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

Following his father's early death and the loss of possessions in France young Henry VI comes to the throne, under the protection of the duke of Gloucester. He is unaware that there are other claimants to the throne, Plantagent of York and Somerset of Lancaster, whose factions will ultimately cause the Wars of the Roses. Ignorant of the schisms Henry tries to unite them in the Hundred Years War, capturing Joan of Arc, before he marries Margaret of Anjou to unite England and France, but there is no dowry, angering the court. Margaret finds the pious Henry a dull husband and embarks upon an affair with Somerset as well as crossing Gloucester's wife Eleanor. When Gloucester is arrested for alleged treason because of Eleanor, Henry is too feeble to prevent his death or the country slipping into civil war.

[stately instrumental music]

[wind blowing]

[stately trumpet music]

[drums beating]

[wood cracking]

[men yell]

This is the palace of the fearful king

and this, the regal seat.

Possess it, York, for this is thine

and not King Henry's heirs.

Assist me then, sweet Warwick and I will.

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

Thanks, gentle Norfolk.

And when the king comes,
offer him no violence,

unless he seek to thrust you out by force.

And leave not my Lords, be resolute.

I mean to take possession of my right.

Neither the king nor
he that loves him best,

the proudest he that holds up Lancaster,

dares stir a wing if
Warwick shake his bells.

I'll plant Plantagenet,
root him up who dares.

Resolve thee, Richard,
claim the English crown.

[all cheer]

[trumpet fanfare music]

My Lords, look where
the sturdy rebel sits,

even in the chair of state;

belike he means backed
by the power of Warwick

that false peer, to aspire unto
the crown and reign as king.

Earl of Northumberland,
he slew thy father,

and thine, Lord Clifford,

and you both have vowed revenge on him,

his sons, his favorites and his friends.

If I be not, heavens be revenge on me.

The hope thereof makes
Clifford mourn in steel.

What, shall we suffer this?

Let's pluck him down.

My heart for anger
burns; I cannot brook it.

Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland--

Patience is for poltroons, such as he.

He durst not sit there,
had your father lived.

My gracious lord, here in the parliament

let us assail the family of York.

Well hast thou spoken, cousin, be it so.

Know you not the city favors them

and they have troops of
soldiers at their beck.

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

Far be the thought of
this from Henry's heart,

To make a shambles of the parliament house

Cousin of Exeter, frowns,
words, and threats

shall be the war that Henry means to use.

Thou factious Duke of
York, descend my throne,

and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet,

I am thy sovereign.

I am thine.

For shame, come down, he
made thee Duke of York!

[ York] It was mine
inheritance, as the earldom was.

Thy father was a traitor to the crown.

Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown

in following this usurping Henry.

Whom should he follow
but his natural king?

True, Clifford, that is
Richard Duke of York.

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

It must and shall be so, content thyself.

Be Duke of Lancaster, let him be king.

He is both king and Duke of Lancaster.

And that the Lord of
Westmorland shall maintain.

And Warwick shall disprove it.

You forget that we are those
which chased you from the field

and slew your fathers,
and with colors spread

marched through the city
to the palace gates.

Yes, Warwick, I do
remember it to my grief.

And, by his soul, thou and
thy house shall rue it.

Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,

thy kinsmen, and thy
friends, I'll have more lives

than drops of blood were
in my father's veins.

Urge it no more lest
that, instead of words,

I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger

as shall revenge his death before I stir.

[laughs] Poor Clifford, how I
scorn his worthless threats.

[men laugh]

Will you we show our title to the crown?

If not, our swords shall
plead it in the field.

What title hast thou,
traitor, to the crown?

Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York.

Thy grandsire, Roger
Mortimer, Earl of March.

I am the son of Henry the Fifth,

who made the Dauphin
and the French to stoop

and seized upon their towns and provinces.

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

The Lord Protector lost it, and not I.

When I was crowned I
was but nine months old.

You are old enough now
and yet methinks you lose.

Father, tear the crown
from the usurper's head.

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

Good father, as thou
lovest and honorest arms,

let's fight it out and
not stand cavilling thus.

Sound drums and trumpets,
and the King will fly.

Peace, thou and give King
Henry leave to speak.

Plantagenet shall speak first.

Hear him, lords, and be you
silent and attentive too,

for he that interrupts him shall not live.

Plantagenet, why seeks thou to depose me?

Are we not both Plantagenet by births

and from two brothers linearly descent?

