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

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!

QUEEN MARGARET. 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.

KING HENRY. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson: Draw thy sword in right.

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

CLIFFORD. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER. Royal commanders, be in readiness; For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York, And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him.

Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.

CLIFFORD. I would your Highness would depart the field: The Queen hath best success when you are absent.

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

KING HENRY. Why, that’s my fortune too; therefore I’ll stay.

NORTHUMBERLAND. Be it with resolution, then, to fight.

PRINCE OF WALES. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence.

Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry ‘Saint George!’

March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and soldiers EDWARD. Now, perjur’d Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace And set thy diadem upon my head,

Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

QUEEN MARGARET. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy.

Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?

EDWARD. I am his king, and he should bow his knee.

I was adopted heir by his consent:

Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You that are King, though he do wear the crown, Have caus’d him by new act of parliament To blot out me and put his own son in.

CLIFFORD. And reason too:

Who should succeed the father but the son?

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

CLIFFORD. Ay, crookback, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he, the proudest of thy sort.

RICHARD. ‘Twas you that kill’d young Rutland, was it not?

CLIFFORD. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

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

WARWICK. What say’st thou, Henry? Wilt thou yield the crown?

QUEEN MARGARET. Why, how now, long-tongu’d Warwick! Dare you speak?

When you and I met at Saint Albans last Your legs did better service than your hands.

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

CLIFFORD. You said so much before, and yet you fled.

WARWICK. ‘Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

NORTHUMBERLAND. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.

RICHARD. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.

Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swol’n heart

Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

CLIFFORD. I slew thy father; call’st thou him a child?

RICHARD. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But ere sunset I’ll make thee curse the deed.

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

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

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

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

RICHARD. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword.

By Him that made us all, I am resolv’d That Clifford’s manhood lies upon his tongue.

EDWARD. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?

A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day That ne’er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.

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

PRINCE OF WALES. If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

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

QUEEN MARGARET. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam; But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,

Mark’d by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads or lizards’ dreadful stings.

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

EDWARD. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns To make this shameless callet know herself.

Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus; And ne’er was Agamemmon’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 show’r for him That wash’d his father’s fortunes forth of France And heap’d sedition on his crown at home.

For what hath broach’d this tumult but thy pride?

Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle King,

Had slipp’d our claim until another age.

GEORGE. But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root;

And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike, We’ll never leave till we have hewn thee down, Or bath’d thy growing with our heated bloods.

EDWARD. And in this resolution I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference,

Since thou deniest the gentle King to speak.

Sound trumpets; let our bloody colours wave, And either victory or else a grave!

QUEEN MARGARET. Stay, Edward.

EDWARD. No, wrangling woman, we’ll no longer stay; These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.

Exeunt

SCENE III.

A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire Alarum; excursions. Enter WARWICK

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

Enter EDWARD, running EDWARD. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death; For this world frowns, and Edward’s sun is clouded.

WARWICK. How now, my lord. What hap? What hope of good?

Enter GEORGE

GEORGE. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.

What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly?

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

Enter RICHARD

RICHARD. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?

Thy brother’s blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach’d with the steely point of Clifford’s lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, Like to a dismal 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.

WARWICK. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood.

I’ll kill my horse, because I will not fly.

Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage, And look upon, as if the tragedy

Were play’d in jest by counterfeiting actors?

Here on my knee I vow to God above

I’ll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath clos’d these eyes of mine Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

EDWARD. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine, And in this vow do chain my soul to thine!

And ere my knee rise from the earth’s cold face I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee, Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings, Beseeching Thee, if with 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.

RICHARD. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms.

I that did never weep now melt with woe That winter should cut off our springtime so.

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

GEORGE. Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay, And call them pillars that will stand to us; And if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games.

This may plant courage in their quailing breasts, For yet is hope of life and victory.

Forslow no longer; make we hence amain. Exeunt

SCENE IV.

Another part of the field

Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD

RICHARD. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone.

Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ’d with a brazen wall.

CLIFFORD. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone.

This is the hand that stabbed thy father York; And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here’s the heart that triumphs in their death And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother To execute the like upon thyself;

And so, have at thee! [They fight]

Enter WARWICK; CLIFFORD flies RICHARD. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt

SCENE V.

Another part of the field

Alarum. Enter KING HENRY alone

KING HENRY. 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 selfsame 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 makes the hour full complete, How many hours brings about the day,

How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live.

When this is known,