The Second Part of King Henry VI (1983) - full transcript

[upbeat music]

[cheers and trumpets]

[drums]

[trumpets]

As by your high imperial majesty

I had in charge at my depart for France,

as procurator to your excellence,

to marry Princess Margaret for your grace.

So, in the famous ancient city, Tours,

in presence of the Kings

of France and Sicil,

the Dukes of Orleans,

Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon,

seven earls, 12 barons

and 20 reverend bishops,

I have performed my task and was espoused.

And humbly now upon my bended knee,

in sight of England and her lordly peers,

deliver up my title in the queen

to your most gracious hands,

that are the substance

of that great shadow I did represent.

The happiest gift that ever marquess gave,

the fairest queen that ever king received.

Suffolk, arise.

Welcome, Queen Margaret,

I can express no kinder sign

of love than this kind kiss.

O Lord, that lends me life,

lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!

For thou hast given me

in this beauteous face

a world of earthly blessings to my soul,

if sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

Great King of England

and my gracious lord,

the mutual conference

that my mind hath had,

by day, by night, waking and in my dreams,

in courtly company or at my beads,

with you, mine alder-liefest sovereign,

makes me the bolder to salute my king

with ruder terms, such as my wit affords

and over joy of heart doth minister.

Her sight did ravish

but her grace in speech,

her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,

makes me from wondering

fall to weeping joys

such is the fullness

of my heart's content.

Lords, with one cheerful

voice welcome my love.

[All] Long live Queen

Margaret, England's happiness.

[trumpets]

We thank you all.

My lord protector, so

it please your grace,

here are the articles of contracted peace

between our sovereign and

the French king Charles,

for 18 months concluded by consent.

Imprimis, it is agreed between

the French King Charles,

and William de la Pole,

Marquess of Suffolk,

ambassador for Henry King of England,

that the said Henry shall

espouse the Lady Margaret,

daughter unto Reignier

King of Naples, Sicilia

and Jerusalem, and crown

her Queen of England ere the

30th of May next ensuing.

Item, as is further agreed

between them of Anjou

and the county of Maine shall be released

and delivered to the king her father...

Uncle, how now?

Pardon me, gracious lord,

some sudden qualm hath

struck me at the heart

and dimmed mine eyes, that

I can read no further.

Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on.

Item, It is further agreed between them,

that the duchies of Anjou and

the county of Maine shall be

released and delivered over

to the king her father,

and she sent over of the

King of England's own

proper cost and charges,

without having any dowry.

They please us well.

Lord Marquess, kneel down.

We here create thee the

first duke of Suffolk,

and gird thee with the sword.

Cousin of York, we here

discharge your grace

from being regent in the parts of France,

till term of 18 months be full expired.

Thanks, uncle Winchester,

Gloucester and York, Buckingham, Somerset,

Salisbury, and Warwick.

We thank you all for the great favor done,

in entertainment to my princely queen.

Come, let us in, and

with all speed provide

to see her coronation be performed.

[trumpet music]

Brave peers of England,

pillars of the state,

to you Duke Humphrey

must unload his grief,

your grief, the common

grief of all the land.

What, did my brother

Henry spend his youth,

his valor, coin and people, in the wars?

Did he so often lodge in open field,

in winter's cold and

summer's parching heat,

to conquer France, his true inheritance?

Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,

Brave York, Salisbury,

and victorious Warwick,

received deep scars in

France and Normandy?

Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,

with all the learned council of the realm,

studied so long, sat in the council-house

early and late, debating to and fro

how France and Frenchmen

might be kept in awe?

And shall these labors

and these honors die?

O peers of England,

shameful is this league!

Fatal this marriage, canceling your fame,

blotting your names from books of memory,

razing the characters of your renown,

defacing monuments of conquered France.

Undoing all, as all had never been!

Nephew, what means this

passionate discourse,

this peroration with such circumstance?

For France, 'tis ours and

we will keep it still.

Ay, we will keep it, if we can

but now it is impossible we should.

Suffolk, a new-made duke

that rules the roast,

hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine

unto the poor King

Reignier, whose large style

agrees not with the leanness of his purse.

Now, by the death of

him that died for all,

those counties were the keys of Normandy.

[weeps]

But wherefore weeps

Warwick, my valiant son?

For grief that they are past recovery.

For, were there hope

to conquer them again,

my sword should shed hot

blood, mine eyes no tears.

Anjou and Maine, myself did win them both

those provinces these

arms of mine did conquer.

And are the cities,

that I got with wounds,

delivered up again with peaceful words?

Mort Dieu!

For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate,

that dims the honor of this warlike isle!

France should have torn

and rent my very heart,

before I would have

yielded to this league.

I never read but England's kings have had

large sums of gold and

dowries with their wives.

Yet our King Henry gives away his own,

to match with her that brings no vantages.

She should have stayed in

France and starved in France.

My Lord of Gloucester,

now ye grow too hot.

It was the pleasure of my lord the King.

My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind,

'tis not my speeches that you do mislike,

but 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye.

Rancor will out proud prelate, in thy face

I see thy fury if I longer stay,

we shall begin our ancient bickerings.

Lordings, farewell and

say, when I am gone,

I prophesied France will be lost ere long.

[bangs]

So, there goes our protector in a rage.

'Tis known to you he is mine enemy,

nay, more, an enemy unto you all,

and no great friend, I

fear me, to the king.

Consider, lords, he is the next of blood,

and heir apparent to the English crown.

Had Henry got an empire by his marriage,

with all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,

there's reason he should

be displeased at it.

Look to it lords, let

not his smoothing words

bewitch your hearts be

wise and circumspect.

What though the common people

favors him, calling him,

"Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester."

Clapping their hands, and

crying with loud voice,

"Jesu maintain your royal excellence!"

With "God preserve the

good Duke Humphrey!"

I fear me, lords, for all

this flattering gloss,

he will be found a dangerous protector.

Why should he, then,

protect our sovereign,

he being of age to govern of himself?

Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,

and all together, with

the Duke of Suffolk,

we'll quickly hoise Duke

Humphrey from his seat.

This weighty business

will not brook delay.

I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently.

Cousin of Buckingham,

though Humphrey's pride and greatness

of his place be grief to us,

yet let us watch the haughty cardinal.

His insolence is more intolerable

than all the princes in the land beside

if Gloucester be displaced,

he'll be protector.

Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector,

despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal.

Pride went before, ambition follows him.

While these do labor for

their own preferment,

behooves it us to labor for the realm.

I never saw but Humphrey

Duke of Gloucester

did bear him like a noble gentleman.

Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal,

more like a soldier than

a man of the church,

as stout and proud as he were lord of all,

swear like a ruffian and demean himself

unlike the ruler of a commonweal.

Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age,

thy deeds, thy plainness

and thy housekeeping,

hath won the greatest

favor of the commons,

excepting none but good Duke Humphrey.

And, cousin York, thy acts in Ireland,

in bringing them to civil discipline,

thy late exploits done

in the heart of France,

when thou werst regent for our sovereign,

have made thee feared and

honored of the people.

The reverence of mine

age and Neville's name

is of no little force if I command.

Join we together, for the public good,

in what we can, to bridle and suppress

the pride of Suffolk and the cardinal,

with Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition.

And, as we may, cherish

Duke Humphrey's deeds,

while they do tend the profit of the land.

So God help Warwick, as he loves the land,

and common profit of his country!

And so says York, for

he hath greatest cause.

Then let's make haste away,

and look unto the main.

Unto the Maine!

O father, Maine is lost.

That Maine which by main

force Warwick did win,

and would have kept so

long as breath did last!

Main chance, father, you

meant but I meant Maine,

which I will win from

France, or else be slain.

[bangs]

Anjou and Maine are given to the French.

Paris is lost,

the state of Normandy

stands on a tickle point,

now they are gone.

Suffolk concluded on these articles,

the peers agreed, and

Henry was well pleased

to change two dukedoms for

a duke's fair daughter.

I cannot blame them all what is't to them?

'Tis thine they give

away, and not their own.

Pirates may make cheap

pennyworths of their pillage

and purchase friends

and give to courtezans,

still reveling like

lords till all be gone.

While as the silly owner of the goods,

weeps over them and

wrings his hapless hands

and shakes his head and

trembling stands aloof,

while all is shared and all is borne away,

ready to starve and

dare not touch his own.

So York must sit and

fret and bite his tongue,

while his own lands are

bargain'd for and sold.

Anjou and Maine both

given unto the French!

Cold news for me, for

I had hope of France,

even as I have of fertile England's soil.

A day will come when

York shall claim his own

and therefore I will

take the Nevil's parts

and make a show of love

to proud Duke Humphrey,

and, when I spy advantage,

claim the crown.

For that's the golden mark I seek to hit

nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,

nor hold the scepter in his childish fist,

nor wear the diadem upon his head,

whose church-like humors

fits not for a crown.

Then, York, be still

awhile, till time do serve

watch thou and wake when others be asleep,

to pry into the secrets of the state.

Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,

with his new bride and

England's dear-bought queen,

and Humphrey with the

peers be fall'n at jars

then will I raise aloft

the milk-white rose,

with whose sweet smell

the air shall be perfumed

and in my standard bear the arms of York

to grapple with the house of Lancaster

and, force perforce, I'll

make him yield the crown,

whose bookish rule hath

pulled fair England down.

[trumpet music]

Why droops my lord,

like over-ripened corn,

hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?

Why are thine eyes fixed

to the sullen earth,

gazing on that which

seems to dim thy sight?

What seest thou there?

King Henry's diadem, enchased with all

the honors of the world?

If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,

until thy head be circled with the same.

Put forth thy hand, reach

at the glorious gold.

What, is too short?

I'll lengthen it with mine,

and having both together heaved it up,

we'll both together lift

our heads to heaven,

and never more abase our sight so low

as to vouchsafe one

glance unto the ground.

O, Nell, sweet Nell, if

thou dost love thy lord,

banish the canker of ambitious thoughts.

And may that thought

ere, when I imagine ill

against my king and

nephew, virtuous Henry,

be my last breathing in this mortal world!

My troublous dream this

night doth make me sad.

What dreamed my lord?

Tell me, and I'll requite

it with sweet rehearsal

of my morning's dream.

Methought this staff, mine

office-badge in court,

was broke in twain by whom I have forgot,

but, as I think, it was by the cardinal.

And on the pieces of the broken wand

were placed the heads of

Edmund Duke of Somerset,

and William de la Pole,

first duke of Suffolk.

This was my dream what

it doth bode, God knows.

Tut, this was nothing but an argument

that he that breaks a

stick of Gloucester's grove

shall lose his head for his presumption.

But list to me, my

Humphrey, my sweet duke.

Methought I sat in seat of majesty

in the cathedral church of Westminster,

and in that chair where

kings and queens are crowned

where Henry and dame

Margaret kneeled to me,

and on my head did set the diadem.

Art thou not second woman in the realm,

and the protector's wife, beloved of him?

Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,

above the reach or compass of thy thought?

And wilt thou still be

hammering treachery,

to tumble down thy husband and thyself

from top of honor to disgrace's feet?

Away from me, and let me hear no more!

What, what, my lord, are you so choleric

with Eleanor, for telling but her dream?

Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself,

and not be checked.

Nay, be not angry I am pleased again.

My lord protector, it

is His Highness pleasure

you do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's,

where as the king and

queen do mean to hawk.

I go.

Come, Nell, thou wilt

ride with us am sure?

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

Follow I must I cannot go before,

while Gloucester bears

this base and humble mind.

Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,

I would remove these

tedious stumbling-blocks

and smooth my way upon

their headless necks.

And, being a woman, I will not be slack

to play my part in Fortune's pageant.

Where are you there, Sir John?

Nay, fear not, man, we are alone

here's none but thee and I.

Jesu preserve your royal majesty!

What say'st thou?

Majesty! I am but grace.

But, by the grace of

God, and Hume's advice,

your grace's title shall be multiplied.

What say'st thou, man?

Hast thou as yet conferred

with Margery Jourdain,

the witch of I, with Bolingbroke,

the cunning conjurer?

And will they undertake to do me good?

This they have promised,

to show your highness.

A spirit raised from

depth of under-ground,

that shall make answer to such questions

as by your grace shall be propounded him.

It is enough, I'll think

upon the questions.

When from St. Alban's we do make return,

we'll see these things

effected to the full.

Here, Hume, take this

reward make merry, man,

with thy confederates

in this weighty cause.

Hume must make merry

with the duchess' gold.

[giggles]

Marry, and shall.

But how now, Sir John Hume!

Seal up your lips, and

give no words but mum

the business asketh silent secrecy.

Dame Eleanor gives gold

to bring the witch,

but gold cannot come

amiss, were she a devil.

Yet have I gold flies from another coast

I dare not say, from the rich cardinal

and the great and

new-made Duke of Suffolk,

yet I do find it so for to be plain,

they, knowing Dame

Eleanor's aspiring humor,

have hired me to undermine the duchess

and buz these conjurations in her brain.

They say,

"A crafty knave does need no broker."

Yet am I Suffolk and

the cardinal's broker.

Hume, if you take not

heed, you shall go near

to call them both a pair of crafty knaves.

Well, so it stands and

thus, I fear, at last

Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck,

and her attainture will

be Humphrey's fall.