Suppose by right and equity thou be king?

Thinkest thou that I will
leave my kingly throne,

wherein my grandsire and my father sat?

No, first shall war
unpeople this my realm;

I am their colors, often borne in France,

and now in England to
our hearts' great sorrow,

shall be my winding-sheet.

Why faint you, lords?

My title's good, and better far than his.

Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king.

Henry the Fourth by
conquest got the crown.

It was by rebellion against his king.

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

Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?

What then?

And if he may, then am I lawful king?

For Richard, in the view of many lords,

resigned the crown to Henry the Fourth,

whose heir my father was, and I am his.

He rose against him, being his sovereign,

and made him to resign his crown perforce.

Suppose, my lords, he
did it unconstrained,

think you t'were prejudicial to his crown?


For he could not so resign the crown

but that the next heir
should succeed and reign.

Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?

His is the right, and therefore pardon me.

[York] Why whisper you
my lords and answer not?

My conscience tells me he is lawful king.

All will revolt from me and turn to him.

King Henry, be thy title right or wrong.

Lord Clifford vows to
fight in thy defense.

May that ground gape and swallow me alive

where I shall kneel to
him that slew my father

Oh Clifford, how thy
words revive my heart.

[York] Henry of Lancaster,
resign thy crown.

Do right unto this princely Duke of York,

or I will fill the house with armed men,

and o'er the chair of
state, where now he sits,

write up his title with usurping blood.

[dramatic orchestral music]

My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word.

Let me for this my lifetime reign as king.

Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,

and thou shalt reign in
quiet while thou livest.

Convey the soldiers hence and then I will.

Captain, conduct them into Tithill Fields.


[drums beat]

I am content.

Richard Plantagenet, enjoy
the kingdom after my decease.

Wrong is this unto the Prince your son!

What good is this to England and himself.

Base, fearful, and despairing Henry.

How hast thou injured both thyself and us.

I cannot stay to hear these articles.

Nor I.

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

Farewell, faint-hearted
and degenerate King,

in whose cold blood no
spark of honor bides.

Be thou a prey to the house of York,

and die in bands for this unmanly deed!

In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome,

or live in peace abandoned and despised!

Turn this way Henry and regard them not.

They seek revenge and
therefore will not yield.

Ah, Exeter.

Why should you sigh, my lord?

Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son,

whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.

But be it as it may.

I here entail the crown to thee
and to thine heirs for ever.


that here thou take thine
oath to cease this civil war

and whilst I live,

to honor me as thy king and sovereign.

And neither by treason nor hostility

to seek to put me down and reign thyself.

This oath I willingly
take and will perform.

Long live the king.

[Men] Long live the king.

And long live thou and
these thy forward sons.

Now York and Lancaster are reconciled.

A cursed be he that
seeks to make them foes.

[trumpet fanfare music]

[drums pound]

Farewell, my gracious
lord, I'll take my leave.

But out to Wakefield to my castle.

And I'll keep London with my soldiers.

And I to Norfolk with my followers.

And I with grief and sorrow to the court.

Here comes the Queen, whose
looks bewray her anger

I'll steal away.

Exeter, so will I.

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

Be patient, gentle Queen, and I will stay.

Who can be patient in such extremes?

Oh, wretched man would I had died a maid,

and never seen thee, never borne thee son,

seeing thou hast proved
so unnatural a father.

Hath he deserved to lose
his birthright thus?

Father, you cannot disinherit me;

if you be king, why should not I succeed?

Pardon me Margaret, pardon me sweet son.

The Earl of Warwick and
the Duke enforced me.

Enforced thee?

Art thou king, and wilt be forced?

I shame to hear thee
speak, oh, timorous wretch!

Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me.

And given unto the house of York such head

as thou shalt reign but
by their sufferance.

To entail him and his
heirs unto the crown,

what is it but to make thy sepulcher,

and creep into it far before thy time?

Warwick is Chancellor,
Salisbury Lord of Calais.

And the Duke is made
protector of the realm.

And yet shalt thou be safe?

Such safety finds the trembling
lamb environed with wolves.

Had I been there, which am a silly woman,

the soldiers should have
tossed me on their pikes

before I would have granted to that act.

But thou preferrest thy
life before thine honor.

And, seeing thou dost,
I here divorce myself

both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,

until that act of parliament be repealed

whereby my son is disinherited.

The northern lords that
have forsworn thy colors

will follow mine, if once
they see them spread.

