I wonder how the king escap'd our hands .

While we pursu'd 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 ,
Charg'd our main battle's front , and breaking in 
Were by the swords of common soldiers slain .

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


And , brother , here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood ,

Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd .

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


Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons .
But , is your Grace dead , my Lord of Somerset ?

Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt !

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

And so do I . Victorious Prince of York ,
Before I see thee seated in that throne 
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps ,
I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close .
This is the palace of the fearful king ,
And this the regal seat : possess it , York ;
For this is thine , and not King Henry's heirs' .

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

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

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

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


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 .

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

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

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

Neither the king , nor he that loves him best ,
The proudest he that holds up Lancaster ,
Dares stir a wing if Warwick shake his bells .
I'll plant Plantagenet , root him up who dares .
Resolve thee , Richard ; claim the English crown .


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 .

If I be not , heavens be reveng'd on me !

The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel .

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

Be patient , gentle Earl of Westmoreland .

Patience is for poltroons , such as he :
He durst not sit there had your father liv'd .
My gracious lord , here in the parliament 
Let us assail the family of York .

Well hast thou spoken , cousin : be it so .

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

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

Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart ,
To make a shambles of the parliament-house !
Cousin of Exeter , frowns , words , and threats ,
Shall be the war that Henry means to use .

Thou factious Duke of York , descend my throne ,
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet ;
I am thy sovereign .

I am thine .

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

'Twas my inheritance , as the earldom was .

Thy father was a traitor to the crown .

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

Whom should he follow but his natural king ?

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

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

It must and shall be so : content thyself .

Be Duke of Lancaster : let him be king .

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

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

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

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

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

Poor Clifford ! how I scorn his worthless threats .

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

What title hast thou , traitor , to the crown ?
Thy father was , as thou art , Duke of York ;
Thy grandfather , Roger Mortimer , Earl of March ;
I am the son of Henry the Fifth ,
Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop ,
And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces .

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

The Lord Protector lost it , and not I :
When I was crown'd I was but nine months old .

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

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

Good brother , as thou lov'st and honour'st arms ,
Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus .

Sound drums and trumpets , and the king will fly .

Sons , peace !

Peace thou ! and give King Henry leave to speak .

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

Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne ,
Wherein my grandsire and my father sat ?
No : first shall war unpeople this my realm ;
Ay , and their 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 .

Prove it , Henry , and thou shalt be king .

Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown .

'Twas by rebellion against his king .

I know not what to say : my title's weak .


Tell me , may not a king adopt an heir ?

What then ?

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

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

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

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

Art thou against us , Duke of Exeter ?

His is the right , and therefore pardon me .

Why whisper you , my lords , and answer not ?

My conscience tells me he is lawful king .

All will revolt from me , and turn to him .

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

Depos'd he shall be in despite of all .

Thou art deceiv'd : 'tis not thy southern power ,
Of Essex , Norfolk , Suffolk , nor of Kent ,
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud ,
Can set the duke up in despite of me .

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

O Clifford , how thy words revive my heart !

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

Do right unto this princely Duke of York ,
Or I will fill the house with armed men ,
And o'er the chair of state , where now he sits ,
Write up his title with usurping blood .


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

Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs ,
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st .

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

What wrong is this unto the prince your son !

What good is this to England and himself !

Base , fearful , and despairing Henry !

How hast thou injur'd both thyself and us !

I cannot stay to hear these articles .

Nor I .

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

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

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

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


Turn this way , Henry , and regard them not .

They seek revenge and therefore will not yield .

Ah ! Exeter .

Why should you sigh , my lord ?

Not for myself , Lord Warwick , but my son ,
Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit .
But be it as it may ; 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 .

This oath I willingly take and will perform .


Long live King Henry ! Plantagenet , embrace him .

And long live thou and these thy forward sons !

Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd .

Accurs'd be he that seeks to make them foes !


Farewell , my gracious lord ; I'll to my castle .

And I'll keep London with my soldiers .

And I to Norfolk with my followers .

And I unto the sea from whence I came .


And I , with grief and sorrow , to the court .


Here comes the queen , whose looks bewray her anger :
I'll steal away .


Exeter , so will I .


Nay , go not from me ; I will follow thee .

Be patient , gentle queen , and I will stay .

Who can be patient in such extremes ?
Ah ! wretched man ; would I had died a maid ,
And never seen thee , never borne thee son ,
Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father .
Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus ?
Hadst thou but lov'd 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 made that savage duke thine heir ,
And disinherited thine only son .

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

Pardon me , Margaret ; pardon me , sweet son ;
The Earl of Warwick , and the duke , enforc'd me .

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

Stay , gentle Margaret , and hear me speak .

Thou hast spoke too much already : get thee gone .

Gentle son Edward , thou wilt stay with me ?

Ay , to be murder'd by his enemies .

When I return with victory from the field 
I'll see your Grace : till then , I'll follow her .

Come , son , away ; we may not linger thus .


Poor queen ! how love to me and to her son 
Hath made her break out into terms of rage .
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke ,
Whose haughty spirit , winged with desire ,
Will cost my crown , and like an empty eagle 
Tire on the flesh of me and of my son !
The loss of those three lords torments my heart :
I'll write unto them , and entreat them fair .
Come , cousin ; you shall be the messenger .

And I , I hope , shall reconcile them all .


Brother , though I be youngest , give me leave .

No , I can better play the orator .

But I have reasons strong and forcible .


Why , how now , sons and brother ! at a strife ?
What is your quarrel ? how began it first ?

No quarrel , but a slight contention .

About what ?

About that which concerns your Grace and us ;
The crown of England , father , which is yours .

Mine , boy ? not till King Henry be dead .

Your right depends not on his life or death .

Now you are heir , therefore enjoy it now :
By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe ,
It will outrun you , father , in the end .

I took an oath that he should quietly reign .

But for a kingdom any oath may be broken :
I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year .

No ; God forbid your Grace should be forsworn .

I shall be , if I claim by open war .

I'll prove the contrary , if you'll hear me speak .

Thou canst not , son ; it is impossible .

An oath is of no moment , being not took 
Before a true and lawful magistrate 
That hath authority over him that swears :
Henry had none , but did usurp the place ;
Then , seeing 'twas he that made you to depose ,
Your oath , my lord , is vain and frivolous .
Therefore , to arms ! And , father , do but think 
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown ,
Within whose circuit is Elysium ,
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy .
Why do we linger thus ? I cannot rest 
Until the white rose that I wear be dy'd 
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart .

Richard , enough , I will be king , or die .
Brother , thou shalt to London presently ,
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise .
Thou , Richard , shalt unto 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 ?

But , stay : what news ? why com'st thou in such post ?

The queen with all the northern earls and lords 
Intend here to besiege you in your castle .
She is hard by with twenty thousand men ,
And therefore fortify your hold , my lord .

Ay , with my sword . What ! think'st thou that we fear them ?
Edward and Richard , you shall stay with me ;
My brother Montague shall post to London :
Let noble Warwick , Cobham , and the rest ,
Whom we have left protectors of the king ,
With powerful policy strengthen themselves ,
And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths .

Brother , I go ; I'll win them , fear it not :
And thus most humbly I do take my leave .

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 .

She shall not need , we'll meet her in the field .

What ! with five thousand men ?

Ay , with five hundred , father , for a need :
A woman's general ; what should we fear ?


I hear their drums ; let's set our men in order ,
And issue forth and bid them battle straight .

Five men to twenty ! though the odds be great ,
I doubt not , uncle , of our victory .
Many a battle have I won in France ,
When as the enemy hath been ten to one :
Why should I not now have the like success ?


Ah , whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands ?
Ah ! tutor , look , where bloody Clifford comes !


Chaplain , away ! thy priesthood saves thy life .
As for the brat of this accursed duke ,
Whose father slew my father , he shall die .

And I , my lord , will bear him company .

Soldiers , away with him .

Ah ! Clifford , murder not this innocent child ,
Lest thou be hated both of God and man !


How now ! is he dead already ? Or is it fear 
That makes him close his eyes ? I'll open them .

So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 
That trembles under his devouring paws ;
And so he walks , insulting o'er his prey ,
And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder .
Ah ! gentle Clifford , kill me with thy sword ,
And not with such a cruel threatening look .
Sweet Clifford ! hear me speak before I die :
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath ;
Be thou reveng'd on men , and let me live .

In vain thou speak'st , poor boy ; my father's blood 
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter .

