king is not
	bound to answer the particular endings of his
	soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of
	his servant; for they purpose not their death, when
	they purpose their services. Besides, there is no
	king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to
	the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all
	unspotted soldiers: some peradventure have on them
	the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder;
	some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of
	perjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that
	have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with
	pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have
	defeated the law and outrun native punishment,
	though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to
	fly from God: war is his beadle, war is vengeance;
	so that here men are punished for before-breach of
	the king's laws in now the king's quarrel: where
	they feared the death, they have borne life away;
	and where they would be safe, they perish: then if
	they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty of
	their damnation than he was before guilty of those
	impieties for the which they are now visited. Every
	subject's duty is the king's; but every subject's
	soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in
	the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every
	mote out of his conscience: and dying so, death
	is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was
	blessedly lost wherein such preparation was gained:
	and in him that escapes, it were not sin to think
	that, making God so free an offer, He let him
	outlive that day to see His greatness and to teach
	others how they should prepare.

WILLIAMS	'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon
	his own head, the king is not to answer it.

BATES	But I do not desire he should answer for me; and
	yet I determine to fight lustily for him.

KING HENRY V	I myself heard the king say he would not be ransomed.

WILLIAMS	Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully: but
	when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we
	ne'er the wiser.

KING HENRY V	If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.

WILLIAMS	You pay him then. That's a perilous shot out of an
	elder-gun, that a poor and private displeasure can
	do against a monarch! you may as well go about to
	turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a
	peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word
	after! come, 'tis a foolish saying.

KING HENRY V	Your reproof is something too round: I should be
	angry with you, if the time were convenient.

WILLIAMS	Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live.

KING HENRY V	I embrace it.

WILLIAMS	How shall I know thee again?

KING HENRY V	Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my
	bonnet: then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I
	will make it my quarrel.

WILLIAMS	Here's my glove: give me another of thine.

KING HENRY V	There.

WILLIAMS	This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou come
	to me and say, after to-morrow, 'This is my glove,'
	by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear.

KING HENRY V	If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.

WILLIAMS	Thou darest as well be hanged.

KING HENRY V	Well. I will do it, though I take thee in the
	king's company.

WILLIAMS	Keep thy word: fare thee well.

BATES	Be friends, you English fools, be friends: we have
	French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.

KING HENRY V	Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to
	one, they will beat us; for they bear them on their
	shoulders: but it is no English treason to cut
	French crowns, and to-morrow the king himself will
	be a clipper.

	[Exeunt soldiers]

	Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls,
	Our debts, our careful wives,
	Our children and our sins lay on the king!
	We must bear all. O hard condition,
	Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath
	Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel
	But his own wringing! What infinite heart's-ease
	Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy!
	And what have kings, that privates have not too,
	Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
	And what art thou, thou idle ceremony?
	What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
	Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
	What are thy rents? what are thy comings in?
	O ceremony, show me but thy worth!
	What is thy soul of adoration?
	Art thou aught else but place, degree and form,
	Creating awe and fear in other men?
	Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
	Than they in fearing.
	What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
	But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,
	And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
	Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out
	With titles blown from adulation?
	Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
	Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
	Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
	That play'st so subtly with a king's repose;
	I am a king that find thee, and I know
	'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball,
	The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
	The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,
	The farced title running 'fore the king,
	The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
	That beats upon the high shore of this world,
	No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
	Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
	Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,
	Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind
	Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;
	Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
	But, like a lackey, from the rise to set
	Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night
	Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn,
	Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,
	And follows so the ever-running year,
	With profitable labour, to his grave:
	And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,
	Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,
	Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
	The slave, a member of the country's peace,
	Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots
	What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace,
	Whose hours the peasant best advantages.

	[Enter ERPINGHAM]

ERPINGHAM	My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
	Seek through your camp to find you.

KING HENRY V	Good old knight,
	Collect them all together at my tent:
	I'll be before thee.

ERPINGHAM	I shall do't, my lord.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY V	O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts;
	Possess them not with fear; take from them now
	The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers
	Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O Lord,
	O, not to-day, think not upon the fault
	My father made in compassing the crown!
	I Richard's body have interred anew;
	And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears
	Than from it issued forced drops of blood:
	Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,
	Who twice a-day their wither'd hands hold up
	Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built
	Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests
	Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do;
	Though all that I can do is nothing worth,
	Since that my penitence comes after all,
	Imploring pardon.

	[Enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER	My liege!

KING HENRY V	My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay;
	I know thy errand, I will go with thee:
	The day, my friends and all things stay for me.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE II	The French camp.


	[Enter the DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and others]

ORLEANS	The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!

DAUPHIN	Montez A cheval! My horse! varlet! laquais! ha!

ORLEANS	O brave spirit!

DAUPHIN	Via! les eaux et la terre.

ORLEANS	Rien puis? L'air et la feu.

DAUPHIN	Ciel, cousin Orleans.

	[Enter Constable]

	Now, my lord constable!

Constable	Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh!

DAUPHIN	Mount them, and make incision in their hides,
	That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
	And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!

RAMBURES	What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?
	How shall we, then, behold their natural tears?

	[Enter Messenger]

Messenger	The English are embattled, you French peers.

Constable	To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!
	Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
	And your fair show shall suck away their souls,
	Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
	There is not work enough for all our hands;
	Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
	To give each naked curtle-axe a stain,
	That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,
	And sheathe for lack of sport: let us but blow on them,
	The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
	'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,
	That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,
	Who in unnecessary action swarm
	About our squares of battle, were enow
	To purge this field of such a hilding foe,
	Though we upon this mountain's basis by
	Took stand for idle speculation:
	But that our honours must not. What's to say?
	A very little little let us do.
	And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
	The tucket sonance and the note to mount;
	For our approach shall so much dare the field
	That England shall couch down in fear and yield.

	[Enter GRANDPRE]

GRANDPRE	Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
	Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
	Ill-favouredly become the morning field:
	Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
	And our air shakes them passing scornfully:
	Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host
	And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps:
	The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,
	With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades
	Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips,
	The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes
	And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit
	Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless;
	And their executors, the knavish crows,
	Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
	Description cannot suit itself in words
	To demonstrate the life of such a battle
	In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

Constable	They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.

DAUPHIN	Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits
	And give their fasting horses provender,
	And after fight with them?

Constable	I stay but for my guidon: to the field!
	I will the banner from a trumpet take,
	And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!
	The sun is high, and we outwear the day.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE III	The English camp.


	[Enter GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, ERPINGHAM, with
	all his host: SALISBURY and WESTMORELAND]

GLOUCESTER	Where is the king?

BEDFORD	The king himself is rode to view their battle.

WESTMORELAND	Of fighting men they have full three score thousand.

EXETER	There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.

SALISBURY	God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds.
	God be wi' you, princes all; I'll to my charge:
	If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,
	Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,
	My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,
	And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!

BEDFORD	Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee!

EXETER	Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to-day:
	And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
	For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour.

	[Exit SALISBURY]

BEDFORD	He is full of valour as of kindness;
	Princely in both.

	[Enter the KING]

WESTMORELAND	                  O that we now had here
	But one ten thousand of those men in England
	That do no work to-day!

KING HENRY V	What's he that wishes so?
	My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
	If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
	To do our country loss; and if to live,
	The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
	God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
	By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
	Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
	It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
	Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
	But if it be a sin to covet honour,
	I am the most offending soul alive.
	No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
	God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
	As one man more, methinks, would share from me
	For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
	Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
	That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
	Let him depart; his passport shall be made
	And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
	We would not die in that man's company
	That fears his fellowship to die with us.
	This day is called the feast of Crispian:
	He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
	Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
	And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
	He that shall live this day, and see old age,
	Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
	And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
	Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
	And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
	Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
	But he'll remember with advantages
	What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
	Familiar in his mouth as household words
	Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
	Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
	Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
	This story shall the good man teach his son;
	And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
	From this day to the ending of the world,
	But we in it shall be remember'd;
	We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
	For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
	Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
	This day shall gentle his condition:
	And gentlemen in England now a-bed
	Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
	And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
	That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

	[Re-enter SALISBURY]

SALISBURY	My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:
	The French are bravely in their battles set,
	And will with all expedience charge on us.

KING HENRY V	All things are ready, if our minds be so.

WESTMORELAND	Perish the man whose mind is backward now!

KING HENRY V	Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?

WESTMORELAND	God's will! my liege, would you and I alone,
	Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

KING HENRY V	Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men;
	Which likes me better than to wish us one.
	You know your places: God be with you all!

	[Tucket. Enter MONTJOY]

MONTJOY	Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,
	If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,
	Before thy most assured overthrow:
	For certainly thou art so near the gulf,
	Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,
	The constable desires thee thou wilt mind
	Thy followers of repentance; that their souls
	May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
	From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies
	Must lie and fester.

KING HENRY V	Who hath sent thee now?

MONTJOY	The Constable of France.

KING HENRY V	I pray thee, bear my former answer back:
	Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones.
	Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus?
	The man that once did sell the lion's skin
	While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him.
	A many of our bodies shall no doubt
	Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,
	Shall witness live in brass of this day's work:
	And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
	Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,
	They shall be famed; for there the sun shall greet them,
	And draw their honours reeking up to heaven;
	Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
	The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
	Mark then abounding valour in our English,
	That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
	Break out into a second course of mischief,
	Killing in relapse of mortality.
	Let me speak proudly: tell the constable
	We are but warriors for the working-day;
	Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd
	With rainy marching in the painful field;
	There's not a piece of feather in our host--
	Good argument, I hope, we will not fly--
	And time hath worn us into slovenry:
	But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim;
	And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night
	They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck
	The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads
	And turn them out of service. If they do this,--
	As, if God please, they shall,--my ransom then
	Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;
	Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald:
	They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints;
	Which if they have as I will leave 'em them,
	Shall yield them little, tell the constable.