And spread they shall
be to thy foul disgrace

and utter ruin of the House of York.

Thus do I leave thee!

Come son, let's away.

Our army is ready, come, we'll after them.

Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

Thou hast spoke too much
already, get thee gone!

Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me.

Ay, to be murdered by his enemies.

When I return with victory from the field,

I'll see your grace.

Till then I'll follow her.

Come son, away, we may not linger thus.

Poor Queen.

How love to me and to her son

hath made her break
out into terms of rage.

Revenged may she be on that hateful Duke,

whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,

will cost my crown,
and like an empty eagle

tire on the flesh of me and of my son.

The loss of those three
lords torments my heart.

I'll write unto them
and entreat them fair.

Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.

[drums pound]

And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.

Brother, though I be
youngest give me leave.

No, I can better play the orator.

But I have reasons strong and forcible.

Why how now sons, at a strife?

What is your quarrel, how began it first?

No quarrel, but a slight contention.

About what?


About that which concerns
your grace and us.

The crown of England,
father, which is yours.

Mine, boy?

Not till King Henry be dead.

Your right depends not
on his life or death.

Now you are heir therefore enjoy it now.

By giving the house of
Lancaster leave to breathe,

it will outrun you father in the end.

I took an oath that he
should quietly reign.

But for a kingdom any oath may be broken.

I would break a thousand
oaths to reign one year.

No, God forbid your
grace should be forsworn.

I shall be, if I claim by open war.

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

Thou canst not son, it is impossible.

An oath is of no moment, being not took

before a true and lawful magistrate

that hath authority over him that swears.

Henry had none but did usurp the place.

Then seeing it was he
that made you to depose,

your oath my lord is vain and frivolous.

Therefore to arms, and father do but think

how sweet a thing it is to wear a crown,

within whose circuit is Elysium

and all that poets feign of bliss and joy.

Why do we linger thus?

I cannot rest until the white
rose that I wear be dyed

even in the lukewarm
blood of Henry's heart.

Richard, enough!

I will be king or die.

[men cheer]

Cousin, thou shalt to London presently,

and whet on Warwick to this enterprise.

Richard and George you
shalt to Norfolk straight

and tell him privily of our intent.

You Edward shall to
Edmund Brook, Lord Cobham,

with whom the Kentishmen
will willingly rise;

in them I trust for they are soldiers,

witty, courteous liberal, full of spirit.

While you are thus
employed what resteth more

but that I seek occasion how to rise.

And yet the King not privy to my drift,

nor any of the house of Lancaster.

[trumpet fanfare music]

But stay, what news?

Why comest thou in such post?

The Queen with all the
northern earls and lords

intend here to besiege you in your castle.

She is hard by with twenty thousand men;

and therefore fortify your hold, my lord.

Ay, with my sword.

[all laugh]

What thinkest thou that
we fear them? [laughs]

Edward and Richard,
you shall stay with me.

[bell rings]

Hast you to London, cousin Montague.

Let noble Warwick, Cobham and the rest

whom we have left protectors of the King

with powerful policy strengthen themselves

and trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.

Cousin I go, I'll win them fear it not

(drums pound_

Sir John and Sir Hugh
Mortimer, mine uncles.

You are come to Sandal in a happy hour.

The army of the Queen mean to besiege us.

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

[men cheer]

What, with five thousand men?

Ay, with five hundred father for a need.

A woman's general, what should we fear?

[drums pound faintly]

I hear their drums, let's
set our men in order.

And issue forth and bid
them battle straight.

Five men to 20.

Though the odds be great,

I doubt not, uncles, of our victory.

[all cheer]

Many a battle have I won in France,

when as the enemy hath been 10 to one!

Why should I not now
have the like success?

[bells ring]

-[trumpet fanfare music]
-[drums pound]

-[soldiers yelling]
-[metal clanking]

[bells ring]

Whither shall we fly
to escape their hands?

Ah, tutor, look, where
bloody Clifford comes.

Chaplain away, thy
priesthood saves thy life.

As for the brat of this accursed duke,

whose father slew my father, he shall die.

And I my lord will bear him company.

Soldiers, away with him.

Ah, Clifford, murder
not this innocent child,

lest thou be hated both of God and man.

How now is he dead already or is it fear

that makes him close his eyes?

I'll open them.

So looks the pent-up lion over the wretch

that trembles under his devouring paws.

Sweet Clifford hear me speak before I die.

I am too mean a subject for thy wrath.