Then let my father's blood open it again :
He is a man , and , Clifford , cope with him .

Had I thy brethren here , their lives and thine 
Were not revenge sufficient for me ;
No , if I 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 


O ! let me pray before I take my death .
To thee I pray ; sweet Clifford , pity me !

Such pity as my rapier's point affords .

I never did thee harm : why wilt thou slay me ?

Thy father hath .

But 'twas ere I was born .
Thou hast one son ; for his sake pity me ,
Lest in revenge thereof , sith God is just ,
He be as miserably slain as I .
Ah ! let me live in prison all my days ;
And when I give occasion of offence ,
Then let me die , for now thou hast no cause .

No cause !
Thy father slew my father ; therefore , die .


Dii faciant laudis summa sit ista tu !


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 .


The army of the queen hath got the field :
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me ;
And all my followers to the eager foe 
Turn back and fly , like ships before the wind ,
Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves .
My sons , God knows what hath bechanced 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 charg'd again ; but , out , alas !
We bodg'd again : as I have seen a swan 
With bootless labour swim against the tide ,
And spend her strength with over-matching waves .

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 .


Come , bloody Clifford , rough Northumberland ,
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage :

I am your butt , and I abide your shot .

Yield to our mercy , proud Plantagenet .

Ay , to such mercy as his ruthless arm 
With downright payment show'd unto my father .
Now Ph thon hath tumbled from his car ,
And made an evening at the noontide prick .

My ashes , as the ph nix , may bring forth 
A bird that will revenge upon you all ;
And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven ,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with .
Why come you not ? what ! multitudes , and fear ?

So cowards fight when they can fly no further ;
So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons ;
So desperate thieves , all hopeless of their lives ,
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers .

O Clifford ! but bethink thee once again ,
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time ;
And , if thou canst for blushing , view this face ,
And bite thy tongue , that slanders him with cowardice 
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this .

I will not bandy with thee word for word ,
But buckle with thee blows , twice two for one .


Hold , valiant Clifford ! for a thousand causes 
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life .
Wrath makes him deaf : speak thou , 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 .


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

So doth the cony struggle in the net .


So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty ;
So true men yield , with robbers so o'er-matched .

What would your Grace have done unto him now ?

Brave warriors , Clifford and Northumberland ,
Come , make him stand upon this molehill here ,
That raught at mountains with 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 .

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 .

That is my office , for my father's sake .

Nay , stay ; let's hear the orisons he makes .

She-wolf of France , but worse than wolves of France ,
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth !
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex 
To triumph , like an Amazonian trull ,
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates !
But that thy face is , visor-like , unchanging ,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds ,
I would assay , proud queen , to make thee blush :
To tell thee whence thou cam'st , of whom deriv'd ,
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 admir'd ;
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 wrapp'd 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 .
Bidd'st thou me rage ? why , now thou hast thy wish :
Wouldst have me weep ? why , now thou hast thy will ;
For raging wind blows up incessant showers ,
And when the rage allays , the rain begins .
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ,
And every drop cries vengeance for his death ,
'Gainst thee , fell Clifford , and thee , false Frenchwoman .

Beshrew me , but his passion moves me so 
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears .

That face of his the hungry cannibals 
Would not have touch'd , would not have stain'd with blood ;
But you are more inhuman , more inexorable ,
O ! ten times more , than tigers of Hyrcania .
See , ruthless queen , a hapless father's tears :
This cloth thou dipp'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 !

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 .

What ! weeping-ripe , my Lord Northumberland ?
Think but upon the wrong he did us all ,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears .

Here's for my oath ; here's for my father's death .


And here's to right our gentlehearted king .


Open thy gate of mercy , gracious God !
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee .


Off with his head , and set it on York gates ;
So York may overlook the town of York .

I wonder how our princely father 'scap'd ,
Or whether he be 'scap'd 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 'scap'd , methinks we should have heard 
The happy tidings of his good escape .
How fares my brother ? why is he so sad ?

I cannot joy until I be resolv'd 
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 far'd our father with his enemies ;
So fled his enemies my war-like 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 .

Dazzle mine eyes , or do I see three suns ?

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 .

'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 .

Nay , bear three daughters : by your leave I speak it ,
You love the breeder better than the male .


But what art thou , whose heavy looks foretell 

Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ?

Ah ! one that was a woeful looker-on ,
When as the noble Duke of York was slain ,
Your princely father , and my loving lord .

O ! speak no more , for I have heard too much .

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

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 subdu'd ;
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 .

Sweet Duke of York ! our prop to lean upon ,
Now thou art gone , we have no staff , no stay !
O Clifford ! boist'rous Clifford ! thou hast slain 
The flower of Europe for his chivalry ;
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him ,
For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee .
Now my soul's palace is become a prison :
Ah ! would she break from hence , that this my body 
Might in the ground be closed up in rest ,
For never henceforth shall I joy again ,
Never , O ! never , shall I see more joy .

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 burden ;
For self-same wind , that I should speak withal 
Is kindling coals that fire all my breast ,
And burn 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 .

His name that valiant duke hath left with thee ;
His dukedom and his chair with me is left .

Nay , if thou be that princely eagle's bird ,
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun :
For chair and dukedom , throne and kingdom say ;
Either that is thine , or else thou wert not his .


How now , fair lords ! What fare ? what news abroad ?

Great Lord of Warwick , if we should recount 
Our baleful news , and at each word's deliv'rance 
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told ,
The words would add more anguish than the wounds .
O valiant lord ! the Duke of York is slain .

O Warwick ! Warwick ! that Plantagenet 
Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption ,
Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death .

Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears ,
And now , to add more measure to your woes ,
I come to tell you things sith then befallen .
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought ,
Where your brave father breath'd 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 towards 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 war-like 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 a lazy 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 .

Where is the Duke of Norfolk , gentle Warwick ?
And when came George from Burgundy to England ?

Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers ;
And for your brother , he was lately sent 
From your kind aunt , Duchess of Burgundy ,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war .

'Twas odds , belike , when valiant Warwick fled :
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit ,
But ne'er till now his scandal of retire .

Nor now my scandal , Richard , dost thou hear ;
For thou shalt know , this strong right hand of mine 
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head ,
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist ,
Were he as famous , and as bold in war 
As he is fam'd for mildness , peace , and prayer .

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

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 .

Ay , now methinks I hear great Warwick speak :
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day ,
That cries 'Retire ,' if Warwick bid him stay .

Lord Warwick , on thy shoulder will I lean ;
And when thou fail'st as God forbid the hour !
Must Edward fall , which peril heaven forfend !

No longer Earl of March , but Duke of York :
The next degree is England's royal throne ;
For King of England shalt thou be 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 .

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 .

Then strike up , drums ! God , and Saint George for us !


How now ! what news ?

The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me ,
The queen is coming with a puissant host ;
And craves your company for speedy counsel .

Why then it sorts ; brave warriors , let's away .

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 ?

Ay , as the rocks cheer them that fear their wrack :
To see this sight , it irks my very soul .
Withhold revenge , dear God ! 'tis not my fault ,
Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow .

My gracious liege , this too much lenity 
And harmful pity must be laid aside .
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks ?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den .
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick ?
Not his that spoils her young before her face .
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting ?
Not he that sets his foot upon her back .
The smallest worm will turn being trodden on ,
And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood .
Ambitious York did level at thy crown ;
Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows :
He , but a duke , would have his son a king ,
And raise his issue like a loving sire ;
Thou , being a king , bless'd with a goodly son ,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him ,
Which argu'd 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 us'd with fearful flight ,
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest ,
Offering 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 grandsire got ,
My careless father fondly gave away ?' 
Ah ! what a shame were this . Look on the boy ;
And let his manly face , which promiseth 
Successful fortune , steel thy melting heart 
To hold thine own and leave thine own with him .

Full well hath Clifford 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 any jot of pleasure .
Ah ! cousin York , would thy best friends did know 
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here !

My lord , cheer up your spirits : our foes are nigh ,
And this soft courage makes your followers faint .
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son :
Unsheathe your sword , and dub him presently .
Edward , kneel down .

Edward Plantagenet , arise a knight ;
And learn this lesson , draw thy sword in right .

My gracious father , by your kingly leave ,
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown ,
And in that quarrel use it to the death .

Why , that is spoken like a toward prince .


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 .