MONTJOY	I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well:
	Thou never shalt hear herald any more.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY V	I fear thou'lt once more come again for ransom.

	[Enter YORK]

YORK	My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
	The leading of the vaward.

KING HENRY V	Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away:
	And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE IV	The field of battle.


	[Alarum. Excursions. Enter PISTOL, French Soldier, and Boy]

PISTOL	Yield, cur!

French Soldier	Je pense que vous etes gentilhomme de bonne qualite.

PISTOL	Qualtitie calmie custure me! Art thou a gentleman?
	what is thy name? discuss.

French Soldier	O Seigneur Dieu!

PISTOL	O, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman:
	Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark;
	O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,
	Except, O signieur, thou do give to me
	Egregious ransom.

French Soldier	O, prenez misericorde! ayez pitie de moi!

PISTOL	Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys;
	Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat
	In drops of crimson blood.

French Soldier	Est-il impossible d'echapper la force de ton bras?

PISTOL	Brass, cur!
	Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat,
	Offer'st me brass?

French Soldier	O pardonnez moi!

PISTOL	Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys?
	Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French
	What is his name.

Boy	Ecoutez: comment etes-vous appele?

French Soldier	Monsieur le Fer.

Boy	He says his name is Master Fer.

PISTOL	Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret
	him: discuss the same in French unto him.

Boy	I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.

PISTOL	Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat.

French Soldier	Que dit-il, monsieur?

Boy	Il me commande de vous dire que vous faites vous
	pret; car ce soldat ici est dispose tout a cette
	heure de couper votre gorge.

PISTOL	Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy,
	Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
	Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.

French Soldier	O, je vous supplie, pour l'amour de Dieu, me
	pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison:
	gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents ecus.

PISTOL	What are his words?

Boy	He prays you to save his life: he is a gentleman of
	a good house; and for his ransom he will give you
	two hundred crowns.

PISTOL	Tell him my fury shall abate, and I the crowns will take.

French Soldier	Petit monsieur, que dit-il?

Boy	Encore qu'il est contre son jurement de pardonner
	aucun prisonnier, neanmoins, pour les ecus que vous
	l'avez promis, il est content de vous donner la
	liberte, le franchisement.

French Soldier	Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remercimens; et
	je m'estime heureux que je suis tombe entre les
	mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave,
	vaillant, et tres distingue seigneur d'Angleterre.

PISTOL	Expound unto me, boy.

Boy	He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and
	he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into
	the hands of one, as he thinks, the most brave,
	valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England.

PISTOL	As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.
	Follow me!

Boy	Suivez-vous le grand capitaine.

	[Exeunt PISTOL, and French Soldier]

	I did never know so full a voice issue from so
	empty a heart: but the saying is true 'The empty
	vessel makes the greatest sound.' Bardolph and Nym
	had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i'
	the old play, that every one may pare his nails with
	a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; and so
	would this be, if he durst steal any thing
	adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, with
	the luggage of our camp: the French might have a
	good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is
	none to guard it but boys.

	[Exit]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE V	Another part of the field.


	[Enter Constable, ORLEANS, BOURBON, DAUPHIN, and RAMBURES]

Constable	O diable!

ORLEANS	O seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!

DAUPHIN	Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all!
	Reproach and everlasting shame
	Sits mocking in our plumes. O merchante fortune!
	Do not run away.

	[A short alarum]

Constable	                  Why, all our ranks are broke.

DAUPHIN	O perdurable shame! let's stab ourselves.
	Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?

ORLEANS	Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?

BOURBON	Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
	Let us die in honour: once more back again;
	And he that will not follow Bourbon now,
	Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand,
	Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door
	Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,
	His fairest daughter is contaminated.

Constable	Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!
	Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.

ORLEANS	We are enow yet living in the field
	To smother up the English in our throngs,
	If any order might be thought upon.

BOURBON	The devil take order now! I'll to the throng:
	Let life be short; else shame will be too long.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE VI	Another part of the field.


	[Alarums. Enter KING HENRY and forces, EXETER, and others]

KING HENRY V	Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen:
	But all's not done; yet keep the French the field.

EXETER	The Duke of York commends him to your majesty.

KING HENRY V	Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this hour
	I saw him down; thrice up again and fighting;
	From helmet to the spur all blood he was.

EXETER	In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,
	Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,
	Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,
	The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.
	Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over,
	Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd,
	And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes
	That bloodily did spawn upon his face;
	And cries aloud 'Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk!
	My soul shall thine keep company to heaven;
	Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast,
	As in this glorious and well-foughten field
	We kept together in our chivalry!'
	Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up:
	He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand,
	And, with a feeble gripe, says 'Dear my lord,
	Commend my service to me sovereign.'
	So did he turn and over Suffolk's neck
	He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips;
	And so espoused to death, with blood he seal'd
	A testament of noble-ending love.
	The pretty and sweet manner of it forced
	Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd;
	But I had not so much of man in me,
	And all my mother came into mine eyes
	And gave me up to tears.

KING HENRY V	I blame you not;
	For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
	With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.

	[Alarum]

	But, hark! what new alarum is this same?
	The French have reinforced their scatter'd men:
	Then every soldier kill his prisoners:
	Give the word through.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE VII	Another part of the field.


	[Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER]

FLUELLEN	Kill the poys and the luggage! 'tis expressly
	against the law of arms: 'tis as arrant a piece of
	knavery, mark you now, as can be offer't; in your
	conscience, now, is it not?

GOWER	'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive; and the
	cowardly rascals that ran from the battle ha' done
	this slaughter: besides, they have burned and
	carried away all that was in the king's tent;
	wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused every
	soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a
	gallant king!

FLUELLEN	Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What
	call you the town's name where Alexander the Pig was born!

GOWER	Alexander the Great.

FLUELLEN	Why, I pray you, is not pig great? the pig, or the
	great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the
	magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase
	is a little variations.

GOWER	I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon; his
	father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.

FLUELLEN	I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I
	tell you, captain, if you look in the maps of the
	'orld, I warrant you sall find, in the comparisons
	between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations,
	look you, is both alike. There is a river in
	Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at
	Monmouth: it is called Wye at Monmouth; but it is
	out of my prains what is the name of the other
	river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers is
	to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you
	mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life
	is come after it indifferent well; for there is
	figures in all things. Alexander, God knows, and
	you know, in his rages, and his furies, and his
	wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his
	displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a
	little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and
	his angers, look you, kill his best friend, Cleitus.

GOWER	Our king is not like him in that: he never killed
	any of his friends.

FLUELLEN	It is not well done, mark you now take the tales out
	of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak
	but in the figures and comparisons of it: as
	Alexander killed his friend Cleitus, being in his
	ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in
	his right wits and his good judgments, turned away
	the fat knight with the great belly-doublet: he
	was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and
	mocks; I have forgot his name.

GOWER	Sir John Falstaff.

FLUELLEN	That is he: I'll tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth.

GOWER	Here comes his majesty.

	[Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, and forces; WARWICK,
	GLOUCESTER, EXETER, and others]

KING HENRY V	I was not angry since I came to France
	Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald;
	Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill:
	If they will fight with us, bid them come down,
	Or void the field; they do offend our sight:
	If they'll do neither, we will come to them,
	And make them skirr away, as swift as stones
	Enforced from the old Assyrian slings:
	Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have,
	And not a man of them that we shall take
	Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.

	[Enter MONTJOY]

EXETER	Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.

GLOUCESTER	His eyes are humbler than they used to be.

KING HENRY V	How now! what means this, herald? know'st thou not
	That I have fined these bones of mine for ransom?
	Comest thou again for ransom?

MONTJOY	No, great king:
	I come to thee for charitable licence,
	That we may wander o'er this bloody field
	To look our dead, and then to bury them;
	To sort our nobles from our common men.
	For many of our princes--woe the while!--
	Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood;
	So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
	In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds
	Fret fetlock deep in gore and with wild rage
	Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
	Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king,
	To view the field in safety and dispose
	Of their dead bodies!

KING HENRY V	I tell thee truly, herald,
	I know not if the day be ours or no;
	For yet a many of your horsemen peer
	And gallop o'er the field.

MONTJOY	The day is yours.

KING HENRY V	Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!
	What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?

MONTJOY	They call it Agincourt.

KING HENRY V	Then call we this the field of Agincourt,
	Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.

FLUELLEN	Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please your
	majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the Plack
	Prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles,
	fought a most prave pattle here in France.

KING HENRY V	They did, Fluellen.

FLUELLEN	Your majesty says very true: if your majesties is
	remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a
	garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their
	Monmouth caps; which, your majesty know, to this
	hour is an honourable badge of the service; and I do
	believe your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek
	upon Saint Tavy's day.

KING HENRY V	I wear it for a memorable honour;
	For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.

FLUELLEN	All the water in Wye cannot wash your majesty's
	Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that:
	God pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases
	his grace, and his majesty too!

KING HENRY V	Thanks, good my countryman.

FLUELLEN	By Jeshu, I am your majesty's countryman, I care not
	who know it; I will confess it to all the 'orld: I
	need not to be ashamed of your majesty, praised be
	God, so long as your majesty is an honest man.

KING HENRY V	God keep me so! Our heralds go with him:
	Bring me just notice of the numbers dead
	On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.

	[Points to WILLIAMS. Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy]

EXETER	Soldier, you must come to the king.

KING HENRY V	Soldier, why wearest thou that glove in thy cap?

WILLIAMS	An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of one that
	I should fight withal, if he be alive.