Be thou revenged on men and let me live.

In vain thou speakest,
poor boy my father's blood

hath stopped the passage
where thy words should enter.

Then let my father's blood open it again.

He is a man and Clifford, cope with him.

Had I thy brethren here,
their lives and thine

were not revenge sufficient for me.

No, if I digged up your
forefathers' graves

and hung their rotten
coffins up in chains,

it could not slake mine
ire nor ease my heart.

The sight of any of the house of York

is as a fury to torment my soul

and till I root out their accursed line

and leave not one alive, I live in hell.


Oh, let me pray before I take my death.

To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me.

Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

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

Thy father hath.

But it was ere I was born.

Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,

Thy father slew my father, therefore die.

[speaking Latin]

Plantagenet, I come Plantagenet.

And this thy son's blood
cleaving to my blade

shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood

congealed with this, do
make me wipe off both.

[men yelling]

[trumpets blare]

[York groans]

The army of the Queen hath got the field;

mine uncles both are slain in rescuing me;

and all my followers to the eager foe

turn back and fly, like
ships before the wind

or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.

My sons, God knows what
hath bechanced them;

but this I know, they
have demeaned themselves

like men born to renown by life or death.

Three times did Richard make a lane to me,

and thrice cries, "Courage,
father, fight it out!"

And full as oft came Edward to my side,

with purple falchion painted to the hilt

in blood of those that
hath encountered him.

And when the hardiest warriors did retire,

then George cried, "Charge
and give no foot of ground!"

Edward, "A crown, or else a glorious tomb

"A scepter or an earthly sepulcher."

With this we charged again but out alas

we budged again as I have seen a swan

with bootless labor swim against the tide.

And spend her strength
with overmatching waves.

[trumpet fanfare music]

Ah, hark, the fatal followers do pursue.

And I am faint and cannot fly their fury

[laughs bitterly] and were I strong

I would not shun their fury.

The sands are numbered
that makes up my life.

Here must I stay and
here my life must end.

[men yelling]

Come, bloody Clifford,
rough Northumberland,

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage!

I am your butt and I abide your shot.

Yield to our mercy proud Plantagenet.

Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm

with downright payment
showed unto my father.

My ashes, like the
phoenix, may bring forth

a bird that will revenge upon you all.

In that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,

scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.

Why come you not, what
multitudes and fear.

So cowards fight when
they can fly no further.

So doves do peck the
falcon's piercing talons.

So desperate thieves, all
hopeless of their lives,

breathe out invectives
against the officers.

Oh Clifford,

but bethink thee once again,

and in thy thought overrun my former time.

And if though canst for
blushing, view this face,

and bite thy tongue that
slanders him with cowardice.

Whose frown hath made thee
faint and fly ere this.

I will not bandy with thee word for word.

But buckle with thee
blows, twice two for one.

Hold, valiant Clifford,
for a thousand causes

I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.

Wrath makes him deaf,
speak thou Northumberland.

Hold, Clifford, do not honor him so much

to prick thy finger,
though to wound his heart.

What valor were it, when a cur doth grin,

for one to thrust his
hand between his teeth,

when he might spurn
him with his foot away?

It is war's prize to take all vantages.

And 10 to one were no impeach of valor.

-[swords clashing]
-[men jeering]

[men yelling]

Ay so strives the woodcock with the gin.

So doth the cony struggle in the net.

So triumph thieves upon
their conquered booty.

So true men yield with
robbers so over matched.

What would your grace
have done unto him now?

Brave warriors, Clifford
and Northumberland,

[York laughs]

come, make him stand
upon this molehill here

that raught at mountains
with outstretched arms,

yet parted but the shadow with his hand.

[York groans]

[laughs] What!

Was it you that would be England's king?

Was't you that reveled in our parliament

and made a preachment
of your high descent?

Where are your mess of
sons to back you now?

The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?

And where's that valiant
crook-back prodigy,

Dicky your boy, that
with his grumbling voice

was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?

Or, with the rest, where
is thy darling Rutland?

Look, York.

I stained this napkin with the blood

that valiant Clifford,
with his rapier's point,

made issue from the bosom of the boy;

and if thine eyes can water for his death,

I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.

Alas, poor York,

but that I hate thee deadly,

I should lament thy miserable state.

I prithee grieve, to make me merry, York.

What, hath thy fiery heart
so parched thine entrails

that not a tear can fall
for Rutland's death?

Why art thou patient, man?