Sort how it will, I

shall have gold for all.

[giggles]

[bangs the wall]

My masters, let's stand

close my lord protector

will come this way by and

by, and then we may deliver

our supplications in the quill.

Marry, the Lord protect

him, for he's a good man!

Jesu bless him!

[trumpet music]

Here a' comes, methinks,

and the queen with him.

I'll be the first, sure.

Come back, fool this

is the Duke of Suffolk,

and not my lord protector.

How now, fellow, would'st

anything with me?

Pardon me, My Lord I took

ye for my lord protector.

To my Lord Protector!

Are your supplications to his lordship?

Let me see them, what is thine?

Pardon me ma'am, mine is,

an't please your grace,

against John Goodman,

my lord Cardinal's man,

for keeping my house, and lands,

and wife and all, from me.

Thy wife, too?

That's some wrong, indeed.

What's yours?

What's here?

Against the Duke of Suffolk,

for enclosing the commons

of long Melford.

How now, sir knave?

Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner

of our whole township.

Against my master, Thomas Horner,

for saying that the Duke

of York was rightful

heir to the crown.

What sayst thou?

Did the Duke of York

say that he was rightful

heir to the crown?

My master was.

No, forsooth my master said that he was,

and that the king was an usurer.

An usurper, that was to say.

All right for usurper.

Who is there?

Take this fellow in, and send

for his master presently.

We'll hear more of your

matter before the King.

And as for you, that love to be protected

under the wings of our protector's grace,

begin your suits anew, and sue to him.

Away, base cullions!

Suffolk, let them go.

Come, let's be gone.

My Lord of Suffolk,

say, is this the guise?

Is this the fashion in

the court of England?

Is this the government of Britain's isle,

and this the royalty of Albion's king?

What shall King Henry be a pupil still

under the surly Gloucester's governance?

Am I a queen in title and in style,

and must be made a subject to a duke?

I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours

thou ran'st a tilt in honor of my love,

and stolest away the

ladies' hearts of France.

I thought King Henry had

resembled thee in courage,

courtship and proportion.

But all his mind is bent to holiness,

To number Ave-Maries on his beads,

his champions are the

prophets and apostles,

his weapons holy saws of sacred writ.

His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves

are brazen images of canonized saints.

I would the college of the cardinals

would choose him pope,

and carry him to Rome,

and set the triple crown upon his head.

That were a state fit for his holiness.

Madam, be patient as I was cause

your highness came to England, so will I

in England work your grace's full content.

Beside the haughty

protector, have we Beaufort,

the imperious churchman,

Somerset, Buckingham,

and grumbling York and

not the least of these

but can do more in England than the king.

And he of these that can do most of all,

cannot do more in England than the Nevil's

Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers.

Not all these lords do vex me half so much

as that proud dame, the

lord protector's wife.

She sweeps it through the

court with troops of ladies,

more like an empress than

Duke Humphrey's wife.

Strangers in court do

take her for the queen.

She bears a duke's revenues on her back,

and in her heart she scorns our poverty.

Shall I not live to be avenged on her?

Contemptuous base-born callet as she is,

she vaunted 'mongst her

minions t'other day,

the very train of her worst wearing gown

was better worth than

all my father's lands.

[laughs]

Till Suffolk gave two

dukedoms for his daughter.

Madam, myself have limed a bush for her,

and placed a quire of such enticing birds,

that she will light to listen to the lays,

and never mount to trouble you again.

So, let her rest and, madam, list to me

for I am bold to counsel you in this.

Although we fancy not the cardinal,

yet must we join with

him and with the lords,

till we have brought Duke

Humphrey in disgrace.

As for the Duke of York,

this late complaint

will make but little for his benefit.

So, one by one, we'll

weed them all at last,

and you yourself shall

steer the happy helm.

For my part, noble lords, I care not which

or Somerset or York, all's one to me.

[trumpet blows]

If York have ill demeaned

himself in France,

then let him be denay'd the regentship.

If Somerset be unworthy of the place,

let York be your regent,

I will yield to him.

Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no,

dispute not that York is the worthier.

Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.

The cardinal's not my better in the field.

All in this presence are

thy betters, Warwick.

Warwick may live to be the best of all.

Peace, son! and show

some reason, Buckingham,

why Somerset should be preferred in this.

Because the king,

forsooth, will have it so.

Madam, the king is old enough himself

to give his censure these

are no women's matters.

If he be old enough, what needs your grace

to be protector of his excellence?

Madam, I am protector of the realm,

and, at his pleasure,

will resign my place.

Resign it then and leave thine insolence.

Since thou wert king as

who is king but thou?

The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck

the Dauphin hath

prevailed beyond the seas,

and all the peers and nobles of the realm

have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.

The commons hast thou

rack'd, the clergy's bags

are lank and lean with thy extortions.

Thy sumptuous buildings

and thy wife's attire

have cost a mass of public treasury.

Thy cruelty in execution

upon offenders, hath exceeded law,

and left thee to the mercy of the law.

Thy sale of offices and towns in France,

if they were known, as

the suspect is great,

would make thee quickly

hop without thy head.

Give me my fan.

What, minion, can ye not?

I cry you mercy, madam was it you?

Was't I?

Yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman.

Could I come near your

beauty with my nails,

I'd set my 10 commandments in your face.

Sweet aunt, be quiet

'twas against her will.

Against her will, Good

King, look to it in time.

She'll hamper thee, and

dandle thee like a baby.

Though in this place most

master wear no breeches,

she shall not strike

Dame Eleanor unrevenged.

Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,

and listen after

Humphrey, how he proceeds.

She's tickled now her fume needs no spurs,

she'll gallop far enough

to her destruction.

Now, lords, my choler being over-blown

with walking once about the quadrangle,

I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.

As for your spiteful false objections,

prove them, and I lie open to the law

but God in mercy so deal with my soul,

as I in duty love my king and country!

To the matter that we have in hand.

I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man

to be your regent in the realm of France.

Before we make election, give me leave

to show some reason, of no little force,

that York is most unmeet of any man.

I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet.

First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride

next, if I be appointed for the place,

My Lord of Somerset will keep me here,

without discharge, money, or furniture,

till France be won into

the Dauphin's hands.

Last time, I danced attendance on his will

till Paris was besieged,

famished, and lost.

That can I witness and a fouler fact

did never traitor in the land commit.

Peace, headstrong Warwick!

Image of pride, why

should I hold my peace?

Because here is a man accused of treason.

Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself!

[drum beats]

Doth any one accuse York for a traitor?

What mean'st thou, Suffolk

tell me, what are these?

Please it your majesty, this is the man

that doth accuse his

master of high treason.

His words were these,

"that Richard, Duke of York,

"was rightful heir unto the English crown,

"and that your majesty was a usurper."

Say, man, were these thy words?

An't shall please your

majesty, I never said nor

thought any such matter God is my witness,

I am falsely accused by the villain.

By these 10 bones, my lords,

he did speak them to me,

in the garret one night,

as we were scouring

My Lord of York's armor.

Base dunghill villain and mechanical,

I'll have thy head for

this thy traitor's speech.

I do beseech your royal majesty,

Let him have all the rigor of the law.

Alas, my lord, hang me,

if ever I spake the words.

My accuser is my 'prentice

and when I did correct

him for his fault the other

day, he did vow upon his

knees he would be even with me,

I have good witness of

this therefore I beseech

your majesty, do not

cast away an honest man

for a villain's accusation.

Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?

This doom, my lord, if

I may judge my case.

Let Somerset be regent over the French,

because in York this breeds suspicion.

And let these have a day appointed them

for single combat in convenient place,

for he hath witness of

his servant's malice.

This is the law, and this

Duke Humphrey's doom.

I humbly thank your royal majesty.

And I accept the combat willingly.

Alas, my lord, I cannot

fight for God's sake,

pity my case.

The spite of man prevaileth against me.

O Lord, have mercy upon me!

I shall never be able to fight a blow.

O Lord, my heart!

Sirrah, or you must

fight, or else be hanged.

Away with them to prison

and the day of combat

be the last of the next month.

Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away.

[drum beats]

[bell chimes]

[coughs]

Come master Bolingbroke,

the duchess I tell you,

expects performance of your promises.

Master Hume, we are therefore provided,

will her ladyship behold

and hear our exorcisms?

Ay, what else?

Fear you not her courage.

I have heard her reported

to be a woman of an

exceptional spirit but

it shall be convenient,

Master Hume, that you be

by her aloft, while we be

busy below, and so I pray you go,

in God's name, and leave us.

Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate

and grovel on the earth?

John Southwell, read you

and let us to our work.

Well said, my masters.

To this gear the sooner the better.

Patience, good lady

wizards know their times.

[deep drum beats]

Deep night, dark night,

the silent of the night.

[gongs metal plate]

The time of night when

Troy was set on fire,

the time when screech owls

cry and ban dogs howl,

and spirits walk and ghosts

break up their graves.

That time best suites

the work we have in hand.

Madam, stay you and

fear not whom we raise,

we will make fast within a hallowed verge.

[speaks in foreign language]

[bangs metal plate]

Adsum.

Asmath.

By the eternal God, whose name and power

thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask

for, till thou speak, thou

shalt not pass from hence.

Ask what thou wilt, that

I had said and done!

First of the king what

shall of him become?

The duke yet lives that

Henry shall depose,

yet him outlive, and die a violent death.

Tell me what fates await

the Duke of Suffolk?

By water shall he die, and take his end.

What shall betie the Duke of Somerset?

Let him shun castles.

Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains

than where castles mounted stand.

Have done, for more I hardly can endure.

Descend to darkness and the burning lake!

False fiend, avoid!

Lay hands on these

traitors and their trash.

[upbeat music]

Beldam, methinks we

watch'd you at an inch.

What, madam, are you there?

The king and commonweal

are deeply indebted

for this piece of pains.

My lord protector will, I doubt it not,

see you well guerdoned

for these good deserts.

Not half so bad as

thine to England's king,

injurious duke, that

threatest where's no cause.

True, madam, none at

all what call you this?

Away with them! let

them be clapped up close

and kept asunder.

You, madam, shall with

us, take her to thee.

We'll see your trinkets

here all forthcoming.

All, away!

[drum beats]

Lord Buckingham, methinks,

you watch'd her well.

A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!

Now, pray, my lord, let's

see the devil's writ.

What have we here?

"The duke yet lives,

that Henry shall depose

"but him outlive, and

die a violent death."

"Tell me what fate awaits

the Duke of Suffolk?

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

"What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?

"Let him shun castles.

"Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains

"than where castles mounted stand."

[laughs]

Come, come, my lords.

These oracles are hardly

attained, and hardly understood.

The king is now in progress

towards Saint Alban's,

with him the husband of this lovely lady.

Thither go these news, as

fast as horse can carry them.

A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.

Your grace shall give me

leave, my Lord of York,

to be the post, in hope of his reward.

At your pleasure, my good lord.

Within there, ho?

Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,

to sup with me tomorrow night.

Away!

[drumbeats]

[trumpet blows]

[cheers]

Believe me, lords, for

flying at the brook,

I saw not better sport

these seven years day.

What a point, my lord, your falcon made,

and what a pitch she flew above the rest!

To see how God in all his creatures works!

Yea, man and birds are

fain of climbing high.

No marvel, an it like your majesty,

My Lord protector's

hawks do tower so well.

They know their master loves to be aloft,

and bears his thoughts

above his falcon's pitch.

[laughs]

My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind

that mounts no higher

than a bird can soar.

I thought as much, he

would be above the clouds.

Ay, my lord cardinal,

how think you by that?

Were it not good your

grace could fly to heaven?

The treasury of everlasting joy.

Thy heaven is on earth

thine eyes and thoughts

beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart

pernicious protector, dangerous peer.

That smooth'st it so

with king and commonweal!

Churchmen so hot?

Good uncle, can you do it?

To hide such malice with such holiness?

No malice, sir no more than well becomes

so good a quarrel and so bad a peer.

[laughs]

As who, my lord?

Why, as yourself, my lord,

an't like your lordly lord-protectorship.

[laughs]

Why, Suffolk, England

knows thine insolence.

And thy ambition, Gloucester.

I prithee, peace, good queen,

and whet not on these furious peers,

for blessed are the peacemakers on earth.

Let me be blessed for the peace I make,

against this proud

protector, with my sword!

Faith, holy uncle, would

'twere come to that!

Marry, when thou darest.

Dare, I told the priest to Plantagenets,

could never broke the dare.

I am Plantagenet as well as

thou, and son to John Argont.

In bastardy.

I score my words.

Make up no factious numbers for the matter

in thine own person answer thy abuse.

Ay, where thou darest not

peep an if thou darest,

this evening, on the

east side of the grove.

How now, my lords?

Believe me, cousin Gloucester,

had not your man put up

the fowl so suddenly,

we had had more sport.

Come with thy two-hand sword.

True, uncle.

Are you well advised?

The east side of the grove?

I am with you.

Why, how now, uncle Gloucester!

Talking of hawking nothing else, my lord.

Now, by God's mother, I'll

shave your crown for this,

Protector, see to't

well, protect yourself.

The winds grow high so

do your stomachs, lords.

How irksome is this music to my heart!

When such strings jar,

what hope of harmony?

I pray, my lords, let

me compound this strife.