KING HENRY V	An Englishman?

WILLIAMS	An't please your majesty, a rascal that swaggered
	with me last night; who, if alive and ever dare to
	challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box
	o' th' ear: or if I can see my glove in his cap,
	which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear
	if alive, I will strike it out soundly.

KING HENRY V	What think you, Captain Fluellen? is it fit this
	soldier keep his oath?

FLUELLEN	He is a craven and a villain else, an't please your
	majesty, in my conscience.

KING HENRY V	It may be his enemy is a gentleman of great sort,
	quite from the answer of his degree.

FLUELLEN	Though he be as good a gentleman as the devil is, as
	Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look
	your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath: if
	he be perjured, see you now, his reputation is as
	arrant a villain and a Jacksauce, as ever his black
	shoe trod upon God's ground and his earth, in my
	conscience, la!

KING HENRY V	Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meetest the fellow.

WILLIAMS	So I will, my liege, as I live.

KING HENRY V	Who servest thou under?

WILLIAMS	Under Captain Gower, my liege.

FLUELLEN	Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and
	literatured in the wars.

KING HENRY V	Call him hither to me, soldier.

WILLIAMS	I will, my liege.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY V	Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me and
	stick it in thy cap: when Alencon and myself were
	down together, I plucked this glove from his helm:
	if any man challenge this, he is a friend to
	Alencon, and an enemy to our person; if thou
	encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love.

FLUELLEN	Your grace doo's me as great honours as can be
	desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would fain
	see the man, that has but two legs, that shall find
	himself aggrieved at this glove; that is all; but I
	would fain see it once, an please God of his grace
	that I might see.

KING HENRY V	Knowest thou Gower?

FLUELLEN	He is my dear friend, an please you.

KING HENRY V	Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.

FLUELLEN	I will fetch him.

	[Exit]

KING HENRY V	My Lord of Warwick, and my brother Gloucester,
	Follow Fluellen closely at the heels:
	The glove which I have given him for a favour
	May haply purchase him a box o' th' ear;
	It is the soldier's; I by bargain should
	Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick:
	If that the soldier strike him, as I judge
	By his blunt bearing he will keep his word,
	Some sudden mischief may arise of it;
	For I do know Fluellen valiant
	And, touched with choler, hot as gunpowder,
	And quickly will return an injury:
	Follow and see there be no harm between them.
	Go you with me, uncle of Exeter.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT IV



SCENE VIII	Before KING HENRY'S pavilion.


	[Enter GOWER and WILLIAMS]

WILLIAMS	I warrant it is to knight you, captain.

	[Enter FLUELLEN]

FLUELLEN	God's will and his pleasure, captain, I beseech you
	now, come apace to the king: there is more good
	toward you peradventure than is in your knowledge to dream of.

WILLIAMS	Sir, know you this glove?

FLUELLEN	Know the glove! I know the glove is glove.

WILLIAMS	I know this; and thus I challenge it.

	[Strikes him]

FLUELLEN	'Sblood! an arrant traitor as any is in the
	universal world, or in France, or in England!

GOWER	How now, sir! you villain!

WILLIAMS	Do you think I'll be forsworn?

FLUELLEN	Stand away, Captain Gower; I will give treason his
	payment into ploughs, I warrant you.

WILLIAMS	I am no traitor.

FLUELLEN	That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his
	majesty's name, apprehend him: he's a friend of the
	Duke Alencon's.

	[Enter WARWICK and GLOUCESTER]

WARWICK	How now, how now! what's the matter?

FLUELLEN	My Lord of Warwick, here is--praised be God for it!
	--a most contagious treason come to light, look
	you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is
	his majesty.

	[Enter KING HENRY and EXETER]

KING HENRY V	How now! what's the matter?

FLUELLEN	My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that,
	look your grace, has struck the glove which your
	majesty is take out of the helmet of Alencon.

WILLIAMS	My liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of
	it; and he that I gave it to in change promised to
	wear it in his cap: I promised to strike him, if he
	did: I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I
	have been as good as my word.

FLUELLEN	Your majesty hear now, saving your majesty's
	manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy
	knave it is: I hope your majesty is pear me
	testimony and witness, and will avouchment, that
	this is the glove of Alencon, that your majesty is
	give me; in your conscience, now?

KING HENRY V	Give me thy glove, soldier: look, here is the
	fellow of it.
	'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike;
	And thou hast given me most bitter terms.

FLUELLEN	An please your majesty, let his neck answer for it,
	if there is any martial law in the world.

KING HENRY V	How canst thou make me satisfaction?

WILLIAMS	All offences, my lord, come from the heart: never
	came any from mine that might offend your majesty.

KING HENRY V	It was ourself thou didst abuse.

WILLIAMS	Your majesty came not like yourself: you appeared to
	me but as a common man; witness the night, your
	garments, your lowliness; and what your highness
	suffered under that shape, I beseech you take it for
	your own fault and not mine: for had you been as I
	took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I
	beseech your highness, pardon me.

KING HENRY V	Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,
	And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow;
	And wear it for an honour in thy cap
	Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns:
	And, captain, you must needs be friends with him.

FLUELLEN	By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle
	enough in his belly. Hold, there is twelve pence
	for you; and I pray you to serve Got, and keep you
	out of prawls, and prabbles' and quarrels, and
	dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the better for you.

WILLIAMS	I will none of your money.

FLUELLEN	It is with a good will; I can tell you, it will
	serve you to mend your shoes: come, wherefore should
	you be so pashful? your shoes is not so good: 'tis
	a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.

	[Enter an English Herald]

KING HENRY V	Now, herald, are the dead number'd?

Herald	Here is the number of the slaughter'd French.

KING HENRY V	What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?

EXETER	Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the king;
	John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt:
	Of other lords and barons, knights and squires,
	Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.

KING HENRY V	This note doth tell me of ten thousand French
	That in the field lie slain: of princes, in this number,
	And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead
	One hundred twenty six: added to these,
	Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen,
	Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which,
	Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights:
	So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,
	There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;
	The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires,
	And gentlemen of blood and quality.
	The names of those their nobles that lie dead:
	Charles Delabreth, high constable of France;
	Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France;
	The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures;
	Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dolphin,
	John Duke of Alencon, Anthony Duke of Brabant,
	The brother of the Duke of Burgundy,
	And Edward Duke of Bar: of lusty earls,
	Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix,
	Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale.
	Here was a royal fellowship of death!
	Where is the number of our English dead?

	[Herald shews him another paper]

	Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,
	Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire:
	None else of name; and of all other men
	But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here;
	And not to us, but to thy arm alone,
	Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem,
	But in plain shock and even play of battle,
	Was ever known so great and little loss
	On one part and on the other? Take it, God,
	For it is none but thine!

EXETER	'Tis wonderful!

KING HENRY V	Come, go we in procession to the village.
	And be it death proclaimed through our host
	To boast of this or take the praise from God
	Which is his only.

FLUELLEN	Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell
	how many is killed?

KING HENRY V	Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgement,
	That God fought for us.

FLUELLEN	Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.

KING HENRY V	Do we all holy rites;
	Let there be sung 'Non nobis' and 'Te Deum;'
	The dead with charity enclosed in clay:
	And then to Calais; and to England then:
	Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men.

	[Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V


ACT V


	PROLOGUE.


	[Enter Chorus]

Chorus	Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story,
	That I may prompt them: and of such as have,
	I humbly pray them to admit the excuse
	Of time, of numbers and due course of things,
	Which cannot in their huge and proper life
	Be here presented. Now we bear the king
	Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen,
	Heave him away upon your winged thoughts
	Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach
	Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,
	Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep mouth'd sea,
	Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king
	Seems to prepare his way: so let him land,
	And solemnly see him set on to London.
	So swift a pace hath thought that even now
	You may imagine him upon Blackheath;
	Where that his lords desire him to have borne
	His bruised helmet and his bended sword
	Before him through the city: he forbids it,
	Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride;
	Giving full trophy, signal and ostent
	Quite from himself to God. But now behold,
	In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
	How London doth pour out her citizens!
	The mayor and all his brethren in best sort,
	Like to the senators of the antique Rome,
	With the plebeians swarming at their heels,
	Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in:
	As, by a lower but loving likelihood,
	Were now the general of our gracious empress,
	As in good time he may, from Ireland coming,
	Bringing rebellion broached on his sword,
	How many would the peaceful city quit,
	To welcome him! much more, and much more cause,
	Did they this Harry. Now in London place him;
	As yet the lamentation of the French
	Invites the King of England's stay at home;
	The emperor's coming in behalf of France,
	To order peace between them; and omit
	All the occurrences, whatever chanced,
	Till Harry's back-return again to France:
	There must we bring him; and myself have play'd
	The interim, by remembering you 'tis past.
	Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance,
	After your thoughts, straight back again to France.

	[Exit]




	KING HENRY V


ACT V



SCENE I	France. The English camp.


	[Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER]

GOWER	Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek today?
	Saint Davy's day is past.

FLUELLEN	There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in
	all things: I will tell you, asse my friend,
	Captain Gower: the rascally, scald, beggarly,
	lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and
	yourself and all the world know to be no petter
	than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is
	come to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday,
	look you, and bid me eat my leek: it was in place
	where I could not breed no contention with him; but
	I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see
	him once again, and then I will tell him a little
	piece of my desires.

	[Enter PISTOL]

GOWER	Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.

FLUELLEN	'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his
	turkey-cocks. God pless you, Aunchient Pistol! you
	scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you!

PISTOL	Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan,
	To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?
	Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

FLUELLEN	I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, at my
	desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat,
	look you, this leek: because, look you, you do not
	love it, nor your affections and your appetites and
	your digestions doo's not agree with it, I would
	desire you to eat it.