I would your highness would depart the field :
The queen hath best success when you are absent .

Ay , good my lord , and leave us to our fortune .

Why , that's my fortune too ; therefore I'll stay .

Be it with resolution then to fight .

My royal father , cheer these noble lords ,
And hearten those that fight in your defence :
Unsheathe your sword , good father : cry , 'Saint George !' 


Now , perjur'd Henry , wilt thou kneel for grace ,
And set thy diadem upon my head ;
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ?

Go , rate thy minions , proud insulting boy !
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms 
Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king ?

I am his king , and he should bow his knee ;
I was adopted heir by his consent :
Since when , his oath is broke ; for , as I hear ,
You , that are king , though he do wear the crown ,
Have caus'd him , by new act of parliament ,
To blot out me , and put his own son in .

And reason too :
Who should succeed the father but the son ?

Are you there , butcher ? O ! I cannot speak .

Ay , crook-back ; here I stand to answer thee ,
Or any he the proudest of thy sort .

'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland , was it not ?

Ay , and old York , and yet not satisfied .

For God's sake , lords , give signal to the fight .

What sayst thou , Henry , wilt thou yield the crown ?

Why , how now , long-tongu'd Warwick ! dare you speak ?
When you and I met at Saint Alban's last ,
Your legs did better service than your hands .

Then 'twas my turn to fly , and now 'tis thine .

You said so much before , and yet you fled .

'Twas not your valour , Clifford , drove me thence .

No , nor your manhood that durst make you stay .

Northumberland , I hold thee reverently .
Break off the parley ; for scarce I can refrain 
The execution of my big-swoln heart 
Upon that Clifford , that cruel child-killer .

I slew thy father : call'st thou him a child ?

Ay , like a dastard and a treacherous coward ,
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ;
But ere sun-set I'll make thee curse the deed .

Have done with words , my lords , and hear me speak .

Defy them , then , or else hold close thy lips .

I prithee , give no limits to my tongue :
I am a king , and privileg'd to speak .

My liege , the wound that bred this meeting here 
Cannot be cur'd by words ; therefore be still .

Then , executioner , unsheathe thy sword .
By him that made us all , I am resolv'd 
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue .

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 .

If thou deny , their blood upon thy head ;
For York in justice puts his armour on .

If that be right which Warwick says is right ,
There is no wrong , but everything is right .

Whoever got thee , there thy mother stands ;
For well I wot thou hast thy mother's tongue .

But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam ,
But like a foul misshapen stigmatic ,
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided ,
As venom toads , or lizards' dreadful stings .

Iron of Naples hid with English gilt ,
Whose father bears the title of a king ,
As if a channel should be call'd the sea ,
Sham'st thou not , knowing whence thou art extraught ,
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart ?

A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns ,
To make this shameless callet know herself .
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou ,
Although thy husband may be Menelaus ;
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd 
By that false woman as this king by thee .
His father revell'd in the heart of France ,
And tam'd 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 grac'd 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 .

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 bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods .

And in this resolution I defy thee ;
Not willing any longer conference ,
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak .
Sound trumpets !let our bloody colours wave !
And either victory , or else a grave .

Stay , Edward .

No , wrangling woman , we'll no longer stay :
These words will cost ten thousand lives this day 


Forspent with toil , as runners with a race ,
I lay me down a little while to breathe ;
For strokes receiv'd , and many blows repaid ,
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength ,
And spite of spite needs must I rest a while .


Smile , gentle heaven ! or strike , ungentle death !
For this world frowns , and Edward's sun is clouded .

How now , my lord ! what hap ? what hope of good ?


Our hap is loss , our hope but sad despair ,
Our ranks are broke , and ruin follows us .
What counsel give you ? whither shall we fly ?

Bootless is flight , they follow us with wings ;
And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit .


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 clangor 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 .

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 clos'd these eyes of mine ,
Of fortune given me measure of revenge .

O Warwick ! I do bend my knee with thine ;
And in this vow do chain my soul to thine .
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 thy will it stands 
That to my foes this body must be prey ,
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope ,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul !
Now , lords , take leave until we meet again ,
Where'er it be , in heaven or in earth .

Brother , give me thy hand ; and , gentle Warwick ,
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms :
I , that did never weep , now melt with woe 
That winter should cut off our spring-time so .

Away , away ! Once more , sweet lords , farewell .

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


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 .

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 !


Nay , Warwick , single out some other chase ;
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death .


This battle fares like to the morning's war ,
When dying clouds contend with growing light ,
What time the shepherd , blowing of his nails ,
Can neither call it perfect day nor night .
Now sways it this way , like a mighty sea 
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind ;
Now sways it that way , like the self-same sea 
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind :
Sometime the flood prevails , and then the wind ;
Now one the better , then another best ;
Both tugging to be victors , breast to breast ,
Yet neither conqueror nor conquered :
So is the equal poise of this fell war .
Here on this 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 wait on him .


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 receiv'd my life ,
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 .

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'ercharg'd with grief .


Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me ,
Give me thy gold , if thou hast any gold ,
For I have bought it with a hundred blows .
But let me see : is this our foeman's face ?
Ah ! no , no , no , it is mine only son .
Ah ! boy , if any life be left in thee ,
Throw up thine eye : see , see ! what showers arise ,
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart ,
Upon thy wounds , that kill mine eye and heart .
O ! pity , God , this miserable age .
What stratagems , how fell , how butcherly ,
Erroneous , mutinous , and unnatural ,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget !
O boy ! thy father gave thee life too soon ,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late .

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 .

How will my mother for a father's death 
Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied !

How will my wife for slaughter of my son 
Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied !

How will the country for these woeful chances 
Misthink the king and not be satisfied !

Was ever son so ru'd a father's death ?

Was ever father so bemoan'd a son ?

Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe ?
Much is your sorrow ; mine , ten times so much .

I'll bear thee hence , where I may weep my fill .


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 ,
E'en for the loss of thee , having no more ,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons .
I'll bear thee hence ; and let them fight that will ,
For I have murder'd where I should not kill .


Sad-hearted men ,' much overgone with care ,
Here sits a king more woeful than you are .


Fly , father , fly ! for all your friends are fled ,
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull .
Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit .

Mount you , my lord ; towards Berwick post amain .
Edward and Richard , like a brace of greyhounds 
Having the fearful flying hare in sight ,
With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath ,
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands ,
Are at our backs ; and therefore hence amain .

Away ! for vengeance comes along with them .
Nay , stay not to expostulate ; make speed ,
Or else come after : I'll away before .

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


Here burns my candle out ; ay , here it dies ,
Which , while it lasted , gave King Henry light .
O Lancaster ! I fear thy overthrow 
More than my body's parting with my soul .
My love and fear glu'd many friends to thee ;
And , now I fall , thy tough commixtures melt ,
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 Ph bus ! hadst thou never given consent 
That Ph thon should check thy fiery steeds ,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth ;
And , Henry , hadst thou sway'd as kings should do ,
Or as thy father and his father did ,
Giving no ground unto the house of York ,
They never then had sprung like summer flies ;
I and ten thousand in this luckless realm 
Had left no mourning widows for our death ,
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace .
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air ?
And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity ?
Bootless are plaints , and cureless are my wounds ;
No way to fly , nor strength to hold out flight :
The foe is merciless , and will not pity ;
For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity .
The air hath got into my deadly wounds ,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint .
Come , York and Richard , Warwick and the rest ;
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms , split my breast .

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 stern the waves .
But think you , lords , that Clifford fled with them ?

No , 'tis impossible he should escape ;
For , though before his face I speak the words ,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave ;
And wheresoe'er he is , he's surely dead .


Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave ?

A deadly groan , like life and death's departing .

See who it is : and now the battle's ended ,
If friend or foe let him be gently us'd .

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 murd'ring knife unto the root 
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring ,
I mean our princely father , Duke of York .

From off the gates of York fetch down the head ,
Your father's head , which Clifford placed there ;
Instead whereof let this supply the room :
Measure for measure must be answered .

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 .


I think his understanding is bereft .
Speak , Clifford ; dost thou know who speaks to thee ?
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life ,
And he nor sees , nor hears us what we say .

O ! would he did ; and so perhaps he doth :
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit ,
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts 
Which in the time of death he gave our father .

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

Clifford ! ask mercy and obtain no grace .

Clifford , repent in bootless penitence .

Clifford ! devise excuses for thy faults .