[Man] It's a miracle, it's a miracle!

What noise is this?

A miracle, a miracle!

Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?

A miracle! a miracle!

Come to the king and

tell him what miracle.

Forsooth, a blind man

at Saint Alban's shrine,

within this half hour,

hath received his sight,

a man that ne'er saw in his life before.

Now, God be praised,

that to believing souls

gives light in darkness,

comfort in despair!

[crowd cheers]

Here comes the townsmen on

procession, to present your

highness with the man.

Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,

although by his sight

his sin be multiplied.

♪ A miracle ♪

♪ A miracle ♪

♪ A miracle ♪

♪ A miracle ♪

Stand by, my masters

bring him near the king.

His highness' pleasure

is to talk with him.

Good fellow, tell us

here the circumstance,

that we for thee may glorify the Lord.

What, hast thou been long

blind and now restored?

Born blind, an't please your grace.

Ay, indeed, was he.

What woman is this?

His wife, an't like your worship.

Hadst thou been his mother,

thou couldst have better told.

[laughs]

Where wert thou born?

At Berwick in the north,

an't like your grace.

Poor soul, God's goodness

hath been great to thee

let never day nor night unhallowed pass,

but still remember what

the Lord hath done.

Tell me, good fellow,

came thou here by chance,

or of devotion, to this holy shrine?

God knows, of pure devotion being call'd

A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep,

by good Saint Alban who said,

"Simon, come, offer at my

shrine, and I will help thee."

Most true, forsooth and many time and oft

myself have heard a voice to call him so.

What, art thou lame?

Ay, God Almighty help me!

How camest thou so?

A fall off of a tree.

A plum tree, master.

How long hast thou been blind?

Born so, master.

What, and wouldst climb a tree?

But that in all my life,

when I was a youth.

Too true and bought

his climbing very dear.

Mass, thou lovedst plums

well, that would venture so.

Alas master, my wife desired some damsons,

and made me climb, with danger of my life.

A subtle knave, but

yet it shall not serve.

Let me see thine eyes

wink now, now open them.

In my opinion yet thou seest not well.

Ay master, clear as day, I

thank God and Saint Alban.

Say'st thou me so?

What color is this cloak of?

Red, master red as blood.

Why, that's well said.

What color is my gown of?

Black, forsooth coal-black as jet.

Why, then, thou know'st

what color jet is of?

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

But cloaks and gowns,

before this day, a many.

Never, before this day, in all his life.

Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?

Alas, master, I know not.

What's his name?

I know not.

Nor his?

No, indeed, master.

What's thine own name?

Saunder Simpcox, if it please you, master.

Then Saunder, sit there the

lyingest knave in Christendom.

If thou hadst been born

blind, thou mightst

as well have known all

our names as thus to name

the several colors we do wear.

Sight may distinguish of colors,

but suddenly to nominate

them all, it is impossible.

Saint Alban here hath done a miracle

and might ye not think

his cunning to be great,

that could restore this

cripple to his legs again?

O master, that you could!

My masters of Saint Alban's,

have you not beadles

in your town, and things called whips?

Yes, my lord.

Send for one presently.

Sirrah, go fetch the

beadle hither straight.

And fetch me a stool hither by and by.

Now, sirrah, if you mean to

save yourself from whipping,

leap me over this stool and run.

Alas, master, I am not

able to stand alone,

you go about to torture me in vain.

Well, we must have you find your legs.

Whip him till he leap

over that same stool.

Come on, sirrah off with

your doublet quickly.

Alas, master, what shall I do?

I am not able to stand.

[screams]

A miracle!

[crowd shouts]

O God, seest Thou this,

and bearest so long.

O, it made me laugh to

see the villain run.

Follow the knave and take this drab away.

Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.

Let them be whipped

through every market town,

until they come to Berwick,

from whence they came.

[laughs]

Duke Humphrey has done a miracle today.

True made the lame to leap and fly away.

But you have done more miracles than I.

You made in a day, my

lord, whole towns to fly.

[trumpet music]

What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?

Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold.

A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent,

under the countenance and confederacy

of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife,

the ringleader and head of all this rout,

have practiced dangerously

against your state.

Dealing with witches and with conjurers

whom we have apprehended in the fact

raising up wicked spirits

from under ground,

demanding of King Henry's life and death,

and other of your highness privy council.

As more at large your

grace shall understand.

O God, what mischief work the wicked ones,

heaping confusion on

their own heads thereby!

Gloucester, see here the

tainture of thy nest.

Look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.

Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal,

how I have loved my king and commonweal.

And, for my wife, I

know not how it stands,

sorry I am to hear what I have heard.

Noble she is, but if she

have forgot honor and virtue

and conversed with such

as, like to pitch, defile nobility,

I banish her my bed and company

and give her as a prey to law and shame,

that hath dishonored

Gloucester's honest name.

Well, for this night

we will repose us here.

Tomorrow toward London back again,

to look into this business thoroughly

and call these foul

offenders to their answers.

And poise the cause in

justice equal scales,

whose beam stands sure, whose

rightful cause prevails.

[upbeat drumbeats]

Now, my good Lords of

Salisbury and Warwick,

our simple supper ended.

Give me leave in this close walk,

to satisfy myself in craving

your opinion of my title,

which is infallible, to England's crown.

My lord, I long to hear it at full.

Sweet York, begin and

if thy claim be good,

the Nevil's are thy subjects to command.

Then thus,

Edward the Third, my

lords, had seven sons,

the first, the Black Prince

died before his father,

and left behind him Richard, his only son.

Who after Edward the third's

death reigned as king.

Till Henry Bolingbroke, the

son and heir to John the Gaunt

the fourth of Edward's

son seized on the realm,

deposed the rightful king,

sent his poor queen to

France from whence she came,

and him to Pomfret where, as all you know,

harmless Richard was

murdered traitorously.

Father, the duke of York

hath told the truth,

thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.

Which now they hold by

force and not by right.

For Richard, the first

son's heir, being dead,

the issue of the next

son should have reigned.

But William of Hatfield

died without an heir.

The third son, Duke of

Clarence, from whose line

I claimed the crown, had

issue, Philippe, a daughter,

who married Edmund

Mortimer, Earl of March.

Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March,

Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor.

This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,

as I have read, laid claim unto the crown.

And, therefore was kept

captive till he died.

But to the rest.

His eldest sister, Anne,

my mother, being heir unto the crown

married Richard Earl of

Cambridge who was son

of Edmund Langley, Edward

the Third's fifth son.

By her I claim the kingdom.

She was heir to Roger Earl

of March, who was the son

of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe,

sole daughter unto

Lionel Duke of Clarence.

So, if the issue of the elder son,

succeed before the younger, I am king.

What plain proceeding

is more plain than this?

Henry doth claim the

crown from John of Gaunt,

The fourth son York

claims it from the third.

Till Lionel's issue fails,

his should not reign.

It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee,

and in thy sons, fair

slips of such a stock.

Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together

and in this private plot be we the first

that shall salute our rightful sovereign

with honor of his birthright to the crown.

[Both] Long live our sovereign

Richard, England's king!

We thank you, lords.

But I am not your king till I be crowned

and my sword be stained with heart blood

of the house of Lancaster.

And that's not suddenly to be performed,

but with advice and silent secrecy.

Do you as I do in these dangerous days

wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence,

at Beaufort's pride,

at Somerset's ambition,

at Buckingham and all the crew of them,

till they have snared the

shepherd of the flock,

the virtuous prince,

the good Duke Humphrey.

'Tis that they seek, and

they in seeking that,

shall find their deaths,

if York can prophesy.

My lord, break we off we

know your mind at full.

My heart assures me that

the Earl of Warwick,

shall one day make the

Duke of York a king.

And, Nevil, this I do assure myself,

Richard shall live to

make the Earl of Warwick.

The greatest man in England but the king.

[upbeat music]

Stand forth, Dame Eleanor

Cobham, Gloucester's wife.

In sight of God and us,

your guilt is great,

receive the sentence of the law for sins

such as by God's book

are adjudged to death.

You four, from hence to prison back again.

From thence unto the place of execution,

the witch in Smithfield

shall be burned to ashes,

and you three shall be

strangled on the gallows.

You, madam, for you are more nobly born,

despoiled of your honor in your life,

shall, after three

days' open penance done,

live in your country here in banishment,

with Sir John , in the Isle of Man.

Welcome is banishment,

welcome were my death.

Eleanor, the law, thou

see'st, hath judged thee,

I cannot justify whom the law condemns.

[grunts]

[drumbeats]

[laughs]

I beseech your majesty,

give me leave to go.

Sorrow would solace and

mine age would ease.

Stay, Humphrey Duke of

Gloucester ere thou go,

give up thy staff,

Henry will to himself protector be.

And God shall be my

hope, my stay, my guide

and lantern to my feet.

And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved

than when thou wert protector to thy King.

I see no reason why a king of years

should be to be protected like a child.

God and King Henry govern England's realm.

Give up your staff, sir,

and the king his realm.

My staff, here, noble Henry, is my staff.

As willingly do I the same resign

as e'er thy father Henry made it mine,

and even as willingly

at thy feet I leave it.

As others would ambitiously receive it.

Farewell, good king

when I am dead and gone,

may honorable peace attend thy throne!

Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen

and Humphrey Duke of

Gloucester scarce himself,

that bears so shrewd a maim,

two pulls at once.

His lady banished, and a limb lopped off.

This staff of honor raught,

there let it stand where

it best fits to be,

in Henry's hand.

Thus droops this lofty

pine and hangs his sprays.

Thus Eleanor's pride dies

in her youngest days.

Lords, let him go.

Please it your majesty,

this is the day appointed

for the combat,

and ready are the appellant and defendant,

the armorer and his

man, to enter the lists,

so please your highness

to behold the fight.

Ay, good my lord for purposely therefore

left I the court, to

see this quarrel tried.

O God's name, see the

lists and all things fit.

Here let them end it and

God defend the right!

[drumbeats]

[laughs]

Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you

in a cup of sack and fear not, neighbour,

you shall do well enough.

[laughs]

And here, neighbour,

here's a cup of charneco.

[laughs]

And here's a pot of good

double beer, neighbor,

drink, and fear not your man.

[laughs]

Let it come, i' faith,

and I'll pledge you all

and a fig for Peter!

Here, Peter, I drink to

thee and be not afraid.

Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master,

fight for credit of the 'prentices.

I thank you all drink, and pray for me,

I pray you for I think I

have taken my last draft

in this world.

Here, Robin, an if I die,

I give thee my apron,

and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer,

and here, Tom, take all

the money that I have.

O, Lord bless me, I pray God!

For I am never able to

deal with my master,

he hath learnt me so much fence already.

Come, leave your drinking,

and fall to blows.

Sirrah, what's thy name?

Peter, forsooth.

Peter! what more?

Thump.

Thump, then see thou

thump thy master well.

Masters, I am come hither, as it were,

at my man's instigation, to

prove him a knave and myself

an honest man and

touching the Duke of York,

I'll take my death, I

never meant him any ill,

nor the king, nor the

queen and therefore, Peter,

have at thee with a downright blow!

[yells]

Dispatch this knave's

tongue begins to double.

Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants!

[trumpet music]

[fighters yelling]

[laughs]

[yells]

[laughs]

[peter yells]

Hold, Peter, hold!

I confess, I confess treason.

Take away his weapon.

Fellow, thank God, and the

good wine in thy master's way.

O God, have I overcome mine

enemy in this presence?

O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right!

Go, take hence that

traitor from our sight.

For thy his death we

do perceive his guilt,

and God in justice hath revealed to us

the truth and innocence

of this poor fellow,

which he had thought to

have murdered wrongfully.

Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.

[cheers]

[laughs]

Thus sometimes hath the

brightest day a cloud,

and after summer evermore succeeds

and barren winter, with

his wrathful nipping cold.

So cares and joys

abound, as seasons fleet.

Sirs, what's o'clock?

10, my lord.

Ten is the hour that was appointed me

to watch the coming of

my punished duchess.

Uneath may she endure the flinty streets,

to tread them with her

tender feeling feet.

[background chattering]

Soft, methinks she comes and I'll prepare

my tear-stained eyes to see her miseries.

[jeers]

So please your grace, we'll

take her from the sheriff.

No, stir not, for your

lives let her pass by.

Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?

Now thou dost penance too.

Look how they gaze!

See how the giddy multitude do point,

and nod their heads, and

throw their eyes on thee!

[laughs]

Ah, Gloucester, hide thee

from their hateful looks,

and, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,

and ban thine enemies,

both mine and thine!

Be patient, gentle Nell forget this grief.

Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!

Trow'st thou that e'er

I'll look upon the world,

or count them happy that enjoy the sun?

No dark shall be my

light and night my day.

To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.

Sometime I'll say, I am

Duke Humphrey's wife,

and he a prince and ruler of the land,

yet so he ruled and such a prince he was

as he stood by whilst

I, his forlorn duchess,

was made a wonder and a pointing-stock

to every idle rascal follower.

But be thou mild and

blush not at my shame,

nor stir at nothing till the axe of death

hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will.

For Suffolk, he that can do all in all

with her that hateth

thee and hates us all,

and York and impious

Beaufort, that false priest,

have all limed bushes to betray thy wings,

and, fly thou how thou

canst, they'll tangle thee?