PISTOL	Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.

FLUELLEN	There is one goat for you.

	[Strikes him]

	Will you be so good, scauld knave, as eat it?

PISTOL	Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

FLUELLEN	You say very true, scauld knave, when God's will is:
	I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat
	your victuals: come, there is sauce for it.

	[Strikes him]

	You called me yesterday mountain-squire; but I will
	make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you,
	fall to: if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.

GOWER	Enough, captain: you have astonished him.

FLUELLEN	I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or
	I will peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray you; it
	is good for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb.

PISTOL	Must I bite?

FLUELLEN	Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of question
	too, and ambiguities.

PISTOL	By this leek, I will most horribly revenge: I eat
	and eat, I swear--

FLUELLEN	Eat, I pray you: will you have some more sauce to
	your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by.

PISTOL	Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat.

FLUELLEN	Much good do you, scauld knave, heartily. Nay, pray
	you, throw none away; the skin is good for your
	broken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks
	hereafter, I pray you, mock at 'em; that is all.

PISTOL	Good.

FLUELLEN	Ay, leeks is good: hold you, there is a groat to
	heal your pate.

PISTOL	Me a groat!

FLUELLEN	Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; or I
	have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.

PISTOL	I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.

FLUELLEN	If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels:
	you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but
	cudgels. God b' wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate.

	[Exit]

PISTOL	All hell shall stir for this.

GOWER	Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will
	you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an
	honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of
	predeceased valour and dare not avouch in your deeds
	any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and
	galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You
	thought, because he could not speak English in the
	native garb, he could not therefore handle an
	English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and
	henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good
	English condition. Fare ye well.

	[Exit]

PISTOL	Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?
	News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital
	Of malady of France;
	And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
	Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
	Honour is cudgelled. Well, bawd I'll turn,
	And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
	To England will I steal, and there I'll steal:
	And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars,
	And swear I got them in the Gallia wars.

	[Exit]




	KING HENRY V


ACT V



SCENE II	France. A royal palace.


	[Enter, at one door KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD,
	GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and other Lords;
	at another, the FRENCH KING, QUEEN ISABEL, the
	PRINCESS KATHARINE, ALICE and other Ladies; the
	DUKE of BURGUNDY, and his train]

KING HENRY V	Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met!
	Unto our brother France, and to our sister,
	Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes
	To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;
	And, as a branch and member of this royalty,
	By whom this great assembly is contrived,
	We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy;
	And, princes French, and peers, health to you all!

KING OF FRANCE	Right joyous are we to behold your face,
	Most worthy brother England; fairly met:
	So are you, princes English, every one.

QUEEN ISABEL	So happy be the issue, brother England,
	Of this good day and of this gracious meeting,
	As we are now glad to behold your eyes;
	Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them
	Against the French, that met them in their bent,
	The fatal balls of murdering basilisks:
	The venom of such looks, we fairly hope,
	Have lost their quality, and that this day
	Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love.

KING HENRY V	To cry amen to that, thus we appear.

QUEEN ISABEL	You English princes all, I do salute you.

BURGUNDY	My duty to you both, on equal love,
	Great Kings of France and England! That I have labour'd,
	With all my wits, my pains and strong endeavours,
	To bring your most imperial majesties
	Unto this bar and royal interview,
	Your mightiness on both parts best can witness.
	Since then my office hath so far prevail'd
	That, face to face and royal eye to eye,
	You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me,
	If I demand, before this royal view,
	What rub or what impediment there is,
	Why that the naked, poor and mangled Peace,
	Dear nurse of arts and joyful births,
	Should not in this best garden of the world
	Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage?
	Alas, she hath from France too long been chased,
	And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,
	Corrupting in its own fertility.
	Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
	Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach'd,
	Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair,
	Put forth disorder'd twigs; her fallow leas
	The darnel, hemlock and rank fumitory
	Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts
	That should deracinate such savagery;
	The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
	The freckled cowslip, burnet and green clover,
	Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,
	Conceives by idleness and nothing teems
	But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,
	Losing both beauty and utility.
	And as our vineyards, fallows, meads and hedges,
	Defective in their natures, grow to wildness,
	Even so our houses and ourselves and children
	Have lost, or do not learn for want of time,
	The sciences that should become our country;
	But grow like savages,--as soldiers will
	That nothing do but meditate on blood,--
	To swearing and stern looks, diffused attire
	And every thing that seems unnatural.
	Which to reduce into our former favour
	You are assembled: and my speech entreats
	That I may know the let, why gentle Peace
	Should not expel these inconveniences
	And bless us with her former qualities.

KING HENRY V	If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace,
	Whose want gives growth to the imperfections
	Which you have cited, you must buy that peace
	With full accord to all our just demands;
	Whose tenors and particular effects
	You have enscheduled briefly in your hands.

BURGUNDY	The king hath heard them; to the which as yet
	There is no answer made.

KING HENRY V	Well then the peace,
	Which you before so urged, lies in his answer.

KING OF FRANCE	I have but with a cursorary eye
	O'erglanced the articles: pleaseth your grace
	To appoint some of your council presently
	To sit with us once more, with better heed
	To re-survey them, we will suddenly
	Pass our accept and peremptory answer.

KING HENRY V	Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter,
	And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester,
	Warwick and Huntingdon, go with the king;
	And take with you free power to ratify,
	Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best
	Shall see advantageable for our dignity,
	Any thing in or out of our demands,
	And we'll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister,
	Go with the princes, or stay here with us?

QUEEN ISABEL	Our gracious brother, I will go with them:
	Haply a woman's voice may do some good,
	When articles too nicely urged be stood on.

KING HENRY V	Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us:
	She is our capital demand, comprised
	Within the fore-rank of our articles.

QUEEN ISABEL	She hath good leave.

	[Exeunt all except HENRY, KATHARINE, and ALICE]

KING HENRY V	Fair Katharine, and most fair,
	Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms
	Such as will enter at a lady's ear
	And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?

KATHARINE	Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot speak your England.

KING HENRY V	O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with
	your French heart, I will be glad to hear you
	confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do
	you like me, Kate?

KATHARINE	Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is 'like me.'

KING HENRY V	An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.

KATHARINE	Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les anges?

ALICE	Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il.

KING HENRY V	I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to
	affirm it.

KATHARINE	O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de
	tromperies.

KING HENRY V	What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men
	are full of deceits?

ALICE	Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of
	deceits: dat is de princess.

KING HENRY V	The princess is the better Englishwoman. I' faith,
	Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding: I am
	glad thou canst speak no better English; for, if
	thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king
	that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my
	crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but
	directly to say 'I love you:' then if you urge me
	farther than to say 'do you in faith?' I wear out
	my suit. Give me your answer; i' faith, do: and so
	clap hands and a bargain: how say you, lady?

KATHARINE	Sauf votre honneur, me understand vell.

KING HENRY V	Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for
	your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one, I
	have neither words nor measure, and for the other, I
	have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable
	measure in strength. If I could win a lady at
	leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my
	armour on my back, under the correction of bragging
	be it spoken. I should quickly leap into a wife.
	Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse
	for her favours, I could lay on like a butcher and
	sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God,
	Kate, I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my
	eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation;
	only downright oaths, which I never use till urged,
	nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a
	fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth
	sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for love
	of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy
	cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: If thou canst
	love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee
	that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the
	Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou
	livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and
	uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee
	right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other
	places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that
	can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, they do
	always reason themselves out again. What! a
	speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A
	good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a
	black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow
	bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax
	hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the
	moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it
	shines bright and never changes, but keeps his
	course truly. If thou would have such a one, take
	me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier,
	take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love?
	speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.

KATHARINE	Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of France?

KING HENRY V	No; it is not possible you should love the enemy of
	France, Kate: but, in loving me, you should love
	the friend of France; for I love France so well that
	I will not part with a village of it; I will have it
	all mine: and, Kate, when France is mine and I am
	yours, then yours is France and you are mine.

KATHARINE	I cannot tell vat is dat.

KING HENRY V	No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am
	sure will hang upon my tongue like a new-married
	wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be shook
	off. Je quand sur le possession de France, et quand
	vous avez le possession de moi,--let me see, what
	then? Saint Denis be my speed!--donc votre est
	France et vous etes mienne. It is as easy for me,
	Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much
	more French: I shall never move thee in French,
	unless it be to laugh at me.

KATHARINE	Sauf votre honneur, le Francois que vous parlez, il
	est meilleur que l'Anglois lequel je parle.

KING HENRY V	No, faith, is't not, Kate: but thy speaking of my
	tongue, and I thine, most truly-falsely, must needs
	be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou
	understand thus much English, canst thou love me?

KATHARINE	I cannot tell.

KING HENRY V	Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask
	them. Come, I know thou lovest me: and at night,
	when you come into your closet, you'll question this
	gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to
	her dispraise those parts in me that you love with
	your heart: but, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the
	rather, gentle princess, because I love thee
	cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a
	saving faith within me tells me thou shalt, I get
	thee with scambling, and thou must therefore needs
	prove a good soldier-breeder: shall not thou and I,
	between Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a
	boy, half French, half English, that shall go to
	Constantinople and take the Turk by the beard?
	shall we not? what sayest thou, my fair
	flower-de-luce?

KATHARINE	I do not know dat

KING HENRY V	No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to promise: do
	but now promise, Kate, you will endeavour for your
	French part of such a boy; and for my English moiety
	take the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer
	you, la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon tres cher
	et devin deesse?

KATHARINE	Your majestee ave fausse French enough to deceive de
	most sage demoiselle dat is en France.