While we devise fell tortures for thy faults .

Thou didst love York , and I am son to York .

Thou pitiedst Rutland , I will pity thee .

Where's Captain Margaret , to fence you now ?

They mock thee , Clifford : swear as thou wast wont .

What ! not an oath ? nay , then the world goes hard 
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath .
I know by that he's dead ; and , by my soul ,
If this right hand would buy two hours' life ,
That I in all despite might rail at him ,
This hand should chop it off , and with the issuing blood 
Stifle the villain whose unstaunched thirst 
York and young Rutland could not satisfy .

Ay , but he's dead : off with the traitor's head ,
And rear it in the place your father's stands .
And now to London with triumphant march ,
There to be 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 .

Even as thou wilt , sweet Warwick , let it be ;
For on 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 .

Let me be Duke of Clarence , George of Gloucester ,
For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous .

Tut ! that's a foolish observation :
Richard , be Duke of Gloucester . Now to London ,
To see these honours in possession .

Under this thick-grown hrake we'll shroud ourselves ;
For through this laund anon the deer will come ;
And in this covert will we make our stand ,
Culling the principal of all the deer .

I'll stay above the hill , so both may shoot .

That cannot be ; the noise of thy 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 .

Here comes a man ; let's stay till he be past .


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 C sar 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 ?

Ay , here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee :
This is the quondam king ; let's seize upon him .

Let me embrace thee , sour adversity ,
For wise men say it is the wisest course .

Why linger we ? let us lay hands upon him .

Forbear awhile ; we'll hear a little more .

My queen and son are gone to France for aid ;
And , as I hear , the great commanding Warwick 
Is thither gone , to crave the French king's sister 
To wife for Edward . If this news be true ,
Poor queen and son , your 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 depos'd ;
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 .

Say , what art thou , that talk'st of kings and queens ?

More than I seem , and less than I was born to :
A man at least , for less I should not be ;
And men may talk of kings , and why not I ?

Ay , but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king .

Why , so I am , in mind ; and that's enough .

But , if thou be a king , where is thy crown ?

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

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 depos'd ;
And we his subjects , sworn in all allegiance ,
Will apprehend you as his enemy .

But did you never swear , and break an oath ?

No , never such an oath ; nor will not now .

Where did you dwell when I was King of England ?

Here in this country , where we now remain .

I was anointed king at nine months old ;
My father and my grandfather were kings ,
And you were sworn true subjects unto me :
And tell me , then , have you not broke your oaths ?

No ;
For we were subjects but while you were king .

Why , am I dead ? do I not breathe a man ?
Ah ! simple men , you know not what you swear .
Look , as I blow this feather from my face ,
And as the air blows it to me again ,
Obeying with my wind when I do blow ,
And yielding to another when it blows ,
Commanded always by the greater gust ;
Such is the lightness of you common men .
But do not break your oaths ; for of that sin 
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty .
Go where you will , the king shall be commanded ;
And be you kings : command , and I'll obey .

We are true subjects to the king , King Edward .

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

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

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 .


Brother of Gloucester , at Saint Alban's field 
This lady's husband , Sir John Grey , was slain ,
His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror :
Her suit is now , to repossess those lands ;
Which we in justice cannot well deny ,
Because in quarrel of the house of York 
The worthy gentleman did lose his life .

Your highness shall do well to grant her suit ;
It were dishonour to deny it her .

It were no less : but yet I'll make a pause .

Yea ; is it so ?
I see the lady hath a thing to grant 
Before the king will grant her humble suit .

He knows the game : how true he keeps the wind !

Silence !

Widow , we will consider of your suit ,
And come some other time to know our mind .

Right gracious lord , I cannot brook delay :
May it please your highness to resolve me now ,
And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me .

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 .

I fear her not , unless she chance to fall .

God forbid that ! for he'll take vantages .

How many children hast thou , widow ? tell me .

I think he means to beg a child of her .

Nay , whip me , then ; he'll rather give her two .

Three , my most gracious lord .

You shall have four , if you'll be rul'd by him .

'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands .

Be pitiful , dread lord , and grant it then .

Lords , give us leave : I'll try this widow's wit .

Ay , good leave have you ; for you will have leave ,
Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch .


Now , tell me , madam , do you love your children ?

Ay , full as dearly as I love myself .

And would you not do much to do them good ?

To do them good I would sustain some harm .

Then get your husband's lands , to do them good .

Therefore I came unto your majesty .

I'll tell you how these lands are to be got .

So shall you bind me to your highness' service .

What service wilt thou do me , if I give them ?

What you command , that rests in me to do .

But you will take exceptions to my boon .

No , gracious lord , except I cannot do it .

Ay , but thou canst do what I mean to ask .

Why , then I will do what your Grace commands .

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

As red as fire ! nay , then her wax must melt .

Why stops my lord ? shall I not hear my task ?

An easy task : 'tis but to love a king .

That's soon perform'd , because I am a subject .

Why then , thy husband's lands I freely give thee .

I take my leave with many thousand thanks .

The match is made ; she seals it with a curtsy .

But stay thee ; 'tis the fruits of love I mean .

The fruits of love I mean , my loving liege .

Ay , but , I fear me , in another sense .
What love think'st thou I sue so much to get ?

My love till death , my humble thanks , my prayers :
That love which virtue begs and virtue grants .

No , by my troth , I did not mean such love .

Why , then you mean not as I thought you did .

But now you partly may perceive my mind .

My mind will never grant what I perceive 
Your highness aims at , if I aim aright .

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

To tell you plain , I had rather lie in prison .

Why , then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands .

Why , then mine honesty shall be my dower ;
For by that loss I will not purchase them .

Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily .

Herein your highness wrongs both them and me .
But , mighty lord , this merry inclination 
Accords not with the sadness of my suit :
Please you dismiss me , either with 'ay ,' or 'no .' 

Ay , if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request ;
No , if thou dost say 'no' to my demand .

Then , no , my lord . My suit is at an end .

The widow likes him not , she knits her brows .

He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom .

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 ?

'Tis better said than done , my gracious lord :
I am a subject fit to jest withal ,
But far unfit to be a sovereign .

Sweet widow , by my state I swear to thee ,
I speak no more than what my soul intends ;
And that is , to enjoy thee for my love .

And that is more than I will yield unto .
I know I am too mean to be your queen ,
And yet too good to be your concubine .

You cavil , widow : I did mean , my queen .

'Twill grieve your Grace my sons should call you father .

No more than when my daughters call thee mother .
Thou art a widow , and thou hast some children ;
And , by God's mother , I , being but a bachelor ,
Have other some : why , 'tis a happy thing 
To be the father unto many sons .
Answer no more , for thou shalt be my queen .

The ghostly father now hath done his shrift .

When he was made a shriver , 'twas for shift .

Brothers , you muse what chat we two have had .

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

You'd think it strange if I should marry her .

To whom , my lord ?

Why , Clarence , to myself .

That would be ten days' wonder at the least .

That's a day longer than a wonder lasts .

By so much is the wonder in extremes .

Well , jest on , brothers : I can tell you both 
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands .


My gracious lord , Henry your foe is taken ,
And brought as prisoner to your palace gate .

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 .


Ay , Edward will use women honourably .
Would he were wasted , marrow , bones , and all ,
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring ,
To cross me from the golden time I look for !
And yet , between my soul's desire and me 
The lustful Edward's title buried ,
Is Clarence , Henry , and his son young Edward ,
And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies ,
To take their rooms , ere I can place myself :
A cold premeditation for my purpose !
Why then , I do but dream on sovereignty ;
Like one that stands upon a promontory ,
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread ,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ;
And chides the sea that sunders him from thence ,
Saying , he'll lade it dry to have his way :
So do I wish the crown , being so far off ,
And so I chide the means that keep me from it ,
And so I say I'll cut the causes off ,
Flattering me with impossibilities .
My eye's too quick , my heart o'erweens too much ,
Unless my hand and strength could equal them .
Well , say there is no kingdom then for Richard ;
What other pleasure can the world afford ?
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap ,
And deck my body in gay ornaments ,
And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks .
O miserable thought ! and more unlikely 
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns .
Why , love forswore me in my mother's womb :
And , for I should not deal in her soft laws ,
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe ,
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub ;
To make an envious mountain on my back ,
Where sits deformity to mock my body ;
To shape my legs of an unequal size ;
To disproportion me in every part ,
Like to a chaos , or an unlick'd bear-whelp 
That carries no impression like the dam .
And am I then a man to be belov'd ?
O monstrous fault ! to harbour such a thought .
Then , since this earth affords no joy to me 
But to command , to check , to o'erbear such 
As are of better person than myself ,
I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown ;
And , whiles I live , to account this world but hell ,
Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head 
Be round impaled with a glorious crown .
And yet I know not how to get the crown ,
For many lives stand between me and home :
And I , like one lost in a thorny wood ,
That rents the thorns and is rent with the thorns ,
Seeking a way and straying from the way ;
Not knowing how to find the open air ,
But toiling desperately to find it out ,
Torment myself to catch the English crown :
And from that torment I will free myself ,
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe .
Why , I can smile , and murder while 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 murd'rous Machiavel to school .
Can I do this , and cannot get a crown ?
Tut ! were it further off , I'll pluck it down .