But fear not thou, until

thy foot be snared,

nor never seek prevention of thy foes.

Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry,

I must offend before I be attainted.

And had I 20 times so many foes,

and each of them had 20 times their power,

all these could not procure me any scathe,

so long as I am loyal, true and crimeless.

Wouldst have me rescue

thee from this reproach?

Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away

but I in danger for the breach of law.

Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell

I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience

these few days' wonder

will be quickly worn.

I summon your grace to

his majesty's parliament,

holden at Bury the first

of this next month.

And my consent ne'er asked herein before!

This is close dealing.

Well, I will be there.

My Nell, I take my leave

and, master sheriff,

let not her penance exceed

the king's commission.

An't please your grace,

here my commission stays,

and Sir John Stanley, is

appointed now to take her with him

to the Isle of Man.

Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?

So am I given in charge,

may't please your grace.

Entreat her not the worse in

that I pray you use her well.

The world may laugh again and

I may live to do you kindness

if you do it her.

And so, Sir John, farewell!

What, gone, my lord,

and bid me not farewell!

Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.

Art thou gone too?

All comfort go with thee,

for none abides with me, my joy is death.

Death, at whose name I

oft have been afear'd,

because I wished this world's eternity.

Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence.

I care not whither, for I beg no favor,

only convey me where thou art commanded.

Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,

although thou hast been

conduct of my shame.

It is my office and, madam, pardon me.

Ay, ay, farewell thy office is discharged.

Come Stanley, shall we go?

Madam, your penance done,

throw off this sheet,

and go we to attire you for our journey.

My shame will not be

shifted with my sheet.

No, it will hang upon my richest robes

and show itself, attire me how I can.

Go, lead the way I long to see my prison.

[drumbeats]

I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come.

'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,

whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.

Can you not see?

Or will ye not observe the strangeness

of his altered countenance?

With what a majesty he bears himself,

how insolent of late he is become,

how proud, how peremptory,

and unlike himself?

We know the time since

he was mild and affable,

and if we did but glance a far-off look,

immediately he was upon his knee,

that all the court admired

him for submission.

But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,

when every one will give the time of day,

he knits his brow and shows an angry eye,

and passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,

disdaining duty that to us belongs.

Small curs are not regarded when they grin

but great men tremble when the lion roars.

And Humphrey is no little man in England.

First note that he is near you in descent,

and should you fall, he

as the next will mount.

Me seemeth then it is no policy,

respecting what a rancorous mind he bears

and his advantage following your decease,

that he should come

about your royal person

or be admitted to your highness' council.

By flattery hath he won

the commons' hearts,

and when he please to make commotion,

'tis to be feared they

all will follow him.

Now is the spring, and

weeds are shallow-rooted,

suffer them now, and

they'll o'ergrow the garden,

and choke the herbs for want of husbandry.

The reverent care I bear unto my lord

made me collect these dangers in the duke.

If it be fond, call it a woman's fear,

which fear if better reasons can supplant,

I will subscribe and

say I wronged the duke.

My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,

reprove my allegation, if

you can or else conclude

my words effectual.

Well hath your highness

seen into this duke,

and, had I first been

put to speak my mind,

I think I should have

told your grace's tale.

The duchess, by his subornation,

upon my life, began

her devilish practices.

Smooth runs the water

where the brook is deep

and in his simple show he harbors treason.

The fox barks not when

he would steal the lamb,

no, no, my sovereign Gloucester is a man

unsounded yet and full of deep deceit.

Did he not, contrary to form of law,

devise strange deaths

for small offenses done?

And did he not, in his protectorship,

levy great sums of money through the realm

for soldiers' pay in

France, and never sent it?

By means whereof the

towns each day revolted.

Tut, these are petty

faults to faults unknown.

Which time will bring to light in smooth

Duke Humphrey.

My lords, at once the care you have of us,

to mow down thorns that

would annoy our foot,

is worthy praise but, shall

I speak my conscience,

our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent

from meaning treason to our royal person

as is the sucking lamb or harmless dove.

The duke is virtuous,

mild and too well given

to dream on evil or to work my downfall.

Ah, what's more dangerous

than this fond affiance!

Seems he a dove?

His feathers are but borrowed,

for he's disposed as the hateful raven.

Is he a lamb?

His skin is surely lent him,

for he's inclined as is the

ravenous wolf take heed My Lord.

The welfare of us all

hangs on the cutting short

that fraudful man.

All health unto my gracious sovereign!

Welcome, Lord Somerset.

What news from France?

That all your interest

in those territories

is utterly bereft you all is lost.

Cold news, Lord Somerset

but God's will be done!

Cold news for me for I had hope of France

as firmly as I hope for fertile England.

Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud

and caterpillars eat my leaves away

but I will remedy this gear ere long,

or sell my title for a glorious grave.

All happiness unto my lord the king!

Pardon, my liege, that

I have stayed so long.

Nay, Gloucester, know that

thou art come too soon,

unless thou wert more loyal than thou art,

I do arrest thee of high treason here.

[drumbeats]

Well, Suffolk's duke, thou

shalt not see me blush

nor change my countenance for this arrest.

The purest spring is not so free from mud.

As I am clear from

treason to my sovereign,

who can accuse me?

Wherein am I guilty?

'Tis thought, my lord, that

you took bribes of France,

and, being protector,

stayed the soldiers' pay

by means whereof his

highness hath lost France.

Is it but thought so?

What are they that think it?

I never robbed the soldiers of their pay,

nor ever had one penny bribe from France.

No, many a pound of mine own proper store,

because I would not tax the needy commons,

have I disbursed to the garrisons,

and never asked for restitution.

It serves you well, my

lord, to say so much.

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

In your protectorship you did devise

strange tortures for

offenders never heard of,

that England was defamed by tyranny.

Why, 'tis well known that,

whiles I was protector,

pity was all the fault that was in me.

For I should melt at an offender's tears,

and lowly words were

ransom for their fault.

My lord, these faults are

easy, quickly answered

but mightier crimes are

laid unto your charge,

whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.

-What crime?

-I do arrest you

in his highness' name and here

commit to my lord cardinal

to keep, until your further time of trial.

[drumbeats]

My lord of Gloucester,

'tis my special hope

that you will clear

yourself from all suspense.

My conscience tells me you are innocent.

Ah, gracious lord, these

days are dangerous,

virtue is choked with foul ambition.

And charity chased hence by rancor's hand,

foul subornation is predominant

and equity exiled your highness' land.

I know their complot is to have my life,

and if my death might

make this island happy,

and prove the period of their tyranny,

I would expend it with all willingness.

But mine is made the

prologue to their play

for 1000 more, that yet suspect no peril,

will not conclude their plotted tragedy.

Beaufort's red sparkling

eyes blab his heart's malice,

and Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate.

Sharp Buckingham

unburthens with his tongue,

the envious load that lies upon his heart.

And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,

whose overweening arm I have plucked back,

by false accuse doth level at my life.

And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,

causeless have laid disgraces on my head,

and with your best

endeavor have stirred up,

my liefest liege to be mine enemy.

Ay, all you have laid your heads together

myself had notice of your conventicles

and all to make away my guiltless life.

I shall not want false

witness to accuse me,

nor store of treasons to augment my guilt,

the ancient proverb will be well effected

"A staff is quickly found to beat a dog."

My liege, his raging is intolerable!

He'll wrest the sense

and hold us here all day,

Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner.

Sirs, take away the

duke, and guard him sure.

[drumbeats]

Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch

before his legs be firm to bear his body.

Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,

and wolves are gnarling

who shall gnaw thee first.

Ah, that my fear were

false, ah, that it were!

For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear.

[drumbeats]

My lords, what to your

wisdoms seemeth best,

do or undo, as if ourself were here.

What, will your highness

leave the parliament?

Ay, Margaret my heart

is drowned with grief,

whose flood begins to

flow within mine eyes,

my body round engirt with misery,

for what's more miserable than discontent?

Ah, uncle Humphrey, in thy

face I see the map of honor,

truth and loyalty.

What louring star now envies thy estate,

that these great lords

and Margaret our queen

do seek subversion of thy harmless life?

Thou never didst them

wrong, nor no man wrong.

And as the butcher takes away the calf

and binds the wretch, and

beats it when it strays,

bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,

even so remorseless have

they borne him hence

and as the dam runs lowing up and down,

looking the way her

harmless young one went,

and can do nought but

wail her darling's loss,

even so myself bewails

good Gloucester's case

with sad unhelpful tears,

and with dimmed eyes,

look after him and cannot do him good,

so mighty are his vowed enemies.

His fortunes I will weep

and, 'twixt each groan say,

"Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none."

Free lords, cold snow melts

with the sun's hot beams.

Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,

too full of foolish pity,

and Gloucester's show

beguiles him as the mournful crocodile

with sorrow snares relenting passengers.

[chuckles]

Believe me, lords, were

none more wise than I

and yet herein I judge mine own wit good.

This Gloucester should

be quickly rid the world,

to rid us of the fear we have of him.

That he should die is worthy policy

but yet we want a color for his death.

'Tis meet he be condemned

by course of law.

But, in my mind, that were no policy.

The king will labor

still to save his life,

the commons haply rise, to save his life

and yet we have but trivial argument,

more than mistrust, that

shows him worthy death.

So that, by this, you

would not have him die.

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

'Tis York that hath more

reason for his death.

But, my lord cardinal, and

you, my Lord of Suffolk,

say as you think, and

speak it from your souls,

were't not all one, an

empty eagle were set

to guard the chicken from a hungry kite,

as place Duke Humphrey

for the king's protector?

So the poor chicken

should be sure of death.

Madam, 'tis true and

were't not madness, then,

to make the fox surveyor of the fold?

No let him die, in that he is a fox,

by nature proved an enemy to the flock.

And do not stand on

quillets how to slay him

be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,

sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,

so he be dead for that is good deceit

which mates him first

that first intends deceit.

Thrice-noble Suffolk,

'tis resolutely spoke.

Not resolute, except so much were done.

For things are often

spoke and seldom meant.

But that my heart

accordeth with my tongue,

seeing the deed is meritorious,

and to preserve my sovereign from his foe,

say but the word, and

I will be his priest.

But I would have him

dead, my Lord of Suffolk,

ere you can take due orders for a priest.

Say you consent and censure well the deed,

and I'll provide his executioner,

I tender so the safety of my liege.

Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.

And so say I.

And I and now we three have spoke it,

It skills not greatly

who impugns our doom.

[trumpet music]

Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain,

to signify that rebels there are up

and put the Englishmen unto the sword.

Send succors, lords, and

stop the rage betime,

before the wound do grow uncurable

for, being green, there

is great hope of help.

A breach that craves a

quick expedient stop!

What counsel give you

in this weighty cause?

That Somerset be sent as regent thither,

'tis meet that lucky ruler be employed.

Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

If York, with all his far-fet policy,

had been the regent there instead of me,

he never would have

stayed in France so long.

No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done,

I rather would have lost my life betimes

than bring a burthen of dishonor home

by staying there so

long till all were lost.

Show me one scar charactered on thy skin.

Men's flesh preserved

so whole do seldom win.

Nay, then, this spark

will prove a raging fire,

if wind and fuel be

brought to feed it with

no more, good York,

sweet Somerset, be still.

Thy fortune, York, hadst

thou been regent there,

might happily have proved

far worse than his.

What, worse than nought?

Nay, then, a shame take all!

And, in the number,

thee that wishest shame!

My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.

The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms

and temper clay with blood of Englishmen

to Ireland will you lead a band of men,

collected choicely, from each county some,

and try your hap against the Irishmen?

I will, my lord, and

so please his majesty.

Why, our authority is his consent,

and what we do establish he confirms.

Then, noble York, take

thou this task in hand.

I am content provide me soldiers, lords,

whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

A charge, Lord York, that

I will see performed.

And now return we to

the false Duke Humphrey.

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.

My Lord of Suffolk,

within 14 days at Bristol

I expect my soldiers, for

there I'll ship them all

for Ireland.

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

Now, York, or never, steel

thy fearful thoughts,

and change misdoubt to resolution.

Be that thou hopest to

be, or what thou art

resign to death it is

not worth the enjoying.

Let pale-faced fear keep

with the mean-born man,

and find no harbor in a royal heart.

Faster than spring-time

showers comes thought

on thought, and not a thought

but thinks on dignity.

My brain more busy than

the laboring 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, cherished in your breasts,

will sting your hearts.

'Twas men I lacked and

you will give them me.

I take it kindly and yet be well assured

you put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.

Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,

I will stir up in England some black storm

shall blow 10,000 souls to heaven or hell.

And this fell tempest

shall not cease to rage

until the golden circuit on my head,

like to the glorious

sun's transparent beams,

do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.

And, for a minister of my intent,

I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,

John Cade of Ashford,

to make commotion, as full well he can,

under the title of John Mortimer.

That 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 that he be taken, rack'd and tortured,

I know no pain they can inflict upon him,

will make him say I

moved him to those arms.

Say that he thrive, as

'tis great like he will,

why, then from Ireland

come I with my strength

and reap the harvest

which that rascal sowed

for Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,

and Henry put apart, the next for me.

[drumbeats]

Run to my Lord of Suffolk let him know

we have dispatched the

duke, as he commanded.

O that it were to do, what have we done?

Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

Here comes my lord.

Now, sirs, have you dispatched this thing?

Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

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?

'Tis, handsome my good lord.

Away, be gone!

[trumpet music]

Go, call our uncle to

our presence straight.

Say we intend to try his grace today,

if he be guilty, as 'tis published.

I'll call him presently, my noble lord.

Lords, take your places

and, I pray you all,

Proceed no straiter 'gainst

our uncle Gloucester.

Than from true evidence of good esteem,

he be approved in practice culpable.

God forbid any malice should prevail,

that faultless may condemn a nobleman!

Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

I thank thee, Meg these

words content me much.

How now, why look'st thou pale?

Why tremblest thou?

Where is our uncle, what's

the matter, Suffolk?

Dead in his bed, my

lord Gloucester is dead.

Marry, God forfend!

God's secret judgment I did dream tonight

the duke was dumb and

could not speak a word.

How fares my lord?

Well, lords! The king is dead.

Rear him up, wring him by the nose.

Go, run, help, help!

O Henry, ope thine eyes!

He doth revive again madam, be patient.

O heavenly God!

How fares my gracious lord?

Comfort, my sovereign,

gracious Henry, comfort!

What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?

Came he right now to sing a raven's note,

whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers

and thinks he that the chirping of a wren,

by crying comfort from a hollow breast,

can chase away the first-conceived sound?

Hide not thy poison

with such sugared 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!

Look not upon me, for

thine eyes are wounding.

Yet do not go away come, basilisk,

and kill the innocent gazer with thy sight

for in the shade of death I shall find joy

in life but double death,

now Gloucester's dead.

Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?

Although the duke was enemy to him,

yet he most Christian-like

laments his death.

And for myself, foe as he was to me,

might liquid tears or

heart-offending groans

or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,

I would be blind with

weeping, sick with groans,

look pale as primrose

with blood-drinking sighs,

and all to have the noble duke alive.

What know I how the world may deem of me?

For it is known we were but hollow friends

it may be judged I made the duke away.

So shall my name with

slander's tongue be wounded,

And princes' courts be

filled with my reproach.

This get I by his death ay me, unhappy!

To be a queen, and crowned with infamy!

Ah, woe is me for

Gloucester, wretched man!

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 wrecked 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?"

and what did I then, but

cursed the gentle gusts

and he that loosed them

forth their brazen caves

and bid them blow towards

England's blessed shore,

or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock.

Yet Aeolus would not be a murderer,

and left that hateful office unto thee.

The pretty-vaulting sea

refused to drown me,

knowing that thou wouldst

have me drowned on shore,

with tears as salt as sea,

through thy unkindness.

The splitting rocks cowered

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 shores,

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

shore the sea received it,

and so I wished thy body might my heart.

And even with this I

lost fair England's view

and bid mine eyes be packing with my heart

and call'd them blind

and dusky spectacles,

for losing ken of Albion's wished coast.

How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue,

the agent of thy foul inconstancy,

to sit and witch me, as Ascanius did

when he to madding Dido would unfold

his father's acts

commenced in burning Troy!

Am I not witched 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.

[crowd shouting]

[crowd yells]

It is reported, mighty sovereign,

that good Duke Humphrey

traitorously is murdered

by Suffolk and the

Cardinal Beaufort's means.

[Crowd] Aye!

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 calmed their spleenful mutiny,

until they hear the order of his death.

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.

That shall I do, my liege.

Stay, Salisbury, with the

rude multitude till I return.

O Thou that judgest all

things, stay my thoughts,

my thoughts, that labor

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.

Come hither, gracious

sovereign, view this body.

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.

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.

A dreadful oath, sworn

with a solemn tongue!

What instance gives Lord

Warwick for his vow?

See how his face is

black, and full of blood,

his eyeballs further

out than when he lived

staring full ghastly like a strangled man.

His hair upreared, his nostrils

stretched with struggling

his hands abroad displayed,

as one that grasped

and tugged for life and

was by strength subdued.

Look, on the sheets his

hair you see, is sticking

his well-proportioned beard

made rough and rugged,

like to the summer's

corn by tempest lodged.

It cannot be but he was murdered here,

the least of all these

signs were probable.

Why, Warwick, who should

do the duke to death?

Myself and Beaufort had him in protection

and we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.

But both of you were vowed

Duke Humphrey's foes,

and you, forsooth, had

the good duke to keep

'tis like you would not

feast him like a friend

and 'tis well seen he found an enemy.

Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen

as guilty of Duke

Humphrey's timeless death.

Who finds the heifer

dead and bleeding fresh

and sees fast by a butcher with an axe,

but will suspect 'twas he

that made the slaughter?

Who finds the partridge

in the puttock's nest,

but may imagine how the bird was dead,

although the kite soar

with unbloodied beak?

Are you the butcher, Suffolk?

Where's your knife?

Is Beaufort termed a kite?

Where are his talons?

I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men,

but here's a vengeful

sword, rusted with ease,

that shall be scoured

in his rancorous heart

that slanders me with

murder's crimson badge.

Say, if thou darest, proud

Lord of Warwick-shire,

that I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death.

What dares not Warwick,

if false Suffolk dare him?

He dares not calm his contumelious spirit

nor cease to be an arrogant controller,

though Suffolk dare him 20,000 times.

Madam, be still with reverence may I say

for every word you speak in his behalf

is slander to your royal dignity.

Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanor!

If ever lady wronged her lord so much,

thy mother took into her

blameful bed some stern untutored

churl, and noble stock was

graft with crab-tree slip

whose fruit thou art and never

of the Nevil's' noble race.

But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee

and I should rob the deathsman of his fee,

quitting thee thereby of 10,000 shames,

and that my sovereign's

presence makes me mild,

I would, false murderous

coward, on thy knee

make thee beg pardon

for thy passed speech,

and say it was thy

mother that thou meant'st

that thou thyself was born in bastardy.

And after all this fearful homage done,

give thee thy hire and

send thy soul to hell,

pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men!

Thou shall be waking

well I shed thy blood,

if from this presence

thou darest go with me.

Away even now, or I will drag thee hence

unworthy though thou

art, I'll cope with thee

and do some service to

Duke Humphrey's ghost.

What stronger breastplate

than a heart untainted!

Thrice is he armed that

hath his quarrel just,

and he but naked, though

locked up in steel

whose conscience with

injustice is corrupted.

[background shouts]

What noise is this?

[crowd yells]

Why, how now, lords! your

wrathful weapons drawn

here in our presence dare you be so bold?

The traitorous Warwick

with the men of Bury

set all upon me, mighty sovereign.

[crowd yells]

Sirs, stand apart!

The king shall know your mind.

Dread lord, the commons

send you word by me,

unless false Suffolk

straight be done to death,

or banished fair England's territories,

they will by violence

tear him from your palace

and torture him with

grievous lingering death.

They say, by him the

good Duke Humphrey died.

They say, in him they

fear your highness' death

and mere instinct of love and loyalty,

makes them thus forward in his banishment.

They say, in care of

your most royal person,

that if your highness

should intend to sleep

and charge that no man

should disturb your rest

in pain of your dislike or pain of death,

yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict,

were there a serpent

seen, with forked tongue,

that slily glided towards your majesty,

it were but necessary you were waked.

And therefore do they

cry, though you forbid,

that they will guard you,

whether you will or no,

from such fell serpents

as false Suffolk is,

with whose envenomed and fatal sting,

your loving uncle, 20

times his worth, they say,

is shamefully bereft of life.

[commoners] An answer from the

king, my Lord of Salisbury!

'Tis like the commons,

rude unpolished hinds,

could send such message to their sovereign

but you, my lord, were

glad to be employed,

to show how quaint an orator you are.

But all the honor Salisbury hath won

is, that he was the lord ambassador

sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.

[Commoners] An answer from the king,

or we will all break in!

Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me.

I thank them for their tender loving care

and had I not been cited so by them,

yet did I purpose as they do entreat.

For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy

mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means

and therefore, by His majesty I swear,

whose far unworthy deputy I am,

he shall not breathe infection in this air

but three days longer,

on the pain of death.

O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!

Ungentle queen, to call

him gentle Suffolk!

No more, I say if thou dost plead for him,

thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.

Had I but said, I would have kept my word,

but when I swear, it is irrevocable.

If, after three days'

space, thou here be'st found

on any ground that I am ruler of,

the world shall not be

ransom for thy life.

Come, Warwick, come,

good Warwick, go with me

I have great matters to impart to thee.

Mischance and sorrow go along with you!

Heart's discontent and sour affliction

be playfellows to keep you company!

There's two of you the devil make a third!

And threefold vengeance

tend upon your steps!

Cease, gentle queen, these execrations,

and let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch!

Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?

A plague upon them! wherefore

should I curse them?

Would curses kill, as

doth the mandrake's groan,

I would invent as bitter searching terms,

as curst, as harsh and horrible to hear,

deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,

with full as many signs of deadly hate,

as lean-faced envy in her loathsome cave.

My tongue should stumble

in mine earnest words,

mine eyes should sparkle

like the beaten flint,

mine hair be fixed on

end, as one distract.

Ay, every joint should

seem to curse and ban

and even now my burdened

heart would break,

should I not curse them.

Poison be their drink!

Gall, worse than gall, the

daintiest that they taste!

Their softest shade a

grove of cypress trees!

Their chiefest prospect

murdering basilisks!

Their softest touch as

smart as lizards' sting!

Their music frightful

as the serpent's hiss,

and boding screech-owls

make the concert full!

All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell.

Enough, sweet Suffolk

thou torment'st thyself,

and these dread curses,

like the sun 'gainst glass,

or like an overcharged gun, recoil,

and turn the force of them upon thyself.

You bade me ban, and

will you bid me leave?

I entreat thee cease, o give me thy hand,

that I may dew it with my mournful tears.

O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,

that thou mightst think

upon these by the seal,

through whom 1000 sighs

are breathed for thee!

So, get thee gone, that

I may know my grief

for 'tis but surmised

whiles thou art standing by,

I will repeal thee, or, be well assured,

adventure to be banished myself

and banished I am, if but from thee.

No, speak not to me even now be gone.

No, o, go not yet!

And yet farewell, and

farewell life with thee!

Thus is poor Suffolk 10 times banished it,

once by the king, and

three times thrice by thee.

'Tis not the land I care

for, wert thou thence

a wilderness is populous enough,

so Suffolk had thy heavenly company

for where thou art, there

is the world itself,

with every several pleasure in the world,

and where thou art not, desolation.

I can no more live thou to joy thy life,

myself to joy in nought

but that thou livest.

Wither goes Vaux so fast?

What news, I prithee?

To signify unto his majesty

that Cardinal Beaufort

is at point of death.

For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,

that makes him gasp and

stare and catch the air,

blaspheming God and cursing men on earth.

Sometimes he talks as

if Duke Humphrey's ghost

were by his side sometime

he calls the king,

and whispers to his pillow, as to him,

the secrets of his overcharged soul.

And I am sent to tell his majesty

that even now he cries aloud for him.

Go tell this heavy message to the king.

Ay me, what is this world!

What news are these!

Now get thee hence the king,

thou know'st, is coming

if thou be found by me, thou art but dead.

If I depart from thee, I cannot live

and in thy sight to die, what were it else

but like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?

Here could I breathe my soul into the air,

as mild and gentle as the cradle-babe

dying with mother's dug between its lips.

To die by thee were but to die in jest

from thee to die were

torture more than death.

O, let me stay, befall what may befall!

Though parting be a fretful corrosive,

it is applied to a deathful wound.

To France, sweet Suffolk

let me hear from thee

for wheresoe'er thou art

in this world's globe,

I'll have an Iris that

shall find thee out, away!

I go.

And take my heart with thee.

A jewel, locked into the wofull'st cask

that ever did contain a thing of worth.

Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we,

this way fall I to death.

This way for me.

[soft music]

[sobs]

How fares my lord?

Speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.

If thou be'st death, I'll

give thee England's treasure,

enough to purchase such another island,

so thou wilt let me

live, and feel no pain.

Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,

where death's approach

is seen so terrible!

Beaufort, it is thy

sovereign speaks to thee.

Bring me unto my trial when thou will.

Died he not in his bed,

where should he die?

Can I make men live,

whether they will or not?

O, torture me no more, I will confess.

Alive again?

Then show me where he

is I'll give 1000 pound

to look upon him.

He hath no eyes, the

dust hath blinded them.

Comb down his hair look, look!

It stands upright, like lime-twigs set

to catch my winged soul.

Give me some drink and bid the apothecary

bring the strong poison

that I bought of him.

O thou eternal Mover of the heavens.

Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!

O, beat away the busy meddling fiend

that lays strong siege

unto this wretch's soul.

And from his bosom purge

this black despair!

See, how the pangs of

death do make him grin!

Disturb him not let him pass peaceably.

Peace to his soul, if

God's good pleasure be!

Lord cardinal, if thou

think'st on heaven's bliss,

hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.

He dies, and makes no

sign, O God, forgive him!

So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.

Close up his eyes and

draw the curtain close

and let us all to meditation.

[soft music]

The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day

is crept into the bosom of the sea.

And now loud-howling

wolves arouse the jades

that drag the tragic melancholy night.