KING HENRY V	Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in
	true English, I love thee, Kate: by which honour I
	dare not swear thou lovest me; yet my blood begins to
	flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor
	and untempering effect of my visage. Now, beshrew
	my father's ambition! he was thinking of civil wars
	when he got me: therefore was I created with a
	stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when
	I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith,
	Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear:
	my comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of
	beauty, can do no more, spoil upon my face: thou
	hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou
	shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better:
	and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you
	have me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the
	thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress;
	take me by the hand, and say 'Harry of England I am
	thine:' which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine
	ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud 'England is
	thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Harry
	Plantagenet is thine;' who though I speak it before
	his face, if he be not fellow with the best king,
	thou shalt find the best king of good fellows.
	Come, your answer in broken music; for thy voice is
	music and thy English broken; therefore, queen of
	all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken
	English; wilt thou have me?

KATHARINE	Dat is as it sall please de roi mon pere.

KING HENRY V	Nay, it will please him well, Kate it shall please
	him, Kate.

KATHARINE	Den it sall also content me.

KING HENRY V	Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you my queen.

KATHARINE	Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez: ma foi, je
	ne veux point que vous abaissiez votre grandeur en
	baisant la main d'une de votre seigeurie indigne
	serviteur; excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon
	tres-puissant seigneur.

KING HENRY V	Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.

KATHARINE	Les dames et demoiselles pour etre baisees devant
	leur noces, il n'est pas la coutume de France.

KING HENRY V	Madam my interpreter, what says she?

ALICE	Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of
	France,--I cannot tell vat is baiser en Anglish.

KING HENRY V	To kiss.

ALICE	Your majesty entendre bettre que moi.

KING HENRY V	It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss
	before they are married, would she say?

ALICE	Oui, vraiment.

KING HENRY V	O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear
	Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak
	list of a country's fashion: we are the makers of
	manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our
	places stops the mouth of all find-faults; as I will
	do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your
	country in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently
	and yielding.

	[Kissing her]

	You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is
	more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the
	tongues of the French council; and they should
	sooner persuade Harry of England than a general
	petition of monarchs. Here comes your father.

	[Re-enter the FRENCH KING and his QUEEN, BURGUNDY,
	and other Lords]

BURGUNDY	God save your majesty! my royal cousin, teach you
	our princess English?

KING HENRY V	I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how
	perfectly I love her; and that is good English.

BURGUNDY	Is she not apt?

KING HENRY V	Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not
	smooth; so that, having neither the voice nor the
	heart of flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up
	the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in
	his true likeness.

BURGUNDY	Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you
	for that. If you would conjure in her, you must
	make a circle; if conjure up love in her in his true
	likeness, he must appear naked and blind. Can you
	blame her then, being a maid yet rosed over with the
	virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the
	appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing
	self? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid
	to consign to.

KING HENRY V	Yet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and enforces.

BURGUNDY	They are then excused, my lord, when they see not
	what they do.

KING HENRY V	Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent winking.

BURGUNDY	I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will
	teach her to know my meaning: for maids, well
	summered and warm kept, are like flies at
	Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their
	eyes; and then they will endure handling, which
	before would not abide looking on.

KING HENRY V	This moral ties me over to time and a hot summer;
	and so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, in the
	latter end and she must be blind too.

BURGUNDY	As love is, my lord, before it loves.

KING HENRY V	It is so: and you may, some of you, thank love for
	my blindness, who cannot see many a fair French city
	for one fair French maid that stands in my way.

FRENCH KING	Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively, the cities
	turned into a maid; for they are all girdled with
	maiden walls that war hath never entered.

KING HENRY V	Shall Kate be my wife?

FRENCH KING	So please you.

KING HENRY V	I am content; so the maiden cities you talk of may
	wait on her: so the maid that stood in the way for
	my wish shall show me the way to my will.

FRENCH KING	We have consented to all terms of reason.

KING HENRY V	Is't so, my lords of England?

WESTMORELAND	The king hath granted every article:
	His daughter first, and then in sequel all,
	According to their firm proposed natures.

EXETER	Only he hath not yet subscribed this:
	Where your majesty demands, that the King of France,
	having any occasion to write for matter of grant,
	shall name your highness in this form and with this
	addition in French, Notre trescher fils Henri, Roi
	d'Angleterre, Heritier de France; and thus in
	Latin, Praeclarissimus filius noster Henricus, Rex
	Angliae, et Haeres Franciae.

FRENCH KING	Nor this I have not, brother, so denied,
	But your request shall make me let it pass.

KING HENRY V	I pray you then, in love and dear alliance,
	Let that one article rank with the rest;
	And thereupon give me your daughter.

FRENCH KING	Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up
	Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms
	Of France and England, whose very shores look pale
	With envy of each other's happiness,
	May cease their hatred, and this dear conjunction
	Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord
	In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance
	His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France.

ALL	Amen!

KING HENRY V	Now, welcome, Kate: and bear me witness all,
	That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen.

	[Flourish]

QUEEN ISABEL	God, the best maker of all marriages,
	Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one!
	As man and wife, being two, are one in love,
	So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,
	That never may ill office, or fell jealousy,
	Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage,
	Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,
	To make divorce of their incorporate league;
	That English may as French, French Englishmen,
	Receive each other. God speak this Amen!

ALL	Amen!

KING HENRY V	Prepare we for our marriage--on which day,
	My Lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath,
	And all the peers', for surety of our leagues.
	Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me;
	And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be!

	[Sennet. Exeunt]




	KING HENRY V

	EPILOGUE


	[Enter Chorus]

Chorus	Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen,
	Our bending author hath pursued the story,
	In little room confining mighty men,
	Mangling by starts the full course of their glory.
	Small time, but in that small most greatly lived
	This star of England: Fortune made his sword;
	By which the world's best garden be achieved,
	And of it left his son imperial lord.
	Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd King
	Of France and England, did this king succeed;
	Whose state so many had the managing,
	That they lost France and made his England bleed:
	Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake,
	In your fair minds let this acceptance take.

	[Exit]




	SONNETS



TO THE ONLY BEGETTER OF
THESE INSUING SONNETS
MR. W. H. ALL HAPPINESS
AND THAT ETERNITY
PROMISED BY
OUR EVER-LIVING POET WISHETH
THE WELL-WISHING
ADVENTURER IN
SETTING FORTH
T. T.


I.

FROM fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
  Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
  To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

II.

When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
  This were to be new made when thou art old,
  And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

III.

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shall see
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
  But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
  Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

IV.

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
  Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
  Which, used, lives th' executor to be.

V.

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel:
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there;
Sap cheque'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where:
Then, were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was:
  But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet,
  Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

VI.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
  Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
  To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

VII.

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage;
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
  So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
  Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.

VIII.

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly,
Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,
Resembling sire and child and happy mother
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
  Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one,
  Sings this to thee: 'thou single wilt prove none.'

IX.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consumest thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused, the user so destroys it.
  No love toward others in that bosom sits
  That on himself such murderous shame commits.

X.

For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lovest is most evident;
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire.
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
  Make thee another self, for love of me,
  That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

XI.

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase:
Without this, folly, age and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh featureless and rude, barrenly perish:
Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
  She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby
  Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

XII.

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
  And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
  Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

XIII.

O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are
No longer yours than you yourself here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination: then you were
Yourself again after yourself's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
  O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know
  You had a father: let your son say so.

XIV.

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
  Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
  Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

XV.

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and cheque'd even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
  And all in war with Time for love of you,
  As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

XVI.

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
  To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
  And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

XVII.

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies:
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
  But were some child of yours alive that time,
  You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.

XVIII.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
  So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
  So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

XIX.

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
  Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
  My love shall in my verse ever live young.

XX.

A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling,
Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
  But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
  Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.

XXI.

So is it not with me as with that Muse
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O' let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:
  Let them say more than like of hearsay well;
  I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

XXII.

My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I, not for myself, but for thee will;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
  Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
  Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again.

XXIII.

As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart.
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
  O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
  To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

XXIV.

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is the painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies;
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
  Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art;
  They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

XXV.

Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd:
  Then happy I, that love and am beloved
  Where I may not remove nor be removed.

XXVI.

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit:
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it;
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspect
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
  Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
  Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

XXVII.

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
  Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
  For thee and for myself no quiet find.

XXVIII.

How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd?
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me;
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please them thou art bright
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer
  And night doth nightly make grief's strength
  	seem stronger.

XXIX.

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
  For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
  That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

XXX.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
  But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
  All losses are restored and sorrows end.

XXXI.

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead,
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things removed that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;
That due of many now is thine alone:
  Their images I loved I view in thee,
  And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.

XXXII.

If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
  But since he died and poets better prove,
  Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'

XXXIII.

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all triumphant splendor on my brow;
But out, alack! he was but one hour mine;
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
  Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
  Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

XXXIV.

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak
That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
  Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
  And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.

XXXV.

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense--
Thy adverse party is thy advocate--
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:
Such civil war is in my love and hate
  That I an accessary needs must be
  To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

XXXVI.

Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain
Without thy help by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
  But do not so; I love thee in such sort
  As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

XXXVII.

As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am sufficed
And by a part of all thy glory live.
  Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee:
  This wish I have; then ten times happy me!

XXXVIII.

How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
  If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
  The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

XXXIX.

O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?
And what is 't but mine own when I praise thee?
Even for this let us divided live,
And our dear love lose name of single one,
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee which thou deservest alone.
O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,
  And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
  By praising him here who doth hence remain!

XL.

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.
  Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
  Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

XLI.

