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

QUEEN MARGARET. Great lords, wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss,

But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.

What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow’d in the flood; Yet lives our pilot still. Is’t meet that he Should leave the helm and, like a fearful lad, With tearful eyes add water to the sea And give more strength to that which hath too much; Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have sav’d?

Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!

Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that?

And Montague our topmast; what of him?

Our slaught’red friends the tackles; what of these?

Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?

And Somerset another goodly mast?

The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?

And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allow’d the skilful pilot’s charge?

We will not from the helm to sit and weep, But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck, As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.

And what is Edward but a ruthless sea?

What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit?

And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?

All these the enemies to our poor bark.

Say you can swim; alas, ‘tis but a while!

Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink.

Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off, Or else you famish-that’s a threefold death.

This speak I, lords, to let you understand, If case some one of you would fly from us, That there’s no 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.

PRINCE OF WALES. Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit Should, if a coward hear 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 the like spirit to himself.

If any such be here-as God forbid!-

Let him depart before we need his help.

OXFORD. Women and children of so high a courage, And warriors faint! Why, ‘twere perpetual shame.

O brave young Prince! thy famous grandfather Doth live again in thee. Long mayst thou Eve To bear his image and renew his glories!

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

QUEEN MARGARET. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks.

PRINCE OF WALES. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.

Enter a MESSENGER

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

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

SOMERSET. But he’s deceiv’d; we are in readiness.

QUEEN MARGARET. This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.

OXFORD. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.

Flourish and march. Enter, at a distance, KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and soldiers KING EDWARD. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood Which, by the heavens’ assistance and your strength, Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.

I need not add more fuel to your fire, For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out.

Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords.

QUEEN MARGARET. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, Ye see, I drink the water of my eye.

Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign, Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp’d, His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, His statutes cancell’d, and his treasure spent; And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.

You fight in justice. Then, in God’s name, lords, Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.

Alarum, retreat, excursions. Exeunt

SCENE V.

Another part of the field

Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and forces, With QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, prisoners KING EDWARD. Now here a period of tumultuous broils.

Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight; For Somerset, off with his guilty head.

Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.

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

SOMERSET. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.

Exeunt OXFORD and SOMERSET, guarded QUEEN MARGARET. So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

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

GLOUCESTER. It is; and lo where youthful Edward comes.

Enter soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD

KING EDWARD. Bring forth the gallant; let us hear him speak.

What, can so young a man begin to prick?

Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, And all the trouble thou hast turn’d me to?

PRINCE OF WALES. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York.

Suppose that I am now my father’s mouth; Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, Whilst I propose the selfsame words to the Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.

QUEEN MARGARET. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv’d!

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

PRINCE OF WALES. Let Aesop fable in a winter’s night; His currish riddle sorts not with this place.

GLOUCESTER. By heaven, brat, I’ll plague ye for that word.

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

GLOUCESTER. For God’s sake, take away this captive scold.

PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.

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

CLARENCE. Untutor’d lad, thou art too malapert.

PRINCE OF WALES. I know my duty; you are all undutiful.

Lascivious Edward, and thou perjur’d George, And thou misshapen Dick, I tell ye all I am your better, traitors as ye are; And thou usurp’st my father’s right and mine.

KING EDWARD. Take that, the likeness of this railer here.

[Stabs him]

GLOUCESTER. Sprawl’st thou? Take that, to end thy agony.

[Stabs him]

CLARENCE. And there’s for twitting me with perjury.

[Stabs him]

QUEEN MARGARET. O, kill me too!

GLOUCESTER. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her]

KING EDWARD. Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done to much.

GLOUCESTER. Why should she live to fill the world with words?

KING EDWARD. What, doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery.

GLOUCESTER. Clarence, excuse me to the King my brother.

I’ll hence to London on a serious matter; Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.

CLARENCE. What? what?

GLOUCESTER. The Tower! the Tower! Exit QUEEN MARGARET. O Ned, sweet Ned, speak to thy mother, boy!

Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers!

They that stabb’d Caesar shed no blood at all, Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, If this foul deed were by to equal it.

He was a man: this, in respect, a child; And men ne’er spend their fury on a child.

What’s worse than murderer, that I may name it?

No, no, my heart will burst, 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!

KING EDWARD. Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.

QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, never bear me hence; dispatch me here.

Here sheathe thy sword; I’ll pardon thee my death.

What, wilt thou not? Then, Clarence, do it thou.

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

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

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

QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself.

‘Twas sin before, but now ‘tis charity.

What! wilt thou not? Where is that devil’s butcher, Hard-favour’d Richard? Richard, where art thou?

Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne’er put’st back.

KING EDWARD. Away, I say; I charge ye bear her hence.

QUEEN MARGARET. So come to you and yours as to this prince.

Exit, led out forcibly KING EDWARD. Where’s Richard gone?

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

KING EDWARD. He’s sudden, if a thing comes in his head.

Now march we hence. Discharge the common sort With pay and thanks; and let’s away to London And see our gentle queen how well she fares.

By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. Exeunt

SCENE VI.

London. The Tower

Enter KING HENRY and GLOUCESTER with the LIEUTENANT, on the walls GLOUCESTER. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?

KING HENRY. Ay, my good lord-my lord, I should say rather.

‘Tis sin to flatter; ‘good’ was little better.

‘Good Gloucester’ and ‘good devil’ were alike, And both preposterous; therefore, not ‘good lord.’

GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; we must confer.

Exit LIEUTENANT

KING HENRY. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf; So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, And next his throat unto the butcher’s knife.

What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?

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

KING HENRY. 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.

GLOUCESTER. 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.

KING HENRY. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; The sun that sear’d the wings of my sweet boy, Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.

Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!

My breast can better brook thy dagger’s point Than can my ears that tragic history.

But wherefore dost thou come? Is’t for my life?

GLOUCESTER. Think’st thou I am an executioner?

KING HENRY. A persecutor I am sure thou art.

If murdering innocents be executing,

Why, then thou are an executioner.

GLOUCESTER. Thy son I kill’d for his presumption.

KING HENRY. 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, 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 chatt’ring pies in dismal discords sung; Thy mother felt more than a mother’s pain, And yet brought forth less than a mother’s hope, To