Who, with their drowsy,

slow and flagging wings,

clip dead men's graves

and from their misty jaws

breathe foul contagious

darkness in the air.

Therefore bring forth

the soldiers of our prize

for, whilst our pinnace

anchors in the Downs,

here shall they make

their ransom on the sand,

or with their blood stain

this discolored shore.

Master, this prisoner freely give I thee

And thou that art his

mate, make boot of this

the other, Walter Whitemore, is thy share.

What is my ransom, master?

Let me know.

1000 crowns, or else lay down your head.

And so much shall you

give, or off goes yours.

What, think you much to pay 2000 crowns,

and bear the name and port of gentlemen?

Cut both the villains'

throats for die you shall

the lives of those which

we have lost in fight

be counterpoised with such a petty sum!

I'll give it, sir and

therefore spare my life.

And so will I and write

home for it straight.

I lost mine eye in

laying the prize aboard,

and therefore to revenge

it, shalt thou die

and so should these, if

I might have my will.

Be not so rash take ransom, let him live.

Look on my George I am a gentleman

rate me at what thou

wilt, thou shalt be paid.

And so am I my name is Walter Whitmore.

How now, why start'st thou?

What, doth death affright?

Thy name affrights me,

in whose sound is death.

A cunning man did calculate my birth

And told me that by water I should die,

yet let not this make

thee be bloody-minded

Never yet did base dishonor blur our name,

but with our sword we wiped away the blot.

Therefore, when

merchant-like I sell revenge,

broke be my sword, my

arms torn and defaced,

and I proclaimed a

coward through the world!

Stay, Whitmore, for thy

prisoner is a prince,

the Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.

The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags!

Ay, but these rags are

no part of the duke.

Jove sometimes went

disguised, and why not I?

But Jove was never

slain, as thou shalt be.

Obscure and lowly swain,

King Henry's blood,

the honorable blood of Lancaster,

must not be shed by such a jaded groom.

Hast thou not kissed thy

hand and held my stirrup?

And Bare head plodded

by my foot-cloth mule

and thought thee happy

when I shook my head?

How often hast thou waited at my cup,

fed from my trencher,

kneeled down at the board.

When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?

Remember it and let it

make thee crest fallen,

ay, and allay this thy abortive pride.

Speak, captain, shall I

stab the forlorn swain?

First let my words stab

him, as he hath me.

Base slave, thy words are

blunt and so art thou.

Convey him hence and

on our longboat's side,

strike off his head.

Thou darest not, for thy own.

Pole.

Pole!

Ay, kennel, puddle, sink

whose filth troubles

the silver spring where England drinks.

[yells]

Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth

for swallowing the treasure of the realm.

Thy lips that kissed the

queen shall sweep the ground

and thou that smiledst at

good Duke Humphrey's death,

against the senseless

winds shalt grin in vain,

who in contempt shall hiss at thee again

and wedded be thou to the hags of hell,

for daring to affy a mighty lord

unto the daughter of a worthless king.

By thee Anjou and Maine

were sold to France,

the false revolting Normans thorough thee

disdain to call us lord, and Picardy

hath slain their governors,

surprised our forts,

and sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.

The princely Warwick, and the Nevil's all,

whose dreadful swords

were never drawn in vain,

as hating thee, are rising up in arms

and now the house of York,

thrust from the crown

by shameful murder of a guiltless king

burns with revenging fire.

The commons here in Kent are up in arms

and, to conclude, reproach and beggary

is crept into the palace of our king.

And all by thee.

Away! convey him hence.

O that I were a god,

to shoot forth thunder

upon these paltry,

servile, abject drudges!

It is impossible that I should die

By such a lowly vassal as thyself.

Thy words move rage and not remorse in me.

Ay but thy deed should stay thy fury soon.

I go of message from the queen to France.

I charge thee waft me

safely cross the Channel.

[laughs]

Come, Suffolk, I must

waft thee to thy death.

It is thee I fear.

Thou shalt have cause to

fear before I leave thee.

What, are ye daunted now?

Now will ye stoop?

My gracious lord, entreat

him, speak him fair.

Suffolk's imperial tongue

is stern and rough,

used to command, untaught

to plead for favor.

Far be it we should honor such as these

with humble suit no, rather let my head

stoop to the block than

these knees bow to any

save to the God of heaven and to my king.

And sooner dance upon a bloody pole

than stand uncovered to the vulgar groom.

True nobility is exempt from fear

[chuckles]

More can I bear than you dare execute.

Hale him away, and let him talk no more.

Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,

that this my death may never be forgot!

great men oft die by vile bezonians.

A Roman sworder and banditto

slave murdered sweet Tully,

Brutus' bastard hand

stabbed Julius Caesar,

savage islanders Pompey

the Great and Suffolk.

Dies by pirates.

As for those whose ransom we have set,

it is our pleasure one of them depart.

So come you with us and let him go.

There let his head and lifeless body lie,

until the queen his mistress bury it.

[laughs]

O barbarous and bloody spectacle!

His body will I bear unto the king

if he revenge it not, yet will his friends

so will the queen, that

living held him dear.

Come, and get thee a sword,

though made of a lath

they have been up these two days.

Well, they have the more

need to sleep now, then.

I tell thee, Jack Cade the

clothier means to dress

the commonwealth, and turn

it, and set a new nap upon it.

So he had need, for 'tis threadbare.

Well, I say it was never

merry world in England

since gentlemen came up.

O miserable age!

Virtue is not regarded in handicrafts-men.

The nobility think scorn

to go in leather aprons.

Nay, more, the king's

council are no good workmen.

True and yet it is said,

labor in thy vocation

which is as much to say

as, let the magistrates

be laboring men and therefore

should we be magistrates.

Thou hast hit it for

there's no better sign of a

brave mind than a hard hand.

I see them! I see them!

there's Best's son, the tanner of Wingham.

He shall have the skin of our enemies,

to make dog's-leather of.

And Dick the Butcher.

Then is sin struck down

like an ox, and iniquity's

throat cut like a calf.

And Smith the weaver.

Argo, their thread of life is spun.

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

[Crowd] Jack Cade! Jack Cade! Jack Cade.

[crowd yells]

John Cade, so termed

of our supposed father,

Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings.

For our enemies shall fall

before us, inspired with

the spirit of putting

down kings and princes.

[crowd yells]

Silence!

My father was a Mortimer.

He was an honest man,

and a good bricklayer.

My mother a Plantagenet.

I knew her well she was a midwife.

My wife descended of the Lacies.

She was, indeed, a peddler's daughter,

and sold many laces.

Therefore am I of an honorable house.

Ay, by my faith, the field is honorable

and there was he borne, under a hedge.

Valiant I am.

A' must needs for beggary is valiant.

I am able to endure much.

O, no doubt of that for I have seen him

whipped three market-days together.

Be valiant then, for

your captain is valiant,

and vows reformation.

[crowd yells]

There shall be in England

seven halfpenny loaves

sold for a penny.

[laughs]

The three-hooped pot shall have 10 hoops.

[laughs]

And I will make it felony

to drink small beer.

[laughs]

All the realm shall be in common.

[cheers]

And in cheapside shall

my palfrey go to grass

and when I am king, as king I will be.

[ALL] God save your majesty!

I thank you, good people

there shall be no money,

all shall eat and drink on my score.

[laughs]

And I will apparel them all in one livery,

that they may agree like brothers.

[crowd yells]

And worship me their lord.

The first thing we do,

let's kill all the lawyers.

[crowd yells]

Nay, that I mean to do.

Is not this a lamentable thing,

that of the skin of an

innocent lamb should

be made parchment?

That parchment, being scribbled

o'er, should undo a man?

Some say the bee stings,

I say, 'tis the bee's wax for

I did but seal to a thing,

and I was never mine own man since.

How now, who's there?

The clerk of Chatham he can write and read

and cast accompt.

O monstrous!

We took him setting of boys' copies.

I am sorry for't the man

is a proper man of mine

honor unless I find him

guilty, he shall not die.

Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee.

What is thy name?

Emmanuel.

Dost thou use to write thy name?

Or hast thou a mark to

thyself, like an honest

plain-dealing man?

Sir, I thank God, I have

been so well brought up

that I can write my name.

[crowd yells and shouts]

Away with him, I say, hang him!

With his pen and ink-horn about his neck.

[crowd cheers]

Where's our general?

[upbeat music]

Fly, fly, fly!

Sir Humphrey Stafford and

his brother are hard by,

with the king's forces.

[crowd shouts]

Stand, or I'll fell thee down.

He shall be encountered with

a man as good as himself,

he is but a knight, is a'?

No.

To equal him, I will make

myself a knight presently.

[upbeat music]

Rise up Sir John Mortimer.

[giggles]

Now have at him!

Yeah.

[trumpet music]

[drumbeats]

Rebellious hinds, the

filth and scum of Kent,

marked for the gallows,

lay your weapons down

home to your cottages,

forsake this groom the king

is merciful, if you repent.

But angry, wrathful,

and inclined to blood,

if you go forward therefore yield, or die.

As for these silken-coated

slaves, I care not.

It is to you, good people, that I speak,

over whom, in time to

come, I hope to reign

for I am rightful heir unto the crown.

Villain, thy father was a plasterer

and thou thyself a shearman, art thou not?

And Adam was a gardener.

What of that?

Marry, this Edmund

Mortimer, Earl of March.

married the Duke of Clarence'

daughter, did he not?

Ay, sir.

By her he had two children at one birth.

That's false.

Ay, there's the question

but I say, 'tis true.

The elder of them, being put to nurse,

was by a beggar-woman stolen away

and ignorant of his birth and parentage,

became a bricklayer when he came to age

his son am I deny it, if you can.

Nay, 'tis too and

therefore he shall be king.

Sir, he made a chimney

in my father's house,

and the bricks are alive

at this day to testify it,

therefore deny it not.

And will you credit this

base drudge's words,

that speaks he knows not what?

[ALL] Ay, marry, will we

therefore get ye gone.

Jack Cade, the Duke of

York hath taught you this.

He lies, for I invented it myself.

Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me,

that, for his father's

sake, Henry the Fifth,

I am content he shall reign

but I'll be protector over him.

And furthermore, well

have the Lord Say's head

for selling the dukedom of Maine.

And good reason for

thereby is England mained,

and fain to go with a staff,

but that my puissance holds it up.

Fellow kings, I tell

you that that Lord Say

hath gelded the commonwealth,

and made it an eunuch

and more than that, he can speak French

and therefore he is a traitor.

O gross and miserable ignorance!

Nay, answer, if you can

the Frenchmen are our

enemies go to, then, I ask but this,

can he that speaks with

the tongue of an enemy

be a good counselor, or no?

[All] No, no and therefore

we'll have his head.

Well, seeing gentle

words will not prevail,

assail them with the army of the king.

Herald, away and throughout every town

proclaim them traitors

that are up with Cade.

That those which fly

before the battle ends

may, even in their wives'

and children's sight,

be hang'd up for example at their doors.

[drumbeats]

And you that be the

king's friends, follow me.

And you that love the commons, follow me.

[crowd yells]

Now show yourselves men 'tis for liberty.

[yells]

We will not spare one lord, one gentleman

spare none but such as

go in clouted shoon.

For they are thrifty honest men, and such

as would, but that they

dare not, take our parts.

They are all in order and march toward us.

But then are we in order when

we are most out of order.

[laughs]

Come, march forward.

[crowd yells]

[shouts and screams]

Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford?

Here, sir.

They fell before thee like

sheep and oxen, and thou

behavedst thyself as if

thou hadst been in thine own

slaughter-house therefore

thus will I reward thee,

the Lent shall be as long again as it is.

Thou shalt have a license

to kill for 100 lacking one.

[cheers]

I desire no more.

And, to speak truth,

thou deservest no less.

[crowd shouts]

This monument of the victory will I bear,

and the bodies shall be

dragged at my horse' heels

till I do come to London,

where we will have the

mayor's sword borne before us.

If we mean to thrive and do good,

break open the jails and

let out the prisoners.

Fear not that, I warrant thee.

Come, let's march towards London.

[cheers]

Oft have I heard that

grief softens the mind,

and makes it fearful and degenerate.

Think therefore on

revenge and cease to weep.

But who can cease to

weep and look on this?

Here shall his head lie

on my throbbing breast

where's the body that I should embrace?

What answer makes your grace

to the rebels' supplication?

I'll send some holy bishop to entreat

for God forbid so many simple souls

should perish by the sword!

And I myself, rather than

bloody war shall cut them short,

will parley with Jack Cade their general

but stay, I'll read it over once again.

Ah, barbarous villains!

Hath this lovely face ruled,

like a wandering planet,

over me, could it not

enforce them to relent,

that were unworthy to behold the same?

Lord Say, Jack Cade hath

sworn to have thy head.

Ay, but I hope your

highness shall have his.

How, madam!

Still lamenting and mourning

for Suffolk's death?

I fear me, love, if that I had been dead,

thou wouldst not have

mourned so much for me.

My love, I should not

mourn, but die for thee.

How now! what news, why

comest thou in such haste?

The rebels are in Southwark fly, my lord!

Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer,

descended from the Duke

of Clarence' house,

and calls your grace usurper openly

and vows to crown himself in Westminster.

His army is a ragged multitude

of hinds and peasants,

rude and merciless, Sir Humphrey Stafford

and his brother's death

hath given them heart

and courage to proceed.

