The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

CARDINAL. My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.

Th’ uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms And temper clay with blood of Englishmen; To Ireland will you lead a band of men, Collected choicely, from each county some, And try your hap against the Irishmen?

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

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

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

SUFFOLK. A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform’d.

But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.

CARDINAL. No more of him; for I will deal with him That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.

And so break off; the day is almost spent.

Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

YORK. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days At Bristol I expect my soldiers;

For there I’ll ship them all for Ireland.

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

Exeunt all but YORK

YORK. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts And change misdoubt to resolution;

Be that thou hop’st to be; or what thou art Resign to death-it is not worth th’ enjoying.

Let pale-fac’d fear keep with the mean-born man And find no harbour in a royal heart.

Faster than springtime show’rs comes thought on thought, And not a thought but thinks on dignity.

My brain, more busy than the labouring spider, Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.

Well, nobles, well, ‘tis politicly done To send me packing with an host of men.

I fear me you but warm the starved snake, Who, cherish’d in your breasts, will sting your hearts.

‘Twas men I lack’d, and you will give them me; I take it kindly. Yet be well assur’d You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands.

Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, I will stir up in England some black storm Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell; And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage Until the golden circuit on my head,

Like to the glorious sun’s transparent beams, Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.

And for a minister of my intent

I have seduc’d a headstrong Kentishman, John Cade of Ashford,

To make commotion, as full well he can, Under the tide of John Mortimer.

In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade Oppose himself against a troop of kerns, And fought so long tiff that his thighs with darts Were almost like a sharp-quill’d porpentine; And in the end being rescu’d, I have seen Him caper upright like a wild Morisco, Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.

Full often, like a shag-hair’d crafty kern, Hath he conversed with the enemy,

And undiscover’d come to me again

And given me notice of their villainies.

This devil here shall be my substitute; For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble.

By this I shall perceive the commons’ mind, How they affect the house and claim of York.

Say he be taken, rack’d, and tortured; I know no pain they can inflict upon him Will make him say I mov’d him to those arms.

Say that he thrive, as ‘tis great like he will, Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength, And reap the harvest which that rascal sow’d; For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, And Henry put apart, the next for me. Exit

SCENE II.

Bury St. Edmunds. A room of state

Enter two or three MURDERERS running over the stage, from the murder of DUKE HUMPHREY

FIRST MURDERER. Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know We have dispatch’d the Duke, as he commanded.

SECOND MURDERER. O that it were to do! What have we done?

Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

Enter SUFFOLK

FIRST MURDERER. Here comes my lord.

SUFFOLK. Now, sirs, have you dispatch’d this thing?

FIRST MURDERER. Ay, my good lord, he’s dead.

SUFFOLK. Why, that’s well said. Go, get you to my house; I will reward you for this venturous deed.

The King and all the peers are here at hand.

Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well, According as I gave directions?

FIRST MURDERER. ‘Tis, my good lord.

SUFFOLK. Away! be gone. Exeunt MURDERERS

Sound trumpets. Enter the KING, the QUEEN, CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with attendants KING HENRY. Go call our uncle to our presence straight; Say we intend to try his Grace to-day, If he be guilty, as ‘tis published.

SUFFOLK. I’ll call him presently, my noble lord. Exit KING HENRY. Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all, Proceed no straiter ‘gainst our uncle Gloucester Than from true evidence, of good esteem, He be approv’d in practice culpable.

QUEEN. God forbid any malice should prevail That faultless may condemn a nobleman!

Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

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

Re-enter SUFFOLK

How now! Why look’st thou pale? Why tremblest thou?

Where is our uncle? What’s the matter, Suffolk?

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

QUEEN. Marry, God forfend!

CARDINAL. God’s secret judgment! I did dream tonight The Duke was dumb and could not speak a word.

[The KING swoons]

QUEEN. How fares my lord? Help, lords! The King is dead.