Fair Queen of England , worthy Margaret ,
Sit down with us : it ill befits thy state 
And birth , that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit .

No , mighty King of France : now Margaret 
Must strike her sail , and learn a while 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 .

Why , say , fair queen , whence springs this deep despair ?

From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears 
And stops my tongue , while heart is drown'd in cares .

Whate'er it be , be thou still like thyself ,
And sit thee by our side .

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 eas'd , if France can yield relief .

Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts ,
And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak .
Now , therefore , be it known to noble Lewis ,
That Henry , sole possessor of my love ,
Is of a king become a banish'd man ,
And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn ;
While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York 
Usurps the regal title and the seat 
Of England's true-anointed lawful king .
This is the cause that I , poor Margaret ,
With this my son , Prince Edward , Henry's heir ,
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid ;
And if thou fail us , all our hope is done .
Scotland hath will to help , but cannot help ;
Our people and our peers are both misled ,
Our treasure seiz'd , our soldiers put to flight ,
And , as thou seest , ourselves in heavy plight .

Renowned queen , with patience calm the storm ,
While we bethink a means to break it off .

The more we stay , the stronger grows our foe .

The more I stay , the more I'll succour thee .

O ! but impatience waiteth on true sorrow :
And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow .


What's he , approacheth boldly to our presence ?

Our Earl of Warwick , Edward's greatest friend .

Welcome , brave Warwick ! What brings thee to France ?


Ay , now begins a second storm to rise ;
For this is he that moves both wind and tide .

From worthy Edward , King of Albion ,
My lord and sovereign , and thy 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 nuptial knot , if thou vouchsafe to grant 
That virtuous Lady Bona , thy fair sister ,
To England's king in lawful marriage .

If that go forward , Henry's hope is done .

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 sov'reign's heart ;
Where fame , late entering at his heedful ears ,
Hath plac'd thy beauty's image and thy virtue .

King Lewis and Lady Bona , hear me speak ,
Before you answer Warwick . His demand 
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love ,
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 .

Injurious Margaret !

And why not queen ?

Because thy father Henry did usurp ,
And thou no more art prince than she is queen .

Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt ,
Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain ;
And , after John of Gaunt , Henry the Fourth ,
Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest ;
And , after that wise prince , Henry the Fifth ,
Who by his prowess conquered all France :
From these our Henry lineally descends .

Oxford , how haps it , in this smooth discourse ,
You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost 
All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten ?
Methinks these peers of France should smile at that .
But for the rest , you tell a pedigree 
Of threescore and two years ; a silly time 
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth .

Why , Warwick , canst thou speak against thy liege ,
Whom thou obeyedst thirty and six years ,
And not bewray thy treason with a blush ?

Can Oxford , that did ever fence the right ,
Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree ?
For shame ! leave Henry , and call Edward king .

Call him my king , by whose injurious doom 
My elder brother , the Lord Aubrey Vere ,
Was done to death ? and more than so , my father ,
Even in the downfall of his 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 .

And I the house of York .

Queen Margaret , Prince Edward , and Oxford ,
Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside ,
While I use further conference with Warwick .


Heaven grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not !

Now , Warwick , tell me , even upon thy conscience ,
Is Edward your true king ? for I were loath 
To link with him that were not lawful chosen .

Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour .

But is he gracious in the people's eye ?

The more that Henry was unfortunate .

Then further , all dissembling set aside ,
Tell me for truth the measure of his love 
Unto our sister Bona .

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 .

Now , sister , let us hear your firm resolve .

Your grant , or your denial , shall be mine :


Yet I confess that often ere this day ,
When I have heard your king's desert recounted ,
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire .

Then , Warwick , thus : our sister shall be Edward's ;
And now forthwith shall articles be drawn 
Touching the jointure that your king must make ,
Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd .
Draw near , Queen Margaret , and be a witness 
That Bona shall be wife to the English king .

To Edward , but not to the English king .

Deceitful Warwick ! it was thy device 
By this alliance to make void my suit :
Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend .

And still is friend to him and Margaret :
But if your title to the crown be weak ,
As may appear by Edward's good success ,
Then 'tis but reason that I be releas'd 
From giving aid which late I promised .
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand 
That your estate requires and mine can yield .

Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease ,
Where having nothing , nothing can he lose .
And as for you yourself , our quondam queen ,
You have a father able to maintain you ,
And better 'twere you troubled him than France .

Peace ! impudent and shameless Warwick , 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 self-same feather .


Warwick , this is some post to us or thee .


My lord ambassador , these letters are for you ,
Sent from your brother , Marquess Montague :
These from our king unto your majesty ;


And , madam , these for you ; from whom I know not .


I like it well that our fair queen and mistress 
Smiles at her news , while Warwick frowns at his .

Nay , mark how Lewis stamps as he were nettled :
I hope all's for the best .

Warwick , what are thy news ? and yours , fair queen ?

Mine , such as fill my heart with unhop'd joys .

Mine , full of sorrow and heart's discontent .

What ! has your king married the Lady Grey ?
And now , to soothe your forgery and his ,
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience ?
Is this the alliance that he seeks with France ?
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner ?

I told your majesty as much before :
This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty .

King Lewis , I here protest , in sight of heaven ,
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss ,
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's ;
No more my king , for he 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 .

Warwick , these words have turn'd my hate to love ;
And I forgive and quite forget old faults ,
And joy that thou becom'st King Henry's friend .

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 succour 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 .

Dear brother , how shall Bona be reveng'd ,
But by thy help to this distressed queen ?

Renowned prince , how shall poor Henry live ,
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair ?

My quarrel and this English queen's are one .

And mine , fair Lady Bona , joins with yours .

And mine with hers , and thine and Margaret's .
Therefore , at last , I firmly am resolv'd 
You shall have aid .

Let me give humble thanks for all at once .

Then , England's messenger , return in post ,
And tell false Edward , thy 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 .

Tell him , in hope he'll prove a widower shortly ,
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake .

Tell him , my mourning weeds are laid aside ,
And I am ready to put armour on .

Tell him from me , that he hath done me wrong ,
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long .
There's thy reward : be gone .


But , Warwick ,
Thou and Oxford , with five thousand men ,
Shall cross the seas , and bid false Edward battle ;
And , as occasion serves , this noble queen 
And prince shall follow with a fresh supply .
Yet ere thou go , but answer me one doubt :
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty ?

This shall assure my constant loyalty :
That if our queen and this young prince agree ,
I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy 
To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands .

Yes , I agree , and thank you for your motion .
Son Edward , she is fair and virtuous ,
Therefore delay not , give thy hand to Warwick ;
And , with thy hand , thy faith irrevocable ,
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine .

Yes , I accept her , for she well deserves it ;
And here , to pledge my vow , I give my hand .


Why stay we now ? These soldiers shall be levied ,
And thou , Lord Bourbon , our high admiral ,
Shall waft them over with our royal fleet .
I long till Edward fall by war's mischance ,
For mocking marriage with a dame of France .


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 rais'd 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 .

Now tell me , brother Clarence , what think you 
Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey ?
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice ?

Alas ! you know , 'tis far from hence to France ;
How could he stay till Warwick made return ?

My lords , forbear this talk ; here comes the king .

And his well-chosen bride .

I mind to tell him plainly what I think .

Now , brother Clarence , how like you our choice ,
That you stand pensive , as half malcontent ?

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 .

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 .

And you shall have your will , because our king :
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well .

Yea , brother Richard , are you offended too ?