All scholars, lawyers,

courtiers, gentlemen,

they call false caterpillars,

and intend their death.

O graceless men! they

know not what they do.

My gracious lord, return to Killingworth,

until a power be raised to put them down.

Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now alive,

these Kentish rebels

would be soon appeased!

Lord Say, the traitors hate thee

therefore away with us to Killingworth.

So might your grace's person be in danger.

The sight of me is odious in their eyes

therefore in this city will I stay

and live alone as secret as I may.

Jack Cade hath gotten London bridge.

The citizens fly and forsake their houses.

The rascal people, thirsting after prey,

join with the traitor,

and they jointly swear

to spoil the city and your royal court.

Then linger not, my

lord, away, take horse.

Come, Margaret God, our

hope, will succor us.

My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceased.

Farewell, my lord trust

not the Kentish rebels.

Trust nobody, for fear you be betrayed.

The trust I have is in mine innocence,

therefore am I bold and resolute.

[crowd shouts]

[laughs]

Now is Mortimer lord of London.

[crowd yells]

I charge and command

that, of the city's cost,

the pissing-conduit run

nothing but claret wine

this first year of our reign.

[cheers]

And now henceforward it shall be treason

for any that calls me

other than Lord Mortimer.

Jack Cade! Jack Cade!

Knock him down there.

[shouts and yells]

If this fellow be wise,

he'll never call ye

Jack Cade more.

[laughs]

I think he hath a very fair warning.

[laughs]

My lord, there's an army

gathered together in Smithfield.

Come, then, let's go

fight with them but first,

go and set London bridge

on fire and, if you can,

burn down the Tower too.

Come, let's away.

[yells]

[All] Burn the books! Burn the books!

[laughs]

[crowd shouts]

[laughs]

[shouts]

So, sirs now go some

and pull down the Savoy,

others to the inns of

court down with them all.

[crowd shouts]

[laughs]

I have a suit unto your lordship.

Be it a lordship, thou

shalt have it for that word.

Only that the laws of England

may come out of your mouth.

Mass, 'twill be sore law, then for he was

thrust in the mouth with a

spear, and 'tis not whole yet.

Nay, John, it will be

stinking law for his breath

stinks with eating toasted cheese.

I have thought upon it, it shall be so.

Away, burn all the records of the realm,

my mouth shall be the

parliament of England.

[cheers]

Then we are like to have biting statutes,

unless his teeth be pulled out.

And henceforward all

things shall be in common.

[shouts]

A prize, a prize! here's the Lord say,

which sold the towns in

France he that made us pay

one and twenty fifteens, and

one shilling to the pound,

the last subsidy.

He shall be beheaded for it 10 times.

[laughs]

[crowd jeers]

Thou say, thou serge,

nay, thou buckram lord!

[laughs]

Now art thou within point-blank

of our jurisdiction regal.

What canst thou answer to my majesty for

giving up of Normandy unto

Mounsieur kiss my backside,

the dauphin of France?

Be it known unto thee by these presence,

even the presence of Lord Mortimer,

that I am the besom, that

must sweep the court clean

of such filth as thou art.

Thou hast most traitorously

corrupted the youth of the realm

in erecting a grammar

school and whereas, before,

our forefathers had no

other books but the score

and the tally, thou hast

caused printing to be used,

and, contrary to the king,

his crown and dignity,

thou hast built a paper-mill.

It shall be proved to thy

face that thou hast men

about thee that usually

talk of a noun and a verb,

and such abominable words as no Christian

ear can endure to hear.

Thou hast appointed justices of peace,

to call poor men before them,

about matters they were

not able to answer.

Moreover, thou hast put

them in prison and because,

they could not read,

thou hast hanged them.

When indeed, only for

that cause they have been

most worthy to live.

[shouts]

Thou dost ride in a

foot-cloth, dost thou not?

What of that, Marry?

Thou oughtest not to let

thy horse wear a cloak,

when honester men than thou

go in their hose and doublets.

And work in their shirt

too as myself, for example,

that am a butcher.

You men of Kent.

What say you of Kent?

Nothing but this 'tis

'bona terra, mala gens.'

Away with him, away with

him! He speaks Latin!

[yells]

Hear me but speak, and

bear me where you will.

[shouts]

Kent, in the commentaries Caesar writ,

is termed the civil'st place of this isle.

Sweet is the country,

because full of riches.

The people liberal,

valiant, active, wealthy.

[laughs]

Which makes me hope you

are not void of pity.

I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy,

yet, to recover them, would lose my life.

Justice with favor have I always done.

Prayers and tears have

moved me, gifts could never.

When have I aught exacted at your hands,

but to maintain the

king, the realm and you?

Large gifts have I

bestowed on learned clerks,

because my book preferred me to the king,

and seeing ignorance is the curse of God,

knowledge the wing

wherewith we fly to heaven,

unless you be possessed

with devilish spirits.

You cannot but forbear to murder me

this tongue hath parleyed

unto foreign kings

for your behoof.

Tut, when struck'st thou

one blow in the field?

Great men have reaching

hands oft have I struck

those that I never saw

and struck them dead.

O monstrous coward what,

to come behind folks?

These cheeks are pale for

watching for your good.

Give him a box o' the ear,

that will make 'em red again.

[laughs]

Long sitting to determine

poor men's causes

hath made me full of

sickness and diseases.

Why dost thou quiver, man?

The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.

Nay, he nods at us, as who should say,

I'll be even with them.

I'll see if his head will stand

steadier on a pole, or no.

[laughs]

Take him away, and behead him.

[yells]

Tell me wherein have I offended most?

Have I affected wealth or honor? speak.

Are my chests filled

up with extorted gold?

Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?

Whom have I injured,

that ye seek my death?

These hands are free from

guiltless bloodshedding,

this breast from harboring

foul deceitful thoughts.

O, let me live!

I feel remorse in myself with his words

but I'll bridle it he

shall die, an it be but for

pleading so well for his life.

Away with him, he has a

familiar under his tongue

he speaks not o' God's name.

Go, take him away, I say,

and strike off his head

presently and then break

into his son-in-law's house,

Sir James Cromer, and strike off his head,

and bring them both upon two poles hither.

It shall be done.

[shouts and yells]

Ah, countrymen, if when

you make your prayers,

God should be so obdurate as yourselves,

how would it fare with

your departed souls?

And therefore yet

relent, and save my life.

Away with him! and do as I command ye.

The proudest peer in the

realm shall not wear a head

on his shoulders, unless

he pay me tribute.

There shall not a maid be

married, but she shall pay to me

her mahead ere they have it,

men shall hold of me in capite

and we charge and command

that their wives be as

free as heart can wish

or tongue can tell.

[crowd shouts and yells]

My lord, when shall we go

to Cheapside to take up

commodities upon our bills?

Marry, presently.

[All] O, brave!

[laughs]

But is not this braver?

[yells]

Let them kiss one another,

for they loved well when

they were alive.

Now part them again, lest they

consult about the giving up

of some more towns in France.

[crowd laughs]

Soldiers, defer the spoil

of the city until night

for with these borne before

us, instead of maces,

will we ride through the streets,

and at every corner have them kiss, away!

[shouts]

Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus' Corner!

Kill and knock down,

throw them into Thames!

[trumpet music]

What noise is this I hear?

Dare any be so bold to

sound retreat or parley,

when I command them kill?

Ay, here they be that dare

and will disturb thee.

Know, Cade, we come

ambassadors from the king

unto the commons whom thou hast misled.

And here pronounce free pardon to them all

that will forsake thee

and go home in peace.

What say ye, countrymen?

Will ye relent, and yield to

mercy whilst 'tis offered you

or let a rebel lead you to your deaths?

who loves the king and

will embrace his pardon,

fling up his cap, and say

'God save his majesty!'

who hateth him and honors not his father,

Henry the Fifth, that

made all France to quake,

shake he his weapon at us and pass by.

[All] God save the

king! God save the king!

What, Buckingham and , are ye so brave?

And you, base peasants, do ye believe him?

Will you needs be hanged with

your pardons about your necks?

Hath my sword therefore

broke through London gates,

that you should leave me at

the White Hart in Southwark?

I thought ye would never have given out

these arms till you had

recovered your ancient freedom

but you are all recreants and dastards,

and delight to live in

slavery to the nobility.

Let them break your backs with burthens,

take your houses over your heads,

ravish your wives and daughters

before your faces for me,

I will make shift for one and so,

God's curse light upon you all!

[All] We'll follow

Cade, we'll follow Cade!

Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth,

that thus you do exclaim

you'll go with him?

Will he conduct you through

the heart of France,

and make the meanest

of you earls and dukes?

Were't not a shame, that

whilst you live at jar,

the fearful French, whom

you late vanquished,

should make a start o'er

seas and vanquish you?

Methinks already in this civil broil

I see them lording it in London streets,

crying 'Villiago!' unto all they meet.

Better 10,000 base-born Cades miscarry

than you should stoop

unto a Frenchman's mercy.

To France, to France, and

get what you have lost

spare England, for it is your native coast

Henry hath money, you

are strong and manly.

God on our side, doubt not of victory.

[All] A ! a ! we'll follow the king and .

Was ever feather so lightly blown

to and fro as this multitude?

The name of Henry the Fifth hales them

to an hundred mischiefs, and

makes them leave me desolate.

I see them lay their heads

together to surprise me.

My sword make way for me,

for here is no staying.

In despite of the devils and hell, have

through the very middest of you?

What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him

and he that brings his head unto the king

shall have a thousand

crowns for his reward.

[drumbeats]

Follow me, soldiers we'll devise a mean

to reconcile you all unto the king.

[drumbeats]

Was ever king that

joyed an earthly throne,

and could command no more content than I?

No sooner was I crept out of my cradle

but I was made a king, at nine months old.

Was never subject longed to be a king

as I do long and wish to be a subject.

Health and glad tidings to your majesty!

Why, Buckingham, is the

traitor Cade surprised?

Or is he but retired to make him strong?

He is fled, my lord, and

all his powers do yield

and humbly thus, with

halters on their necks,

expect your highness'

doom of life or death.

Then, heaven, set ope

thy everlasting gates,

to entertain my vows of thanks and praise!

Soldiers, this day have

you redeemed your lives,

and show'd how well you love

your prince and country.

Continue still in this so good a mind,

and Henry, though he be infortunate,

assure yourselves, will never be unkind

and so, with thanks and pardon to you all,

I do dismiss you to

your several countries.

[ALL] God save the

king! God save the king!

[trumpet music]

Please it your grace to be advertised

the Duke of York is

newly come from Ireland,

with a puissant and a mighty power

of gallowglasses and stout kerns

is marching hitherward in proud array,

and still proclaimeth, as he comes along,

his arms are only to remove from thee

The Duke of Somerset,

whom he terms traitor.

Thus stands my state, 'twixt

Cade and York distressed.

Like to a ship that,

having 'scaped a tempest,

is straightway calmed

and boarded with a pirate

but now is Cade driven

back, his men dispersed

and now is York in arms to second him.

I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him,

and ask him what's the

reason of these arms.

Tell him I'll send Duke

Edmund to the Tower

and, Somerset, we'll commit thee thither,

until his army be dismissed from him.

I'll yield myself to prison willingly,

or unto death, to do my country good.

In any case, be not too rough in terms

for he is fierce and

cannot brook hard language.

I will, my lord and doubt not so to deal

as all things shall

redound unto your good.

Come, wife, let's in, and

learn to govern better

for yet may England

curse my wretched reign.

[drumbeats]

Fie on ambitions, fie on

myself, that have a sword,

and yet am ready to famish!

These five days have I

hid me in these woods

and durst not peep out,

for all the country

is laid for me but now am I so hungry that

if I might have a lease of my life for a

1000 years I could stay no longer.

Wherefore, on a brick wall have

I climbed into this garden,

to see if I can eat grass,

or pick a sallet another while,

which is not amiss to cool a

man's stomach this hot weather.

And I think this word 'sallet'

was born to do me good

for many a time, but for a sallet,

my brainpan had been

cleft with a brown bill

and many a time, when I have

been dry and bravely marching,

it hath served me instead

of a quart pot to drink in

and now the word 'sallet'

must serve me to feed on.

Lord, who would live

turmoiled in the court,

and may enjoy such quiet walks as these?

This small inheritance my father left me

contenteth me, and worth a monarchy.

I seek not to wax great by others' waning,

or gather wealth, I

care not, with what envy

sufficeth that I have maintains my state

and sends the poor well

pleased from my gate.

Here's the lord of the

soil come to seize me

for a stray, for entering

his fee-simple without leave.

Ah, villain, thou wilt betray

me, and get 1000 crowns

of the king carrying my head to him but

I'll make thee eat iron

like an ostrich, and swallow

my sword like a great

pin, ere thou and I part.

Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be,

I know thee not why, then,

should I betray thee?

Is't not enough to break into my garden,

and, like a thief, to

come to rob my grounds,

climbing my walls in

spite of me the owner,

but thou wilt brave me

with these saucy terms?

Brave thee! ay, by the

best blood that ever was

broached, and beard thee too.

Look on me well I have eat

no meat these five days yet,

come thou and thy five men,

and if I do not leave you

all as dead as a doornail,

I pray God I may never eat grass more.