Those petty wrongs that liberty commits,
When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art and therefore to be won,
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed;
And when a woman woos, what woman's son
Will sourly leave her till she have prevailed?
Ay me! but yet thou mightest my seat forbear,
And chide try beauty and thy straying youth,
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth,
  Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
  Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.

XLII.

That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;
That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:
Thou dost love her, because thou knowst I love her;
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross:
  But here's the joy; my friend and I are one;
  Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone.

XLIII.

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
  All days are nights to see till I see thee,
  And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

XLIV.

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah! thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that so much of earth and water wrought
I must attend time's leisure with my moan,
  Receiving nought by elements so slow
  But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.

XLV.

The other two, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
These present-absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee,
My life, being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy;
Until life's composition be recured
By those swift messengers return'd from thee,
Who even but now come back again, assured
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me:
  This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
  I send them back again and straight grow sad.

XLVI.

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar,
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie--
A closet never pierced with crystal eyes--
But the defendant doth that plea deny
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title is impanneled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart,
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's part:
  As thus; mine eye's due is thy outward part,
  And my heart's right thy inward love of heart.

XLVII.

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other:
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look,
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast
And to the painted banquet bids my heart;
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part:
So, either by thy picture or my love,
Thyself away art resent still with me;
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,
And I am still with them and they with thee;
  Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
  Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight.

XLVIII.

How careful was I, when I took my way,
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
That to my use it might unused stay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
Most worthy of comfort, now my greatest grief,
Thou, best of dearest and mine only care,
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest,
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
Within the gentle closure of my breast,
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part;
  And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear,
  For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.

XLIX.

Against that time, if ever that time come,
When I shall see thee frown on my defects,
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
Call'd to that audit by advised respects;
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass
And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye,
When love, converted from the thing it was,
Shall reasons find of settled gravity,--
Against that time do I ensconce me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
And this my hand against myself uprear,
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:
  To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,
  Since why to love I can allege no cause.

L.

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed, being made from thee:
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide;
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
  For that same groan doth put this in my mind;
  My grief lies onward and my joy behind.

LI.

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed:
From where thou art why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know:
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;
Therefore desire of perfect'st love being made,
Shall neigh--no dull flesh--in his fiery race;
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade;
  Since from thee going he went wilful-slow,
  Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.

LII.

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
Since, seldom coming, in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special blest,
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.
  Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
  Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope.

LIII.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speak of the spring and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;
And you in every blessed shape we know.
  In all external grace you have some part,
  But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

LIV.

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
  And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
  When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.

LV.

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
  So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
  You live in this, and dwell in lover's eyes.

LVI.

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view;
  Else call it winter, which being full of care
  Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.

LVII.

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
  So true a fool is love that in your will,
  Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

LVIII.

That god forbid that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!
O, let me suffer, being at your beck,
The imprison'd absence of your liberty;
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each cheque,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
  I am to wait, though waiting so be hell;
  Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

LIX.

If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss
The second burden of a former child!
O, that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done!
That I might see what the old world could say
To this composed wonder of your frame;
Whether we are mended, or whether better they,
Or whether revolution be the same.
  O, sure I am, the wits of former days
  To subjects worse have given admiring praise.

LX.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked elipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
  And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
  Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

LXI.

Is it thy will thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake;
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:
  For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
  From me far off, with others all too near.

LXII.

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
  'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
  Painting my age with beauty of thy days.

LXIII.

Against my love shall be, as I am now,
With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er-worn;
When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night,
And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life:
  His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
  And they shall live, and he in them still green.

LXIV.

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate,
That Time will come and take my love away.
  This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
  But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

LXV.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
  O, none, unless this miracle have might,
  That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

LXVI.

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And guilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
  Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
  Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

LXVII.

Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his presence grace impiety,
That sin by him advantage should achieve
And lace itself with his society?
Why should false painting imitate his cheek
And steal dead seeing of his living hue?
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true?
Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is,
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins?
For she hath no exchequer now but his,
And, proud of many, lives upon his gains.
  O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had
  In days long since, before these last so bad.

LXVIII.

Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before the bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head;
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are seen,
Without all ornament, itself and true,
Making no summer of another's green,
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;
  And him as for a map doth Nature store,
  To show false Art what beauty was of yore.

LXIX.

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd;
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own
In other accents do this praise confound
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
They look into the beauty of thy mind,
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds;
Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind,
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
  But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
  The solve is this, that thou dost common grow.

LXX.

That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time;
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,
Either not assail'd or victor being charged;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
To tie up envy evermore enlarged:
  If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
  Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.

LXXI.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.
But let your love even with my life decay,
  Lest the wise world should look into your moan
  And mock you with me after I am gone.

LXXII.

O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
  For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
  And so should you, to love things nothing worth.

LXXIII.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
  This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
  To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

LXXIV.

But be contented: when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away,
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee:
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me:
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead,
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
Too base of thee to be remembered.
  The worth of that is that which it contains,
  And that is this, and this with thee remains.

LXXV.

So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found;
Now proud as an enjoyer and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure,
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure;
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had or must from you be took.
  Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
  Or gluttoning on all, or all away.

LXXVI.

Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent:
  For as the sun is daily new and old,
  So is my love still telling what is told.

LXXVII.

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
And of this book this learning mayst thou taste.
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Look, what thy memory can not contain
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain,
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
  These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
  Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book.

LXXVIII.

So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
And found such fair assistance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly
Have added feathers to the learned's wing
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine and born of thee:
In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;
  But thou art all my art and dost advance
  As high as learning my rude ignorance.

LXXIX.

Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd
And my sick Muse doth give another place.
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen,
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
He robs thee of and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue and he stole that word
From thy behavior; beauty doth he give
And found it in thy cheek; he can afford
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live.
  Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
  Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay.

LXXX.

O, how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame!
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark inferior far to his
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
Or being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building and of goodly pride:
  Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
  The worst was this; my love was my decay.

LXXXI.

Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
  You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen--
  Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.

LXXXII.

I grant thou wert not married to my Muse
And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook
The dedicated words which writers use
Of their fair subject, blessing every book
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue,
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise,
And therefore art enforced to seek anew
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days
And do so, love; yet when they have devised
What strained touches rhetoric can lend,
Thou truly fair wert truly sympathized
In true plain words by thy true-telling friend;
  And their gross painting might be better used
  Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abused.

LXXXIII.

I never saw that you did painting need
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
The barren tender of a poet's debt;
And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself being extant well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute,
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb;
For I impair not beauty being mute,
When others would give life and bring a tomb.
  There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
  Than both your poets can in praise devise.

LXXXIV.

Who is it that says most? which can say more
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal grew.
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell
That to his subject lends not some small glory;
But he that writes of you, if he can tell
That you are you, so dignifies his story,
Let him but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature made so clear,
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,
Making his style admired every where.
  You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
  Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.

LXXXV.

My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compiled,
Reserve their character with golden quill
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
I think good thoughts whilst other write good words,
And like unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen'
To every hymn that able spirit affords
In polish'd form of well-refined pen.
Hearing you praised, I say ''Tis so, 'tis true,'
And to the most of praise add something more;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you,
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before.
  Then others for the breath of words respect,
  Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

LXXXVI.

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all too precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence
As victors of my silence cannot boast;
I was not sick of any fear from thence:
  But when your countenance fill'd up his line,
  Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.

LXXXVII.

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
  Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
  In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

LXXXVIII.

When thou shalt be disposed to set me light,
And place my merit in the eye of scorn,
Upon thy side against myself I'll fight,
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.
With mine own weakness being best acquainted,
Upon thy part I can set down a story
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted,
That thou in losing me shalt win much glory:
And I by this will be a gainer too;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,
The injuries that to myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
  Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
  That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.

LXXXIX.

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence;
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change,
As I'll myself disgrace: knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle and look strange,
Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,
Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
  For thee against myself I'll vow debate,
  For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.

XC.

Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss:
Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scoped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite
But in the onset come; so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might,
  And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
  Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.

XCI.

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure;
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,
Of more delight than hawks or horses be;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:
  Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
  All this away and me most wretched make.

XCII.

But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine,
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend;
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O, what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!
  But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?
  Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

XCIII.

So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.
In many's looks the false heart's history
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,
But heaven in thy creation did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be,
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
  How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
  if thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!

XCIV.

They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
  For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
  Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

XCV.

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise;
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
O, what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out thee,
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,
And all things turn to fair that eyes can see!
  Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
  The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

XCVI.

Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are loved of more and less;
Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd,
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stem wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!
  But do not so; I love thee in such sort
  As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

XCVII.

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness every where!
And yet this time removed was summer's time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
  Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer
  That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

XCVIII.

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew;
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
  Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
  As with your shadow I with these did play:

XCIX.

The forward violet thus did I chide:
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
  More flowers I noted, yet I none could see
  But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.

C.

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
  Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
  So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

CI.

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say
'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But best is best, if never intermix'd?'
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so; for't lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,
And to be praised of ages yet to be.
  Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
  To make him seem long hence as he shows now.

CII.

My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear:
That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming
The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new and then but in the spring
When I was wont to greet it with my lays,
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days:
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
  Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue,
  Because I would not dull you with my song.

CIII.

Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
O, blame me not, if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,
To mar the subject that before was well?
For to no other pass my verses tend
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
  And more, much more, than in my verse can sit
  Your own glass shows you when you look in it.

CIV.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived:
  For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred;
  Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

CV.

Let not my love be call'd idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
'Fair, kind and true' is all my argument,
'Fair, kind, and true' varying to other words;
And in this change is my invention spent,
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
  'Fair, kind, and true,' have often lived alone,
  Which three till now never kept seat in one.

CVI.

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express'd
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
  For we, which now behold these present days,
  Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

CVII.