Thou shouldst be mad,

and I, to make thee
mad, do mock thee thus.

Stamp, rave and fret,

that I may sing and dance.

Thou wouldst be feed I see

to make me sport.

York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.

A crown for York.

And at lords, bow low to him.

Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on.

[men chuckle]

Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king

[Men] Hail.

Ay, this is he that
took King Henry's chair;

and this is he was his adopted heir.

But how is it that great Plantagenet

Is crowned so soon, and
broke his solemn oath?

As I bethinks me, you should not be king

till our King Henry had
shook hands with Death.

And will you pale your
head in Henry's glory,

and rob his temples of the diadem,

now in his life, against your holy oath?

Oh, tis a fault too, too unpardonable.

Off with the crown; and, with the crown

his head.

And, whilst we breathe,

take time to do him dead.

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

Nay stay,

let's hear the orisons he makes.

She-wolf of France,

but worse than wolves of France,

whose tongue more poisons
than the adder's tooth.

How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex

to triumph, like an Amazonian trull

upon their woes whom fortune captivates.

But that thy face is
vizard-like, unchanging.

Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would assay, proud
Queen, to make thee blush.

To tell thee whence thou
camest, of whom derived,

were shame enough to shame
thee, wert not shameless.

Thy father bears the
type of King of Naples

of both the Sicils and Jerusalem,

yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.

Hath that poor monarch
taught thee to insult?

It is beauty that doth
oft make women proud,

but, God He knows, thy
share thereof is small.

Tis virtue that doth
make them most admired.

The contrary doth make thee wondered at.

It is government that
makes them seem divine.

The want thereof makes thee abominable.

Oh tiger's heart wrapped
in a woman's hide!

How couldst thou drain the
life-blood of the child,

to bid the father wipe his eyes withal,

and yet be seen to bear a woman's face?

Women are soft, mild,

pitiful and flexible.

Thou stern, indurate, flinty, rough,


It's thou me rage why
now thou hast thy wish;

wouldst have me weep?

Why, now thou hast thy will;

for raging wind blows
up incessant showers,

and when the rage allays, the rain begins.

These tears are my sweet
Rutland's obsequies

and every drop cries
vengeance for his death

against thee fell Clifford
and thee false Frenchwoman.

Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so

as heart can I check my eyes from tears.

[sobs] That face of his
the hungry cannibals

would not have touched, would
not have stained with blood;

but you are more inhuman,

more inexorable,

oh, 10 times more, than
tigers of Hyrcania.

See, ruthless Queen,

a hapless father's tears.

This cloth,

thou dippedest in blood of my sweet boy,

and I with tears do wash the blood away.

Keep thou the napkin and go,

boast of this;

and if thou tell the heavy story right,

upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears.

Yea, even my foes will shed

fast-falling tears and say,

"Alas, it was a piteous deed."

There, take the crown,

and with the crown my curse.

And in thy need such comfort come to thee

as now I reap at thy too cruel hand.

Hard-hearted Clifford,
take me from the world.

My soul to heaven, my
blood upon your heads.

Had he been slaughterman to all my kin,

I should not for my
life but weep with him,

to see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.


Weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?

Think but upon the wrong he did us all.

That will quickly dry thy melting tears.

Here's for my oath,

here's for my father's death.

And here's to right our
gentle-hearted king.

[York groans]

Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God,

my soul flies through these
wounds to seek out Thee.

Off with his head and
set it on York gates.

That York may overlook the town of York.

[drums beat]

I wonder how our princely father escaped,

or whether he be escaped away or no

from Clifford's and
Northumberland's pursuit.

Had he been taken, we
should have heard the news;

had he been slain, we
should have heard the news.

Had he escaped, methinks
we should have heard

the happy tidings of his good escape.

[chuckles] How fares my
brother, why is he so sad?

I cannot joy, until I be resolved

where our right valiant father is become.

I saw him in the battle range about,

and watched him how he
singled Clifford forth.

We thought he bore him
in the thickest troop

as doth a lion in a herd of neat.

Or as a bear encompassed round with dogs,

who having pinched a
few and made them cry,

the rest stand all aloof and bark at him.

So fared our father with his enemies.

So fled his enemies my warlike father.

Methinks it is prize enough to be his son.

See how the morning opes her golden gates

and takes her farewell
of the glorious sun.

How well resembles it the prime of youth.

Trimmed like a younker
prancing to his love.

Dazzle mine eyes or do I see three suns?