Nay, it shall ne'er be

said, while England stands,

that Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,

took odds to combat a poor famished man.

Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine,

see if thou canst

outface me with thy looks

set limb to limb, and

thou art far the lesser

thy hand is but a finger to my fist,

thy leg a stick compared

with this truncheon

my foot shall fight with

all the strength thou hast

and if mine arm be heaved in the air,

thy grave is digged already in the earth.

As for words, whose

greatness answers words,

Let this my sword report

what speech forbears.

By my valor, the most complete champion

that ever I heard!

Steel, if thou turn the

edge, or cut not out

the burly-boned clown in

chines of beef ere thou

sleep in thy sheath, I

beseech God on my knees thou

mayst be turned to hobnails.

[swords clanks]

[grunts and moans]

O, I am slain!

Famine and no other hath slain me

let 10000 devils come

against me, and give me

but the ten meals I have lost,

and I'll defy them all.

Wither, garden and be henceforth

a burying-place to all that

do dwell in this house,

because the unconquered

soul of Cade is fled.

Is't Cade that I have slain,

that monstrous traitor?

Iden, farewell, and be

proud of thy victory.

Tell Kent from me, she

hath lost her best man,

and exhort all the world

to be cowards for I,

that never feared any,

am vanquished by famine,

not by valor.

How much thou wrong'st

me, heaven be my judge.

Die, damned wretch, the

curse of her that bare thee

and as I thrust thy body in with my sword,

so wish I, I might

thrust thy soul to hell.

Hence will I drag thee

headlong by the heels

unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave,

and there cut off thy most ungracious head

which I will bear in triumph to the king,

leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon.

[upbeat music]

From Ireland thus comes

York to claim his right,

and pluck the crown from

feeble Henry's head.

Ring, bells, aloud burn,

bonfires, clear and bright,

to entertain great England's lawful king.

Ah! Santa majestas, who

would not buy thee dear?

Let them obey that know not how to rule

this hand was made to

handle naught but gold.

I cannot give due action to my words,

except a sword or scepter balance it

a scepter shall it have, have I a soul,

on which I'll toss the

flower-de-luce of France.

Whom have we here?

Buckingham, to disturb me?

The king hath sent him,

sure I must dissemble.

York, if thou meanest

well, I greet thee well.

Humphrey of Buckingham,

I accept thy greeting.

Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?

A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,

to know the reason of these arms in peace

or why thou, being a subject as I am,

against thy oath and

true allegiance sworn,

should raise so great a

power without his leave,

or dare to bring thy

force so near the court.

Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great.

O, I could hew up rocks

and fight with flint,

I am so angry at these abject terms,

But I must make fair weather yet a while.

Till Henry be more weak and I more strong,

Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me,

that I have given no answer all this while

my mind was troubled with deep melancholy.

The cause why I have

brought this army hither

is to remove proud Somerset from the king,

seditious to his grace and to the state.

That is too much presumption on thy part

but if thy arms be to no other end,

The king hath yielded unto thy demand

The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.

Upon thine honor, is he prisoner?

Upon mine honor, he is prisoner.

Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers.

Soldiers, I thank you

all disperse yourselves

meet me tomorrow in St. George's field,

you shall have pay and

every thing you wish.

[shouts]

And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,

command my eldest son, nay, all my sons,

as pledges of my fealty and love

I'll send them all as willing as I live

lands, goods, horse,

armor, any thing I have,

is his to use, so Somerset may die.

York, I commend this kind submission.

[trumpets]

In all submission and humility

York doth present himself

unto your highness.

Then what intends these

forces thou dost bring?

To heave the traitor Somerset from hence,

and fight against that

monstrous rebel Cade,

who since I heard to be discomfited.

If one so rude and of so mean condition

may pass into the presence of a king,

lo, I present your grace a traitor's head,

the head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.

The head of Cade! Great

God, how just art Thou!

O, let me view his visage, being dead,

that living wrought me

such exceeding trouble.

Tell me, my friend, art

thou the man that slew him?

I was, an't like your majesty.

How art thou call'd?

and what is thy degree?

Alexander Iden, that's my name.

A poor esquire of Kent,

that loves his king.

So please it you, my

lord, 'twere not amiss

he were created knight

for his good service.

Iden, kneel down.

Rise up a knight.

We give thee for reward a thousand marks,

and will that thou

henceforth attend on us.

May live to merit such a bounty.

And never live but true unto his liege!

See, Buckingham, Somerset

comes with the queen

go, bid her hide him

quickly from the duke.

For thousand Yorks he

shall not hide his head,

but boldly stand and

front him to his face.

How now, is Somerset at liberty?

Then, York, unloose thy

long imprisoned thoughts,

and let thy tongue be

equal with thy heart.

Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?

False king! Why hast thou

broken faith with me,

knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?

King did I call thee?

no, thou art not king,

not fit to govern and rule multitudes,

which darest not, no, nor

canst not rule a traitor.

That head of thine doth not become a crown

thy hand is made to

grasp a palmer's staff,

and not to grace an

awful princely scepter.

That gold must round

engirt these brows of mine,

whose smile and frown,

like to Achilles' spear,

is able with the change to kill and cure.

Here is a hand to hold a scepter up

and with the same to act controlling laws.

Give place by heaven,

thou shalt rule no more

o'er him whom heaven

created for thy ruler.

O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York,

of capital treason

'gainst the king and crown

obey, audacious traitor kneel for grace.

Wouldst have me kneel?

First let me ask of these,

If they can brook I bow a knee to man.

Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail.

I know, ere they will have me go to ward,

they'll pawn their swords

for my enfranchisement.

Call hither Clifford! bid him come amain,

to say if that the bastard boys of York

shall be the surety for

their traitor father.

O blood-besotted Neapolitan,

outcast of Naples,

England's bloody scourge!

The sons of York, thy

betters in their birth,

shall be their father's

bail and bane to those

that for my surety will refuse the boys!

[drumbeats]

See where they come I'll

warrant they'll make it good.

And here comes Clifford

to deny their bail.

[drumbeats]

Health and all happiness

to my lord the king!

I thank thee, Clifford

say, what news with thee?

Nay, do not fright us with an angry look.

We are thy sovereign,

Clifford, kneel again

for thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.

This is my king, York, I do not mistake

but thou mistakest me much to think I do

to Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?

Ay, Clifford, a bedlam and ambitious humor

makes him oppose himself against his king.

He is a traitor let him to the Tower,

and chop away that factious pate of his.

He is arrested, but will not obey

his sons, he says, shall

give their words for him.

Will you not, sons?

Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.

And if words will not,

then our weapons shall.

Why, what a brood of

traitors have we here!

Look in a glass, and call thy image so

I am thy king, and thou

a false-heart traitor.

Call hither to the stake

my two brave bears,

that with the very shaking of their chains

they may astonish these fell-lurking curs.

Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.

[drumbeats]

Are these thy bears?

We'll bait thy bears to death.

And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,

if thou darest bring them

to the baiting place.

Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur

run back and bite, because he was withheld

who, being suffered with

the bear's fell paw,

hath clapped his tail

between his legs and cried.

And such a piece of service will you do,

if you oppose yourselves

to match Lord Warwick.

Hence, heap of wrath,

foul indigested lump,

as crooked in thy manners as thy shape!

Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.

Take heed, lest by your

heat you burn yourselves.

Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow?

Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair,

thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son!

O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty?

If it be banished from the frosty head,

where shall it find a harbor in the earth?

wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war,

and shame thine honorable age with blood?

Why art thou old, and want'st experience?

Or wherefore dost abuse

it, if thou hast it?

For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me

That bows unto the grave with mickle age.

My lord, I have considered with myself

the title of this most renowned duke.

And in my conscience do repute his grace

the rightful heir to England's royal seat.

Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?

I have.

Canst thou dispense with

heaven for such an oath?

It is great sin to swear unto a sin,

but greater sin to keep a sinful oath.

Who can be bound by any solemn vow

to do a murderous deed, to rob a man,

to force a spotless virgin's chastity,

to reave the orphan of his patrimony,

to wring the widow from

her customed right,

and have no other reason for this wrong

but that he was bound by a solemn oath?

A subtle traitor needs no sophister.

Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.

Call Buckingham, and all

the friends thou hast,

both thou and they, shall

cast this fatal hour.

I am resolved for death or dignity.

The first I warrant thee,

if dreams prove true.

You were best to go to

bed and dream again,

to keep thee from the

tempest of the field.

I am resolved to bear a greater storm

than any thou canst conjure up today.

And so to arms, victorious father,

to quell the rebels and their complices.

Fie! charity, for shame!

speak not in spite,

for you shall sup with

Jesu Christ tonight.

Foul stigmatic, that's

more than thou canst tell.

If not in heaven, you'll

surely sup in hell.

[drumbeats]

Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls

and if thou dost not

hide thee from the bear,

now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum

and dead men's cries

do fill the empty air,

Clifford I say, come

forth and fight with me

Proud northern lord,

Clifford of Cumberland,

Warwick is hoarse with

calling thee to arms.

Of one or both of us the time is come.

Hold, Warwick, seek thee

out some other chase,

for I myself must hunt this deer to death.

Then, nobly, York 'tis

for a crown thou fight'st.

As I intend, Clifford, to thrive today,

it grieves my soul to

leave thee unassailed.

What seest thou in me, York?

Why dost thou pause?

With thy brave bearing

should I be in love,

but that thou art so fast mine enemy.

Nor should thy prowess

want praise and esteem,

but that 'tis shown

ignobly and in treason.

So let it help me now against thy sword

as I in justice and true right express it.

My soul and body on the action both!

A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.

The end, crowns all.

[groans and grunts]

[drumbeats]

[groans and grunts]

Thus war hath given thee

peace, for thou art still.

Peace with his soul,

heaven, if it be thy will!

[soldiers yells]

Shame and confusion, all is on the rout.

Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds

where it should guard.

O war, thou son of

hell, whom angry heavens

do make their minister.

Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part

hot coals of vengeance!

[soldiers shouts]

Let no soldier fly.

He that is truly dedicate to war

hath no self-love, nor

he that loves himself

hath not essentially but by

circumstance the name of valor.

O, let the vile world end,

and the premised flames of the last day

knit earth and heaven together!

Now let the general

trumpet blow his blast,

particularities and petty sounds to cease!

[sobs]

Wast thou ordained, dear father,

to lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve

the silver livery of advised age,

and, in thy reverence

and thy chair-days, thus

to die in ruffian battle?

Even at this sight my

heart is turned to stone

and while 'tis mine, it shall be stony.

York not our old men spares,

and no more will I their babes,

tears virginal shall be to

me even as the dew to fire,

and beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims

shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.

Henceforth I will not have to do with pity

meet I an infant of the house of York,

into as many gobbets will I cut it.

As wild Medea young Absyrtus did.

In cruelty will I seek out my fame.

Come, thou new ruin of

old Clifford's house

As did Aeneas old Anchises bear,

so bear I thee upon my manly shoulders.

But then Aeneas bare a living load,

nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.

[swords clanking]

[grunts]

[drumbeats]

So, lie thou there,

for underneath an alehouse' paltry sign,

the Castle in Saint Alban's,

Somerset hath made the wizard

famous in his death.

Sword, hold thy temper

heart, be wrathful still

priests pray for enemies,

but princes kill.

[soldiers shouting]

[trumpets]

Away, my lord! you are

slow for shame, away!

Can we outrun the heavens?

Good Margaret, stay.

What are you made of?

You'll nor fight nor fly.

Now is it manhood, wisdom and defense,

to give the enemy way, and to secure us

by what we can, which can no more but fly.

If you be ta'en, we then

should see the bottom

of all our fortunes but if we haply scape,

as well we may, if not

through your neglect,

we shall to London get,

where you are loved

and where this breach

now in our fortunes made

may readily be stopped.

But that my heart's on

future mischief set,

I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly

but fly you must uncurable discomfit

reigns in the hearts of

all our present parts.

Away, for your relief!

And we will live to see their

day and them our fortune give

Away, my lord, away!

[soldiers shouts]

Old Salisbury, who can report of him,

that winter lion, who in rage forgets

aged contusions and all brush of time,

and, like a gallant in the brow of youth,

repairs him with occasion.

This happy day is not itself,

nor have we won one foot,

if Salisbury be lost.

My noble father,

three times today I holp him to his horse,

three times bestrid him

thrice I led him off,

persuaded him from any further act

but still, where danger

was, still there I met him.

And like rich hangings in a homely house,

so was his will in his old feeble body.

[drumbeats]

But, noble as he is, look where he comes.

Now, by my sword, well

hast thou fought today.

By the mass, so did we all.

I thank you, Richard,

God knows how long it is I have to live

and it hath pleased him

that three times today

you have defended me from imminent death.

well, lords, we have not

got that which we have

'tis not enough our

foes are this time fled,

being opposites of such repairing nature.

I know our safety is to follow them

for, as I hear, the

king is fled to London,

to call a present court of parliament.

Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth.

What says Lord Warwick?

shall we after them?

After them! nay, before them, if we can.

[yells]

Now, by my faith, lords,

'twas a glorious day

Saint Alban's battle won by famous York

shall be eternized in all age to come.

Sound drums and trumpets,

and to London all

and more such days as these to us befall!

[cheers]

[upbeat music]