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:
  And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
  When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.

CVIII.

What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must, each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page,
  Finding the first conceit of love there bred
  Where time and outward form would show it dead.

CIX.

O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie:
That is my home of love: if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
  For nothing this wide universe I call,
  Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.

CX.

Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offences of affections new;
Most true it is that I have look'd on truth
Askance and strangely: but, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end:
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
  Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
  Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.

CXI.

O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means which public manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
Pity me then and wish I were renew'd;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance, to correct correction.
  Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye
  Even that your pity is enough to cure me.

CXII.

Your love and pity doth the impression fill
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?
You are my all the world, and I must strive
To know my shames and praises from your tongue:
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:
  You are so strongly in my purpose bred
  That all the world besides methinks are dead.

CXIII.

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;
And that which governs me to go about
Doth part his function and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird of flower, or shape, which it doth latch:
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch:
For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight,
The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night,
The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature:
  Incapable of more, replete with you,
  My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue.

CXIV.

Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you,
Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery?
Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true,
And that your love taught it this alchemy,
To make of monsters and things indigest
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,
Creating every bad a perfect best,
As fast as objects to his beams assemble?
O,'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing,
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up:
Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing,
And to his palate doth prepare the cup:
  If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin
  That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.

CXV.

Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents
Creep in 'twixt vows and change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things;
Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny,
Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,'
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
  Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
  To give full growth to that which still doth grow?

CXVI.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
  If this be error and upon me proved,
  I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

CXVII.

Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;
That I have frequent been with unknown minds
And given to time your own dear-purchased right
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your sight.
Book both my wilfulness and errors down
And on just proof surmise accumulate;
Bring me within the level of your frown,
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate;
  Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
  The constancy and virtue of your love.

CXVIII.

Like as, to make our appetites more keen,
With eager compounds we our palate urge,
As, to prevent our maladies unseen,
We sicken to shun sickness when we purge,
Even so, being tuff of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness
To be diseased ere that there was true needing.
Thus policy in love, to anticipate
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured
And brought to medicine a healthful state
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured:
  But thence I learn, and find the lesson true,
  Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.

CXIX.

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted
In the distraction of this madding fever!
O benefit of ill! now I find true
That better is by evil still made better;
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
  So I return rebuked to my content
  And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.

CXX.

That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow which I then did feel
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time,
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O, that our night of woe might have remember'd
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd
The humble slave which wounded bosoms fits!
  But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
  Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.

CXXI.

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd,
When not to be receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost which is so deem'd
Not by our feeling but by others' seeing:
For why should others false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own:
I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel;
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown;
  Unless this general evil they maintain,
  All men are bad, and in their badness reign.

CXXII.

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full character'd with lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain
Beyond all date, even to eternity;
Or at the least, so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Till each to razed oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.
That poor retention could not so much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
To trust those tables that receive thee more:
  To keep an adjunct to remember thee
  Were to import forgetfulness in me.

CXXIII.

No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old,
And rather make them born to our desire
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wondering at the present nor the past,
For thy records and what we see doth lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste.
  This I do vow and this shall ever be;
  I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee.

CXXIV.

If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd'
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls:
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on leases of short-number'd hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with showers.
  To this I witness call the fools of time,
  Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.

CXXV.

Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which prove more short than waste or ruining?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent,
For compound sweet forgoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent?
No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
  Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a true soul
  When most impeach'd stands least in thy control.

CXXVI.

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:
  Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be,
  And her quietus is to render thee.

CXXVII.

In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame:
For since each hand hath put on nature's power,
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' brows are raven black,
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
Slandering creation with a false esteem:
  Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
  That every tongue says beauty should look so.

CXXVIII.

How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips.
  Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
  Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

CXXIX.

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight,
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait
On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
  All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
  To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

CXXX.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
  And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
  As any she belied with false compare.

CXXXI.

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan:
To say they err I dare not be so bold,
Although I swear it to myself alone.
And, to be sure that is not false I swear,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,
One on another's neck, do witness bear
Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place.
  In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
  And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

CXXXII.

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,
Have put on black and loving mourners be,
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,
Nor that full star that ushers in the even
Doth half that glory to the sober west,
As those two mourning eyes become thy face:
O, let it then as well beseem thy heart
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,
And suit thy pity like in every part.
  Then will I swear beauty herself is black
  And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

CXXXIII.

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
Is't not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engross'd:
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken;
A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd.
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;
Thou canst not then use rigor in my gaol:
  And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
  Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

CXXXIV.

So, now I have confess'd that he is thine,
And I myself am mortgaged to thy will,
Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous and he is kind;
He learn'd but surety-like to write for me
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use,
And sue a friend came debtor for my sake;
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.
  Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me:
  He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.

CXXXV.

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,'
And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in overplus;
More than enough am I that vex thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
Shall will in others seem right gracious,
And in my will no fair acceptance shine?
The sea all water, yet receives rain still
And in abundance addeth to his store;
So thou, being rich in 'Will,' add to thy 'Will'
One will of mine, to make thy large 'Will' more.
  Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill;
  Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'

CXXXVI.

If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will,'
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.
'Will' will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.
In things of great receipt with ease we prove
Among a number one is reckon'd none:
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' account I one must be;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee:
  Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
  And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'

CXXXVII.

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is take the worst to be.
If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?
Why should my heart think that a several plot
Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
  In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,
  And to this false plague are they now transferr'd.

CXXXVIII.

When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
  Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
  And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

CXXXIX.

O, call not me to justify the wrong
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;
Use power with power and slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:
What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might
Is more than my o'er-press'd defense can bide?
Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies,
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:
  Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,
  Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.

CXL.

Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their physicians know;
For if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee:
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be,
  That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
  Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

CXLI.

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote;
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:
  Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
  That she that makes me sin awards me pain.

CXLII.

Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
  If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
  By self-example mayst thou be denied!

CXLIII.

Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather'd creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe and makes an swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay,
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;
So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind:
  So will I pray that thou mayst have thy 'Will,'
  If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.

CXLIV.

Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend
Suspect I may, but not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell:
  Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
  Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

CXLV.

Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate'
To me that languish'd for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
'I hate' she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;
  'I hate' from hate away she threw,
  And saved my life, saying 'not you.'

CXLVI.

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
[         ] these rebel powers that thee array;
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?
Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
  So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
  And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

CXLVII.

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
  For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
  Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

CXLVIII.

O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's 'No.'
How can it? O, how can Love's eye be true,
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears?
No marvel then, though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.
  O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind,
  Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.

CXLIX.

Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon?
Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
  But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
  Those that can see thou lovest, and I am blind.

CL.

O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantize of skill
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state:
  If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
  More worthy I to be beloved of thee.

CLI.

Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no father reason;
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
  No want of conscience hold it that I call
  Her 'love' for whose dear love I rise and fall.

CLII.

In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing,
In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn,
In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjured most;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee
And all my honest faith in thee is lost,
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy,
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness,
Or made them swear against the thing they see;
  For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured I,
  To swear against the truth so foul a lie!

CLIII.

Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,
  But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
  Where Cupid got new fire--my mistress' eyes.

CLIV.

The little Love-god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,
  Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
  Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.



  
  	A LOVER'S COMPLAINT



FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.

Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.

Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.

Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.

A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or monarch's hands that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.

Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet moe letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy.

These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear:
Cried 'O false blood, thou register of lies,
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here!'
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Big discontent so breaking their contents.

A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh--
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they flew--
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew,
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.

So slides he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide:
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promised in the charity of age.

'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, If I had self-applied
Love to myself and to no love beside.

'But, woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful suit--it was to gain my grace--
Of one by nature's outwards so commended,
That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face:
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodged and newly deified.

'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind,
For on his visage was in little drawn
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.

'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear
Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear:
Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
If best were as it was, or best without.

'His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,
When winds breathe sweet, untidy though they be.
His rudeness so with his authorized youth
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.

'Well could he ride, and often men would say
'That horse his mettle from his rider takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop
he makes!'
And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.

'But quickly on this side the verdict went:
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case:
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
Came for additions; yet their purposed trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.

'So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep:
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will:

'That he did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty, following where he haunted:
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted;
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.

'Many there were that did his picture get,
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
Like fools that in th' imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd;
And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them:

'So many have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own fee-simple, not in part,
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.

'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded;
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With safest distance I mine honour shielded:
Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.

'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent
The destined ill she must herself assay?
Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,
To put the by-past perils in her way?
Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By blunting us to make our wits more keen.

'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof;
To be forbod the sweets that seem so good,
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O appetite, from judgment stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
Though Reason weep, and cry, 'It is thy last.'

'For further I could say 'This man's untrue,'
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;
Thought characters and words merely but art,
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.

'And long upon these terms I held my city,
Till thus he gan besiege me: 'Gentle maid,
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid:
That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo.

''All my offences that abroad you see
Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;
Love made them not: with acture they may be,
Where neither party is nor true nor kind:
They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
And so much less of shame in me remains,
By how much of me their reproach contains.

''Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd,
Or my affection put to the smallest teen,
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd:
Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm'd;
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.

''Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me,
Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me
Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;
Effects of terror and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.

''And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd,
I have received from many a several fair,
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,
With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd,
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.

''The diamond,--why, 'twas beautiful and hard,
Whereto his invised properties did tend;
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold: each several stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan.

''Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender;
For these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.

''O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;
Take all these similes to your own command,
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your minister, for you obeys,
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums.

''Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note;
Which late her noble suit in court did shun,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove,
To spend her living in eternal love.

''But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave
The thing we have not, mastering what not strives,
Playing the place which did no form receive,
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves?
She that her fame so to herself contrives,
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight,
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.