Three glorious suns,

each one a perfect sun;

not separated with the racking clouds,

but severed in a pale clear-shining sky.


see they join, embrace, and seem to kiss

as if they vowed some league inviolable;

now are they but one
lamp, one light, one sun.

In this the heaven figures some event.

It is wondrous strange, the
like yet never heard of.

I think it cites us,
brothers, to the field,

that we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,

each one already blazing by our meeds,

should notwithstanding
join our lights together

and overshine the earth as this the world.

Whatever it bodes,
henceforward will I bear

upon my target three fair-shining suns.

Nay, bear three daughters,
by your leave I speak it.

You love the breeder better than the male.

[trumpets blare]

What art thou, whose heavy looks foretell

some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

One that was a woeful looker-on

when as the noble Duke of York was slain.

Your princely father and my loving lord.

Oh, speak no more, for
I have heard too much.

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

Environed he was with many foes,

and stood against them as the hope of Troy

against the Greeks that
would have entered Troy.

But Hercules himself must yield to odds;

and many strokes, though with a little ax,

hew down and fells the
hardest-timbered oak.

By many hands your father was subdued.

But only slaughtered by the ireful arm

of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen,

who crowned the gracious
Duke in high despite,

laughed in his face and
when with grief he wept,

the ruthless Queen gave
him to dry his cheeks

a napkin steeping in the harmless blood

of sweet young Rutland,
by rough Clifford slain.

And after many scorns, many foul taunts,

they took his head and
on the gates of York

they set the same and
there it doth remain.

The saddest spectacle that e'er I viewed.

Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon.

Now thou art gone, we
have no staff, no stay.

Oh Clifford, savage Clifford.

Thou hast slain the flower of
Europe before his chivalry.

How treacherously hast
thou vanquished him,

for hand to hand he would
have vanquished thee. [sobs]

Now is my soul's palace become a prison;

ah, would she break from hence,

that this my body might in the
ground be closed up in rest.

For never henceforth shall I joy again;

never, oh never, shall I see more joy.

I cannot weep,

for all my body's moisture

scarce serves to quench
my furnace-burning heart.

Nor can my tongue unload
my heart's great burden.

For selfsame wind that
I should speak withal

is kindling coals that
fires all my breast,

and burns me up with flames
that tears would quench.

To weep is to make less
the depth of grief.

Tears then for babes,
blows and revenge for me.

Richard, I bear thy name
I'll venge thy death,

or die renowned by attempting it.

His name that valiant
Duke hath left with thee.

His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

Nay, if thou be that
princely eagle's bird,

show thy descent by
gazing against the sun.

For chair and dukedom
throne and kingdom say.

Either that is thine, or
else thou wert not his.

[drums beat]

How now, fair lords?

What fare?

What news abroad?

Great Lord of Warwick,

if we should recount our baleful news,

and at each word's deliverance

stab poniards in our
flesh till all were told,

the words would add more
anguish than the wounds.

O valiant lord, the Duke
of York is slain. [sobs]

Oh Warwick,

Warwick, that Plantagenet
which held thee dearly

as his soul's redemption,

is by the stern Lord
Clifford done to death.

10 days ago I drowned these news in tears.

And now, to add more measure to your woe

I come to tell you things
sith then befallen.

After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,

where your brave father
breathed his latest gasp,

tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run

were brought me of your
loss and his depart.

I, then in London, keeper of the King.

Mustered my soldiers,
gathered flocks of friends.

and very well appointed, as I thought,

marched toward Saint Albans
to intercept the Queen,

bearing the King in my behalf along.

For by my scouts I was advertised

that she was coming with a full intent

to dash our late decree in parliament,

touching King Henry's
oath and your succession.

Short tale to make,

we at Saint Albans met.

Our battles joined, and
both sides fiercely fought.


whether t'was the coldness of the King

who looked full gently
on his warlike Queen

that robbed my soldiers
of their heated spleen,

or whether t'was report of her success,

or more than common
fear of Clifford's rigor

who thunders to his
captives blood and death,

I cannot judge, but,

to conclude with truth,

their weapons like to
lightning came and went.

Our soldiers, like the
night-owl's lazy flight,

or like a lazy thresher with a flail,

fell gently down, as if
they struck their friends.

I cheered them up with
justice of our cause,

with promise of high
pay and great rewards,

but all in vain; they
had no heart to fight.

And we in them no hope to win the day.

So that we fled,

the King unto the Queen.