Not I :
No , God forbid , that I should wish them sever'd 
Whom God hath join'd together ; ay , and 'twere pity 
To sunder them that yoke so well together .

Setting your scorns and your mislike aside ,
Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey 
Should not become my wife and England's queen :
And you too , Somerset and Montague ,
Speak freely what you think .

Then this is mine opinion : that King Lewis 
Becomes your enemy for mocking him 
About the marriage of the Lady Bona .

And Warwick , doing what you gave in charge ,
Is now dishonoured by this new marriage .

What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd 
By such invention as I can devise ?

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 .

Why , knows not Montague , that of itself 
England is safe , if true within itself ?

Yes ; but the safer when 'tis back'd with France .

'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 .

For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves 
To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford .

Ay , what of that ? it was my will and grant ;
And for this once my will shall stand for law .

And yet methinks your Grace hath not done well ,
To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales 
Unto the brother of your loving bride :
She better would have fitted me or Clarence :
But in your bride you bury brotherhood .

Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir 
Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son ,
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere .

Alas , poor Clarence , is it for a wife 
That thou art malcontent ? I will provide thee .

In choosing for yourself you show'd your judgment ,
Which being shallow , you shall give me leave 
To play the broker on mine own behalf ;
And to that end I shortly mind to leave you .

Leave me , or tarry , Edward will be king ,
And not be tied unto his brother's will .

My lords , before it pleas'd 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 dislikes , to whom I would be pleasing ,
Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow .

My love , forbear to fawn upon their frowns :
What danger or what sorrow can befall thee ,
So long as Edward is thy constant friend ,
And their true sovereign , whom they must obey ?
Nay , whom they shall obey , and love thee too ,
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands ;
Which if they do , yet will I keep thee safe ,
And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath .

I hear , yet say not much , but think the more .


Now , messenger , what letters or what news 
From France ?

My sovereign liege , no letters ; and few words ;
But such as I , without your special pardon ,
Dare not relate .

Go to , we pardon thee : therefore , in brief ,
Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them .
What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters ?

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 .' 

Is Lewis so brave ? belike he thinks me Henry .
But what said Lady Bona to my marriage ?

These were her words , utter'd with mild disdain :
'Tell him , in hope he'll prove a widower shortly ,
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake .' 

I blame not her , she could say little less ;
She had the wrong . But what said Henry's queen ?
For I have heard that she was there in place .

'Tell him ,' quoth she , 'my mourning weeds are done ,
And I am ready to put armour on .' 

Belike she minds to play the Amazon .
But what said Warwick to these injuries ?

He , more incens'd against your majesty 
Than all the rest , discharg'd me with these words :
'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong ,
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long .' 

Ha ! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words ?
Well , I will arm me , being thus forewarn'd :
They shall have wars , and pay for their presumption .
But say , is Warwick friends with Margaret ?

Ay , gracious sovereign ; they are so link'd in friendship ,
That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter .

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 .


Not I .
My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I 
Stay not for love of Edward , but the crown .

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 ,

But ere I go , Hastings and Montague ,
Resolve my doubt . You twain , of all the rest ,
Are near to Warwick by blood , and by alliance :
Tell me if you love Warwick more than me ?
If it be so , then both depart to him ;
I rather wish you foes than hollow friends :
But if you mind to hold your true obedience ,
Give me assurance with some friendly vow 
That I may never have you in suspect .

So God help Montague as he proves true !

And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause !

Now , brother Richard , will you stand by us ?

Ay , in despite of all that shall withstand you .

Why , so ! then am I sure of victory .
Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour 
Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power .


Trust me , my lord , all hitherto goes well ;
The common people by numbers swarm to us .


But see where Somerset and Clarence come !

Speak suddenly , my lords , are we all friends ?

Fear not that , my lord .

Then , gentle Clarence , welcome unto Warwick ;
And welcome , Somerset : I hold it cowardice ,
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
Hath 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 .

Why , then , let's on our way in silent sort .
For Warwick and his friends , God and Saint George !


Come on , my masters , each man take his stand ;
The king , by this , is set him down to sleep .

What , will he not to bed ?

Why , no : for he hath made a solemn vow 
Never to lie and take his natural rest 
Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd .

To-morrow then belike shall be the day ,
If Warwick be so near as men report .

But say , I pray , what nobleman is that 
That with the king here resteth in his tent ?

'Tis the Lord Hastings , the king's chiefest friend .

O ! is it so ? But why commands the king 
That his chief followers lodge in towns about him ,
While he himself keeps in the cold field ?

'Tis the more honour , because the more dangerous .

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 .

Unless our halberds did shut up his passage .

Ay ; wherefore else guard we his royal tent ,
But to defend his person from night-foes ?


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 .

Who goes there ?

Stay , or thou diest .


What are they that fly there ?

Richard and Hastings : let them go ; here's the duke .

The duke ! Why , Warwick , when we parted last ,
Thou call'dst me king !

Ay , but the case is alter'd :
When you disgrac'd me in my embassade ,
Then I degraded you from being king ,
And come now to create you Duke of York .
Alas ! how should you govern any kingdom ,
That know not how to use ambassadors ,
Nor how to be contented with one wife ,
Nor how to use your brothers brotherly ,
Nor how to study for the people's welfare ,
Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies ?

Yea , brother of Clarence , art thou here too ?
Nay , then , I see that Edward needs must down .
Yet , Warwick , in despite of all mischance ,
Of thee thyself , and all thy complices ,
Edward will always bear himself as king :
Though Fortune's malice overthrow my state ,
My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel .

Then , for his mind , be Edward England's king :

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 .

What fates impose , that men must needs abide ;
It boots not to resist both wind and tide .


What now remains , my lords , for us to do ,
But march to London with our soldiers ?

Ay , that's the first thing that we have to do ;
To free King Henry from imprisonment ,
And see him seated in the regal throne .


Madam , what makes you in this sudden change ?

Why , brother Rivers , are you yet to learn ,
What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward ?

What ! loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick ?

No , but the loss of his own royal person .

Then is my sovereign slain ?

Ay , almost slain , for he is taken prisoner ;
Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard 
Or by his foe surpris'd 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 .

These news , I must confess , are full of grief ;
Yet , gracious madam , bear it as you may :
Warwick may lose , that now hath won the day .

Till then fair hope must hinder life's decay .
And I the rather wean me from despair 
For love of Edward's offspring in my womb :
This is it that makes me bridle passion ,
And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross ;
Ay , ay , for this I draw in many a tear ,
And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs ,
Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown 
King Edward's fruit , true heir to the English crown .

But , madam , where is Warwick then become ?

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 .


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 advertis'd him by secret means ,
That if about this hour he make this 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 .


This way , my lord , for this way lies the game .

Nay , this way , man : see where the huntsmen stand .
Now , brother of Gloucester , Lord Hastings , and the rest ,
Stand you thus close , to steal the bishop's deer ?

Brother , the time and case requireth haste .
Your horse stands ready at the park corner .

But whither shall we then ?

To Lynn , my lord ; and ship from thence to Flanders .

Well guess'd , believe me ; for that was my meaning .

Stanley , I will requite thy forwardness .

But wherefore stay we ? 'tis no time to talk .

Huntsman , what sayst thou ? wilt thou go along ?

Better do so than tarry and be hang'd .

Come then , away ; let's ha' no more ado .

Bishop , farewell : shield thee from Warwick's frown ,
And pray that I may repossess the crown .

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 ?

Subjects may challenge nothing of their sovereigns ;
But if a humble prayer may prevail ,
I then crave pardon of your majesty .

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 encaged 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 .

Your Grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous ;
And now may seem as wise as virtuous ,
By spying and avoiding Fortune's malice ;
For few men rightly temper with the stars :
Yet in this one thing let me blame your Grace ,
For choosing me when Clarence is in place .

No , Warwick , thou art worthy of the sway ,
To whom the heavens , in thy nativity 
Adjudg'd an olive branch and laurel crown ,
As likely to be blest in peace , and war ;
And therefore I yield thee my free consent .

And I choose Clarence only for protector .

Warwick and Clarence , give me both your hands :
Now join your hands , and with your hands your hearts ,
That no dissension hinder government :
I make you both protectors of this land ,
While I myself will lead a private life ,
And in devotion spend my latter days ,
To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise .

What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will ?

That he consents , if Warwick yield consent ;
For on thy fortune I repose myself .