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

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

SUFFOLK. He doth revive again; madam, be patient.

KING. O heavenly God!

QUEEN. How fares my gracious lord?

SUFFOLK. Comfort, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, comfort!

KING HENRY. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?

Came he right now to sing a raven’s note, Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow’rs; And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast, Can chase away the first conceived sound?

Hide not thy poison with such sug’red words; Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say, Their touch affrights me as a serpent’s sting.

Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!

Upon thy eyeballs murderous tyranny

Sits in grim majesty to fright the world.

Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding; Yet do not go away; come, basilisk,

And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight; For in the shade of death I shall find joyIn life but double death,‘now Gloucester’s dead.

QUEEN. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?

Although the Duke was enemy to him,

Yet he most Christianlike laments his death; And for myself-foe as he was to me-Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, Or blood-consuming sighs, recall his life, I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs, And all to have the noble Duke alive.

What know I how the world may deem of me?

For it is known we were but hollow friends: It may be judg’d I made the Duke away; So shall my name with slander’s tongue be wounded, And princes’ courts be fill’d with my reproach.

This get I by his death. Ay me, unhappy!

To be a queen and crown’d with infamy!

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

QUEEN. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.

What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face?

I am no loathsome leper-look on me.

What, art thou like the adder waxen deaf?

Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn Queen.

Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester’s tomb?

Why, then Dame Margaret was ne’er thy joy.

Erect his statue and worship it,

And make my image but an alehouse sign.

Was I for this nigh wreck’d upon the sea, And twice by awkward wind from England’s bank Drove back again unto my native clime?

What boded this but well-forewarning wind Did seem to say ‘Seek not a scorpion’s nest, Nor set no footing on this unkind shore’?

What did I then but curs’d the gentle gusts, And he that loos’d them forth their brazen caves; And bid them blow towards England’s blessed shore, Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock?

Yet Aeolus would not be a murderer,

But left that hateful office unto thee.

The pretty-vaulting sea refus’d to drown me, Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown’d on shore With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness; The splitting rocks cow’r’d in the sinking sands And would not dash me with their ragged sides, Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, Might in thy palace perish Margaret.

As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs, When from thy shore the tempest beat us back, I stood upon the hatches in the storm; And when the dusky sky began to rob

My earnest-gaping sight of thy land’s view, I took a costly jewel from my neck-A heart it was, bound in with diamonds-And threw it towards thy land. The sea receiv’d it; And so I wish’d thy body might my heart.

And even with this I lost fair England’s view, And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart, And call’d them blind and dusky spectacles For losing ken of Albion’s wished coast.

How often have I tempted Suffolk’s tongue-The agent of thy foul inconstancy—

To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did

When he to madding Dido would unfold

His father’s acts commenc’d in burning Troy!

Am I not witch’d like her? Or thou not false like him?

Ay me, I can no more! Die, Margaret,

For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.

Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY, and many commons WARWICK. It is reported, mighty sovereign, That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murd’red By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort’s means.

The commons, like an angry hive of bees That want their leader, scatter up and down And care not who they sting in his revenge.

Myself have calm’d their spleenful mutiny Until they hear the order of his death.

KING HENRY. That he is dead, good Warwick, ‘tis too true; But how he died God knows, not Henry.

Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, And comment then upon his sudden death.

WARWICK. That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury, With the rude multitude till I return. Exit Exit SALISBURY with the commons KING HENRY. O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts-My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey’s life!

If my suspect be false, forgive me, God; For judgment only doth belong to Thee.

Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips With twenty thousand kisses and to drain Upon his face an ocean of salt tears

To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk; And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling; But all in vain are these mean obsequies; And to survey his dead and earthy image, What were it but to make my sorrow greater?

Bed put forth with the body. Enter WARWICK

WARWICK. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.

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

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

SUFFOLK. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!

What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?

WARWICK. See how the blood is settled in his face.

Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and