My lord, the duke of Norfolk, and myself

in haste post-haste are
come to join with you.

For in the Marches here we heard you were.

Making another head to fight again.

Where is the Duke of
Norfolk, gentle Warwick?

Some six miles off the
Duke is with the soldiers.

It was odds be like when
valiant Warwick fled.

Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,

but ne'er till now his scandal of retire.

Nor now my scandal,
Richard, dost thou hear.

For thou shalt know this
strong right hand of mine,

can pluck the diadem
from faint Henry's head,

and wring the awful scepter from his fist,

were he as famous and as bold in war

as he is famed for
mildness, peace, and prayer.

I know it well, Lord
Warwick, blame me not,

it is love I bear thy
glories makes me speak.

But in this troublous
time what's to be done?

Shall we go throw away our coats of steel

and wrap our bodies in
black mourning gowns?

Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads?

Or shall we on the helmets of our foes

tell our devotion with revengeful arms?

If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords!

Why, therefore Warwick
came to seek you out,

and therefore comes my brother Montague.

Attend me, lords.

The proud insulting Queen

with Clifford and the
haught Northumberland,

and of their feather many more proud birds

have wrought the
easy-melting King like wax.

He swear consent to your succession.

His oath enrolled in the parliament.

And now to London all the crew are gone

to frustrate both his oath and what beside

may make against the House of Lancaster.

Their power, I think,
is 30 thousand strong.


if the help of Norfolk and myself,

with all the friends that
thou, brave Earl of March,

amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,

will but amount to
five-and-twenty thousand,

Why, via!

To London will we march amain,

and once again cry charge upon our foes.

But never once again turn back and fly.

Ay, now methinks I hear
great Warwick speak.

Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day

that cries retire if Warwick bid him stay.

Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean

and when thou failest
as God forbid the hour.

must Edward fall which
peril heaven forfend!

No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York.

The next degree is England's royal throne.

For King of England
shalt thou be proclaimed

in every borough as we pass along.

And he that throws not up his cap for joy

shall for the fault make
forfeit of his head.

King Edward, George, brave Richard,


stay we no longer, dreaming of renown,

but sound the trumpets,
and about our task.

Then Clifford, were thy
heart as hard as steel

as thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,

I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.

Then strike up drums.

-God and Saint George for us!
-[drums beat]

[All] God and Saint George!

[York] How now, my friend, what news?

The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me.

The Queen is coming with a puissant host

and craves your company
for speedy counsel.

[laughs] Why then it sorts,

brave warriors, let's away!

[drums beat]

[trumpets blare]

Welcome, my lord, to
this brave town of York.

Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy

that sought to be
encompassed with your crown.

Doth not the object cheer
your heart, my lord?

Ay, as the rocks cheer
them that fear their wreck.

To see this sight, it irks my very soul.

Withhold revenge, dear
God tis not my fault,

nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.

My gracious liege, this too much lenity

and harmful pity must be laid aside.

To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?

Not to the beast that
would usurp their den.

Whose hand is that the
forest bear doth lick?

Not his that spoils her
young before her face.

Who escapes the lurking
serpent's mortal sting?

Not he that sets his foot upon her back.

The smallest worm will
turn, being trodden on.

And doves will peck in
safeguard of their brood.

Ambitious York did level at thy crown.

Thou smiling whilst he
knit his angry brows.

He, but a duke, would have his son a king.

And raise his issue like a loving sire.

Thou, being a king,
blest with a goodly son,

didst yield consent to disinherit him,

which argued thee a most unloving father.

Unreasonable creatures feed their young.

And though man's face be
fearful to their eyes,

yet, in protection of their tender ones,

who hath not seen them,
even with those wings,

which sometime they have
used with fearful flight,

make war with them that
climbed unto their nest,

offering their own lives
in their young's defence?

For shame, my liege,
make them your precedent.

Were it not pity that this goodly boy

should lose his birthright
by his father's fault,

and long hereafter say unto his child,

"What my great-grandfather
and his grandsire got,

"my careless father fondly gave away"?

What a shame were this.

Look on the boy.

And let his manly face, which promiseth

successful fortune,
steel thy melting heart

to hold thine own and
leave thine own with him.

Full well hath Clifford played the orator.

Inferring arguments of mighty force.

But, Clifford, tell me,
didst thou never hear

that things evil got had ever bad success?

I'll leave my son my
virtuous deeds behind.

And would my father had left me no more.