''O, pardon me, in that my boast is true:
The accident which brought me to her eye
Upon the moment did her force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly:
Religious love put out Religion's eye:
Not to be tempted, would she be immured,
And now, to tempt, all liberty procured.

''How mighty then you are, O, hear me tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong
Have emptied all their fountains in my well,
And mine I pour your ocean all among:
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest,
As compound love to physic your cold breast.

''My parts had power to charm a sacred nun,
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,
Believed her eyes when they to assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place:
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.

''When thou impressest, what are precepts worth
Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense,
'gainst shame,
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.

''Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine;
And supplicant their sighs to you extend,
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine,
Lending soft audience to my sweet design,
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath
That shall prefer and undertake my troth.'

'This said, his watery eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a fount
With brinish current downward flow'd apace:
O, how the channel to the stream gave grace!
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
That flame through water which their hue encloses.

'O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear?
What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.

'For, lo, his passion, but an art of craft,
Even there resolved my reason into tears;
There my white stole of chastity I daff'd,
Shook off my sober guards and civil fears;
Appear to him, as he to me appears,
All melting; though our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.

'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
In either's aptness, as it best deceives,
To blush at speeches rank to weep at woes,
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows.

'That not a heart which in his level came
Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;
And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim:
Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury,
He preach'd pure maid, and praised cold chastity.

'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd;
That th' unexperient gave the tempter place,
Which like a cherubin above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?
Ay me! I fell; and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.

'O, that infected moisture of his eye,
O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd,
O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,
O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd,
O, all that borrow'd motion seeming owed,
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid!'




	THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM



I.

WHEN my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although I know my years be past the best,
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.
But wherefore says my love that she is young?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue,
And age, in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me,
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be.


II.

Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
That like two spirits do suggest me still;
My better angel is a man right fair,
My worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her fair pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell:
For being both to me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell;
The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.


III.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;
Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,
Exhale this vapour vow; in thee it is:
If broken, then it is no fault of mine.
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath, to win a paradise?


IV.

Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook
With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,
Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.
She told him stories to delight his ear;
She showed him favors to allure his eye;
To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there,--
Touches so soft still conquer chastity.
But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or he refused to take her figured proffer,
The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,
But smile and jest at every gentle offer:
Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward:
He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!


V.

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd:
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove;
Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,
Where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:
Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful
thunder,
Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,
To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.


VI.

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarriance for Adonis made
Under an osier growing by a brook,
A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen:
Hot was the day; she hotter that did look
For his approach, that often there had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim:
The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Yet not so wistly as this queen on him.
He, spying her, bounced in, whereas he stood:
'O Jove,' quoth she, 'why was not I a flood!'


VII.

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:
A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her,
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me hath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.

She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth;
She burn'd out love, as soon as straw outburneth;
She framed the love, and yet she foil'd the framing;
She bade love last, and yet she fell a-turning.
Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?
Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.


VIII.

If music and sweet poetry agree,
As they must needs, the sister and the brother,
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,
Because thou lovest the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lovest to hear the sweet melodious sound
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes;
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd
When as himself to singing he betakes.
One god is god of both, as poets feign;
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.


IX.

Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love,
[		   ]
Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild;
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;
She, silly queen, with more than love's good will,
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds:
'Once,' quoth she, 'did I see a fair sweet youth
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!
See, in my thigh,' quoth she, 'here was the sore.'
She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.


X.

Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded,
Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring!
Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely shaded!
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;
For why thou left'st me nothing in thy will:
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why I craved nothing of thee still:
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.


XI.

Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,
And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god embraced me,'
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms;
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god unlaced me,'
As if the boy should use like loving charms;
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'he seized on my lips,'
And with her lips on his did act the seizure:
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
Ah, that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I run away!


XII.

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care;
Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather;
Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short;
Youth is nimble, age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee;
O, my love, my love is young!
Age, I do defy thee: O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,
For methinks thou stay'st too long,


XIII.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good;
A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies when first it gins to bud;
A brittle glass that's broken presently:
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
So beauty blemish'd once's for ever lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.


XIV.

Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share:
She bade good night that kept my rest away;
And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
'Farewell,' quoth she, 'and come again tomorrow:'
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
'T may be, again to make me wander thither:
'Wander,' a word for shadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.


XV.

Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;

For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;
Sorrow changed to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow;
For why, she sigh'd and bade me come tomorrow.

Were I with her, the night would post too soon;
But now are minutes added to the hours;
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon;
Yet not for me, shine sun to succor flowers!
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow:
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself tomorrow.



	SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC


XVI.

IT was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might be,
Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see,
Her fancy fell a-turning.

Long was the combat doubtful that love with love did fight,
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight:
To put in practise either, alas, it was a spite
Unto the silly damsel!

But one must be refused; more mickle was the pain
That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain,
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain:
Alas, she could not help it!

Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day,
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away:
Then, lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay;
For now my song is ended.


XVII.

On a day, alack the day!
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind
All unseen, gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath,
'Air,' quoth he, 'thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alas! my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack! for youth unmeet:
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.'


XVIII.

My flocks feed not,
My ewes breed not,
My rams speed not,
All is amiss:
Love's denying,
Faith's defying,
Heart's renying,
Causer of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady's love is lost, God wot:
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay is placed without remove.
One silly cross
Wrought all my loss;
O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame!
For now I see
Inconstancy
More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I,
All fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me,
Living in thrall:
Heart is bleeding,
All help needing,
O cruel speeding,
Fraughted with gall.
My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal;
My wether's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd
Plays not at all, but seems afraid;
My sighs so deep
Procure to weep,
In howling wise, to see my doleful plight.
How sighs resound
Through heartless ground,
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight!
Clear wells spring not,
Sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not
Forth their dye;
Herds stand weeping,
Flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs back peeping
Fearfully:
All our pleasure known to us poor swains,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for Love is dead
Farewell, sweet lass,
Thy like ne'er was
For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan:
Poor Corydon
Must live alone;
Other help for him I see that there is none.


XIX.

When as thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall'd the deer that thou shouldst strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy partial might:
Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young nor yet unwed.

And when thou comest thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practise smell,--
A cripple soon can find a halt;--
But plainly say thou lovest her well,

And set thy person forth to sell.
What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night:
And then too late she will repent
That thus dissembled her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away.

What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say,
'Had women been so strong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then.'

And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear:
The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.

Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Press never thou to choose anew:
When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee back.

The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought?

Think women still to strive with men,
To sin and never for to saint:
There is no heaven, by holy then,
When time with age doth them attaint.
Were kisses all the joys in bed,
One woman would another wed.

But, soft! enough, too much, I fear
Lest that my mistress hear my song,
She will not stick to round me i' the ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long:
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewray'd.


XX.

Live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountains yields.

There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, by whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

There will I make thee a bed of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my love.


LOVE'S ANSWER.

If that the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.


XXI.

As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring;
Every thing did banish moan,
Save the nightingale alone:
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity:
'Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry;
'Tereu, tereu!' by and by;
That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs, so lively shown,
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain!
None takes pity on thy pain:
Senseless trees they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beasts they will not cheer thee:
King Pandion he is dead;
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.
Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.
Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled,
Thou and I were both beguiled.
Every one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easy, like the wind;
Faithful friends are hard to find:
Every man will be thy friend
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend;
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call,
And with such-like flattering,
'Pity but he were a king;'
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to women he be bent,
They have at commandement:
But if Fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown
They that fawn'd on him before
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep;
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.




	THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE



	LET the bird of loudest lay,
	On the sole Arabian tree,
	Herald sad and trumpet be,
	To whose sound chaste wings obey.

	But thou shrieking harbinger,
	Foul precurrer of the fiend,
	Augur of the fever's end,
	To this troop come thou not near!

	From this session interdict
	Every fowl of tyrant wing,
	Save the eagle, feather'd king:
	Keep the obsequy so strict.

	Let the priest in surplice white,
	That defunctive music can,
	Be the death-divining swan,
	Lest the requiem lack his right.

	And thou treble-dated crow,
	That thy sable gender makest
	With the breath thou givest and takest,
	'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.

	Here the anthem doth commence:
	Love and constancy is dead;
	Phoenix and the turtle fled
	In a mutual flame from hence.

	So they loved, as love in twain
	Had the essence but in one;
	Two distincts, division none:
	Number there in love was slain.

	Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
	Distance, and no space was seen
	'Twixt the turtle and his queen:
	But in them it were a wonder.

	So between them love did shine,
	That the turtle saw his right
	Flaming in the phoenix' sight;
	Either was the other's mine.

	Property was thus appalled,
	That the self was not the same;
	Single nature's double name
	Neither two nor one was called.

	Reason, in itself confounded,
	Saw division grow together,
	To themselves yet either neither,
	Simple were so well compounded,

	That it cried, How true a twain
	Seemeth this concordant one!
	Love hath reason, reason none,
	If what parts can so remain.

	Whereupon it made this threne
	To the phoenix and the dove,
	Co-supremes and stars of love,
	As chorus to their tragic scene.

	THRENOS.

	Beauty, truth, and rarity,
	Grace in all simplicity,
	Here enclosed in cinders lie.

	Death is now the phoenix' nest
	And the turtle's loyal breast
	To eternity doth rest,

	Leaving no posterity:
	'Twas not their infirmity,
	It was married chastity.

	Truth may seem, but cannot be:
	Beauty brag, but 'tis not she;
	Truth and beauty buried be.

	To this urn let those repair
	That are either true or fair
	For these dead birds sigh a prayer.