Why then , though loath , yet must I be content :
We'll yoke together , like a double shadow 
To Henry's body , and supply his place ;
I mean , in bearing weight of government ,
While he enjoys the honour and his ease .
And , Clarence , now then it is more than needful 
Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor ,
And all his lands and goods be confiscate .

What else ? and that succession be determin'd .

Ay , therein Clarence shall not want his part .

But , with the first of all your chief affairs ,
Let me entreat , for I command no more ,
That Margaret your queen , and my son Edward ,
Be sent for , to return from France with speed :
For , till I see them here , by doubtful fear 
My joy of liberty is half eclips'd .

It shall be done , my sov'reign , with all speed .

My Lord of Somerset , what youth is that 
Of whom you seem to have so tender care ?

My liege , it is young Henry , Earl of Richmond .

Come hither , England's hope :

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 fram'd 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 .


What news , my friend ?

That Edward is escaped from your brother ,
And fled , as he hears since , to Burgundy .

Unsavoury news ! but how made he escape ?

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 rescu'd him :
For hunting was his daily exercise .

My brother was too careless of his charge .
But let us hence , my sovereign , to provide 
A salve for any sore that may betide .


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 .

Ay , for if Edward repossess the crown ,
'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down .

It shall be so ; he shall to Brittany .
Come , therefore , let's about it speedily .


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 arriv'd 
From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York ,
But that we enter , as into our dukedom ?

The gates made fast ! Brother , I like not this ;
For many men that stumble at the threshold 
Are well foretold that danger lurks within .

Tush , man ! abodements must not now affright us .
By fair or foul means we must enter in ,
For hither will our friends repair to us .

My liege , I'll knock once more to summon them .


My lords , we were forewarned of your coming ,
And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ;
For now we owe allegiance unto Henry .

But , Master Mayor , if Henry be your king ,
Yet Edward , at the least , is Duke of York .

True , my good lord , I know you for no less .

Why , and I challenge nothing but my dukedom ,
As being well content with that alone .

But when the fox hath once got in his nose ,
He'll soon find means to make the body follow .

Why , Master Mayor , why stand you in a doubt ?
Open the gates ; we are King Henry's friends .

Ay , say you so ? the gates shall then be open'd .


A wise stout captain , and soon persuaded .

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 .


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 ;

For Edward will defend the town and thee ,
And all those friends that deign to follow me .


Brother , this is Sir John Montgomery ,
Our trusty friend , unless I be deceiv'd .

Welcome , Sir John ! but why come you in arms ?

To help King Edward in his time of storm ,
As every loyal subject ought to do .

Thanks , good Montgomery ; but we now forget 
Our title to the crown , and only claim 
Our dukedom till God please to send the rest .

Then fare you well , for I will hence again :
I came to serve a king and not a duke .
Drummer , strike up , and let us march away .


Nay , stay , Sir John , awhile ; and we'll debate 
By what safe means the crown may be recover'd .

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 succour you .
Why shall we fight , if you pretend no title ?

Why , brother , wherefore stand you on nice points ?

When we grow stronger then we'll make our claim ;
Till then , 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning .

Away with scrupulous wit ! now arms must rule .

And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns .
Brother , we will proclaim you out of hand ;
The bruit thereof will bring you many friends .

Then be it as you will ; for 'tis my right ,
And Henry but usurps the diadem .

Ay , now my sov'reign speaketh like himself ;
And now will I be Edward's champion .

Sound , trumpet ! Edward shall be here proclaim'd ;
Come , fellow soldier , make thou proclamation .


Edward the Fourth , by the grace of God , King of England and France , and Lord of Ireland ,  &c .

And whosoe'er gainsays King Edward's right ,
By this I challenge him to single fight .


Long live Edward the Fourth !

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 .


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 .

Let's levy men , and beat him back again .

A little fire is quickly trodden out ,
Which , being suffer'd , rivers cannot quench .

In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends ,
Not mutinous in peace , yet bold in war ;
Those will I muster up : and thou , son Clarence ,
Shalt stir up in Suffolk , Norfolk , and in Kent ,
The knights and gentlemen to come with thee :
Thou , brother Montague , in Buckingham ,
Northampton , and in Leicestershire , shalt find 
Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command'st :
And thou , brave Oxford , wondrous well belov'd 
In Oxfordshire , shalt muster up thy friends .
My sov'reign , with the loving citizens ,
Like to his island girt in with the ocean ,
Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs ,
Shall rest in London till we come to him .
Fair lords , take leave , and stand not to reply .
Farewell , my sovereign .

Farewell , my Hector , and my Troy's true hope .

In sign of truth , I kiss your highness' hand .

Well-minded Clarence , be thou fortunate !

Comfort , my lord ; and so , I take my leave .

And thus I seal my truth , and bid adieu .

Sweet Oxford , and my loving Montague ,
And all at once , once more a happy farewell .

Farewell , sweet lords : let's meet at Coventry .


Here at the palace will I rest awhile .
Cousin of Exeter , what thinks your lordship ?
Methinks the power that Edward hath in field 
Should not be able to encounter mine .

The doubt is that he will seduce the rest .

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 .


Hark , hark , my lord ! what shouts are these ?


Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry ! bear him hence :
And once again proclaim us King of England .
You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow :
Now stops thy spring ; my sea shall suck them dry ,
And swell so much the higher by their ebb .
Hence with him to the Tower ! let him not speak .

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 hop'd-for hay .

Away betimes , before his forces join ,
And take the great-grown traitor unawares :
Brave warriors , march amain towards Coventry .

Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford ?
How far hence is thy lord , mine honest fellow ?

By this at Dunsmore , marching hitherward .

How far off is our brother Montague ?
Where is the post that came from Montague ?

By this at Daintry , with a puissant troop .


Say , Somerville , what says my loving son ?
And , by thy guess , how nigh is Clarence now ?

At Southam I did leave him with his forces ,
And do expect him here some two hours hence .


Then Clarence is at hand , I hear his drum .

It is not his , my lord ; here Southam lies :
The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick .

Who should that be ? belike , unlook'd for friends .

They are at hand , and you shall quickly know .


Go , trumpet , to the walls , and sound a parle .

See how the surly Warwick mans the wall .

O , unbid spite ! is sportful Edward come ?
Where slept our scouts , or how are they seduc'd ,
That we could hear no news of his repair ?

Now , Warwick , wilt thou ope the city gates ,
Speak gentle words , and humbly bend thy knee ?
Call Edward king , and at his hands beg mercy ?
And he shall pardon thee these outrages .

Nay , rather , wilt thou draw thy forces hence ,
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down ?
Call Warwick patron , and be penitent ;
And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York .

I thought , at least , he would have said the king ;
Or did he make the jest against his will ?

Is not a dukedom , sir , a goodly gift ?

Ay , by my faith , for a poor earl to give :
I'll do thee service for so good a gift .

'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother .

Why then 'tis mine , if but by Warwick's gift .

Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight :
And , weakling , Warwick takes his gift again ;
And Henry is my king , Warwick his subject .

But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner ;
And , gallant Warwick , do but answer this ,
What is the body , when the head is off ?

Alas ! that Warwick had no more forecast ,
But , whiles he thought to steal the single ten ,
The king was 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 .

'Tis even so : yet you are Warwick still .

Come , Warwick , take the time ; kneel down , kneel down :
Nay , when ? strike now , or else the iron cools .

I had rather chop this hand off at a blow ,
And with the other fling it at thy face ,
Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee .

Sail how thou canst , have wind and tide thy friend ;
This hand , fast wound about thy coal-black 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 .' 


O cheerful colours ! see where Oxford comes !

Oxford , Oxford , for Lancaster !


The gates are open , let us enter too .

So other foes may set upon our backs .
Stand we in good array ; for they no doubt 
Will issue out again and bid us battle :
If not , the city being but of small defence ,
We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same .

O ! welcome , Oxford ! for we want thy help .


Montague , Montague , for Lancaster !


Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason 
Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear .

The harder match'd , the greater victory :
My mind presageth happy gain , and conquest .


Somerset , Somerset , for Lancaster !


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 .


And lo ! where George of Clarence sweeps along ,
Of force enough to bid his brother battle ;
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails 
More than the nature of a brother's love .
Come , Clarence , come ; thou wilt , if Warwick call .

Father of Warwick , know you what this means ?

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 sacrific'd 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 .

Now welcome more , and ten times more belov'd ,
Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate .

Welcome , good Clarence ; this is brother-like .

O passing traitor , perjur'd , and unjust !

What , Warwick , wilt thou leave the town , and fight ?
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears ?

Alas ! I am not coop'd here for defence :
I will away towards Barnet presently ,
And bid thee battle , Edward , if thou dar'st .

Yes , Warwick , Edward dares , and leads the way .
Lords , to the field ; Saint George and victory !


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 .


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 fill'd with blood ,
Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres ;
For who liv'd king , but I could dig his grave ?
And who durst smile 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 .


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 ! couldst thou fly .

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 lov'st 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 .

Ah ! Warwick , Montague hath breath'd 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 distinguish'd : but at last 
I well might hear , deliver'd with a groan ,
'O ! farewell , Warwick !' 

Sweet rest his soul ! Fly , lords , and save yourselves ;
For Warwick bids you all farewell , to meet in heaven .


Away , away , to meet the queen's great power .


Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course ,
And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory .
But in the midst of this bright-shining day ,
I spy a black , suspicious , threat'ning cloud ,
That will encounter with our glorious sun ,
Ere he attain his easeful western bed :
I mean , my lords , those powers that the queen 
Hath rais'd in Gallia , have arriv'd our coast ,
And , as we hear , march on to fight with us .

A little gale will soon disperse that cloud ,
And blow it to the source from whence it came :
Thy very beams will dry those vapours up ,
For every cloud engenders not a storm .

The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong ,
And Somerset , with Oxford , fled to her :
If she have time to breathe , be well assur'd 
Her faction will be full as strong as ours .

We are advertis'd 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 .


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 over-board ,
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 sav'd ?
Ah ! what a shame ! ah , what a fault were this .
Say , Warwick was our anchor ; what of that ?
And Montague our top-mast ; 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 wrack .
As good to chide the waves as speak them fair .
And what is Edward but a ruthless sea ?
What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit ?
And Richard but a ragged fatal rock ?
All those 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 ,
In case some one of you would fly from us ,
That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers 
More than with ruthless waves , with sands and rocks .
Why , courage , then ! what cannot be avoided 
'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear .

Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit 
Should , if a coward heard her speak these words ,
Infuse his breast with magnanimity ,
And make him , naked , foil a man at arms .
I speak not this , as doubting any here ;
For did I but suspect a fearful man ,
He should have leave to go away betimes ,
Lest in our need he might infect another ,
And make him of like spirit to himself .
If any such be here , as God forbid !
Let him depart before we need his help .

Women and children of so high a courage ,
And warriors faint ! why , 'twere perpetual shame .
O brave young prince ! thy famous grandfather 
Doth live again in thee : long mayst thou live 
To bear his image and renew his glories !

And he , that will not fight for such a hope ,
Go home to bed , and , like the owl by day ,
If he arise , be mock'd and wonder'd at .

Thanks , gentle Somerset : sweet Oxford , thanks .

And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else .


Prepare you , lords , for Edward is at hand ,
Ready to fight ; therefore be resolute .

I thought no less : it is his policy 
To haste thus fast , to find us unprovided .

But he's deceiv'd ; we are in readiness .

This cheers my heart to see your forwardness .

Here pitch our battle ; hence we will not budge .


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 .

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 .


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 .

For my part , I'll not trouble thee with words .

Nor I , but stoop with patience to my fortune .


So part we sadly in this troublous world ,
To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem .

Is proclamation made , that who finds Edward 
Shall have a high reward , and he his life ?

It is : and lo , where youthful Edward comes .


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 ?

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 self-same words to thee ,
Which , traitor , thou wouldst have me answer to .

Ah ! that thy father had been so resolv'd .

That you might still have worn the petticoat ,
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster .

Let  sop fable in a winter's night ;
His currish riddles sort not with this place .

By heaven , brat , I'll plague you for that word .

Ay , thou wast born to be a plague to men .

For God's sake , take away this captive scold .

Nay , take away this scolding crookback rather .

Peace , wilful boy , or I will charm your tongue .

Untutor'd lad , thou art too malapert .

I know my duty ; you are all undutiful :
Lascivious Edward , and thou perjur'd 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 .

Take that , the likeness of this railer here .


Sprawl'st thou ? take that , to end thy agony .


And there's for twitting me with perjury .


O , kill me too !

Marry , and shall .


Hold , Richard , hold ! for we have done too much .

Why should she live , to fill the world with words ?

What ! doth she swoon ? use means for her recovery .

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 .

What ? what ?

The Tower ! the Tower !


O Ned , sweet Ned ! speak to thy mother , boy !
Canst thou not speak ? O traitors ! murderers !
They that stabb'd C sar shed no blood at all ,
Did not offend , nor were not worthy blame ,
If this foul deed were by , to equal it :
He was a man ; this , in respect , a child ;
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child .
What's worse than murderer , that I may name it ?
No , no , my heart will burst , an if I speak :
And I will speak , that so my heart may burst .
Butchers and villains ! bloody cannibals !
How sweet a plant have you untimely 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 , deathsmen , you have rid this sweet young prince !

Away with her ! go , bear her hence perforce .

Nay , never bear me hence , dispatch me here :
Here sheathe thy sword , I'll pardon thee my death .
What ! wilt thou not ? then , Clarence , do it thou .

By heaven , I will not do thee so much ease .

Good Clarence , do ; sweet Clarence , do thou do it .

Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it ?

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 .

Away , I say ! I charge ye , bear her hence .

So come to you and yours , as to this prince !


Where's Richard gone ?

To London , all in post ; and , as I guess ,
To make a bloody supper in the Tower .

He's sudden if a thing comes in his head .
Now march we hence : discharge the common sort 
With pay and thanks , and let's away to London 
And see our gentle queen how well she fares ;
By this , I hope , she hath a son for me .

Good day , my lord . What ! at your book so hard ?

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 .' 

Sirrah , leave us to ourselves : we must confer .


So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf ;
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece ,
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife .
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act ?

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind ;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer .

The bird that hath been 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 lim'd , was caught , and kill'd .

Why , what a peevish fool was that of Crete ,
That taught his son the office of a fowl !
And yet , for all his wings , the fool was drown'd .

I , D dalus ; 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 ?

Think'st thou I am an executioner ?

A persecutor , I am sure , thou art :
If murd'ring innocents be executing ,
Why , then thou art an executioner .

Thy son I kill'd for his presumption .

Hadst thou been kill'd , when first thou didst presume ,
Thou hadst not liv'd 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 indigest deformed lump ,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree .
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born ,
To signify thou cam'st to bite the world :
And , if the rest be true which I have heard ,
Thou cam'st 

I'll hear no more : die , prophet , in thy speech :

For this , amongst the rest , was I ordain'd .

Ay , and for much more slaughter after this .
O , God forgive my sins , and pardon thee !


What ! will the aspiring blood of Lancaster 
Sink in the ground ? I thought it would have mounted .
See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death !
O ! may such purple tears be always shed 
From those that wish the downfall of our house .
If any spark of life be yet remaining ,
Down , down to hell ; and say I sent thee thither ,

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 shap'd 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 greybeards call divine ,
Be resident in men like one another 
And not in me : I am myself alone .
Clarence , beware ; thou keep'st me from the light :
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee ;
For I will buzz abroad such prophecies 
That Edward shall be fearful of his life ;
And then , to purge his fear , I'll be thy death .
King Henry and the prince his son are gone :
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 .

Once more we sit in England's royal throne ,
Re-purchas'd 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 a-foot in summer's scalding heat ,
That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace ;
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain .

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 .

Clarence and Gloucester , love my lovely queen ;
And kiss your princely nephew , brothers both .

The duty , that I owe unto your majesty ,
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe .

Thanks , noble Clarence ; worthy brother , thanks .

And , that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st ,
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit .


To say the truth , so Judas kiss'd his master ,
And cried 'all hail !' when as he meant all harm .

Now am I seated as my soul delights ,
Having my country's peace and brothers' loves .

What will your Grace have done with Margaret ?
Reignier , her father , to the King of France 
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem ,
And hither have they sent it for her ransom .

Away with her , and waft her hence to France .
And now what rests but that we spend the time 
With stately triumphs , mirthful comic shows ,
Such as befit the pleasure of the court ?
Sound , drums and trumpets ! farewell , sour annoy !
For here , I hope , begins our lasting joy .