For all the rest is held at such a rate

as brings a thousandfold more care to keep

than in possession any jot of pleasure.

Ah, cousin York, would
thy best friends did know

how it doth grieve me
that thy head stands here.

My lord, cheer up your spirits.

Your foes are nigh, and this soft courage

makes your followers faint.

You promised knighthood
to our forward son.

Unsheathe your sword
and dub him presently.

Edward, kneel down.

Edward Plantagenet,

arise a knight.

And learn this lesson,
draw thy sword in right.

My gracious father, by your kingly leave,

I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,

and in that quarrel use it to the death.

Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

[men yelling]

Royal commanders, be in readiness.

For with a band of 30 thousand men

comes Warwick, backing
of the Duke of York.

And in the towns, as they do march along

proclaims him king, and many fly to him.

Darraign your battle,
for they are at hand.

I would your highness
would depart the field.

The Queen hath best success
when you are absent.

[bells ringing]

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

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

Be it with resolution then to fight.

[drums beating]

My royal father, cheer these noble lords.

And hearten those that
fight in your defense.

Unsheathe your sword, good
father, cry saint George.

[trumpet fanfare music]

Now, perjured Henry, wilt
thou kneel for grace,

and set thy diadem upon my head;

or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

Go, rate thy minions,

proud insulting boy.

Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms

before thy sovereign and thy lawful king.

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

I was adopted heir by his consent.

Since when, his oath
is broke for as I hear,

you, that are king, though
he do wear the crown

have caused him by new act of parliament

to blot out me, and put his own son in.

And reason too.

Who should succeed the father but the son.

Are you there, butcher?

Oh, I cannot speak.

Ay, crook-back, here I
stand to answer thee,

or any he the proudest of thy sort.

It was you that killed
young Rutland, was it not?

Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

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

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

Why, how now long-tongued
Warwick dare you speak

when you and I met at Saint Albans last,

your legs did better
service than your hands.

[men laugh]

Then t'was my turn to
flee and now it is thine.

[Clifford] You said so much
before, and yet you fled.

It was not your valor,
Clifford, drove me thence.

No, nor your manhood
that durst make you stay.

[men laugh]

Break off the parley
for scarce I can refrain

the execution of my big-swollen heart

upon that Clifford,
that cruel child-killer.

I slew your father,
callest thou him a child?

Ay, like a dastard and treacherous coward.

As thou didst kill our
tender brother Rutland.

But ere sun set I'll
make thee curse the deed.

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

Defy them then, or else
hold close thy lips.

I prithee give no limits to my tongue.

I am a king and privileged to speak.

My liege, the wound that
bred this meeting here

cannot be cured by words,
therefore be still.

Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword.

By Him that made us all, I am resolved

that Clifford's manhood
lies upon his tongue.

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

A thousand men have
broke their fasts today,

that ne'er shall dine
unless thou yield the crown.

If thou deny, their blood upon thy head,

for York in justice puts his Armour on.

If that be right which
Warwick says is right,

there is no wrong, but
everything is right.

Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands,

for, well I wot, thou
hast thy mother's tongue.

[men laugh]

But thou art neither
like thy sire nor dam.

But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,

marked by the destinies to be avoided,

as venom toads and
lizards' dreadful stings.

Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,

whose father bears the title of a king,

as if a channel should be called the sea.

Shamest thou not, knowing
whence thou art extraught,

to let thy tongue detect
thy base-born heart?

A wisp of straw were
worth a thousand crowns

to make this shameless
callet know herself.

Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,

although thy husband may be Menelaus

and ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wronged

by that false woman, as this king by thee.

His father reveled in the heart of France.

And tamed the King, and
made the Dauphin stoop.

And had he matched according to his state

he might have kept that glory to this day.

But when he took a beggar to his bed,

and graced thy poor sire
with his bridal day,

even then that sunshine
brewed a shower for him

that washed his father's
fortunes forth of France,

and heaped sedition on his crown at home.

For what hath broached
this tumult but thy pride?

Hadst thou been meek, our
title still had slept.

And we, in pity of the gentle King

had slipped our claim until another age.

But when we saw our
sunshine made thy spring,

and that thy summer bred us no increase,

we set the ax to thy usurping root.

And though the edge hath
something hit ourselves,

yet know thou, since we
have begun to strike,

we'll never leave till
we have hewn thee down,

or bathed thy growing
with our heated bloods.

And in this resolution I defy thee.

Not willing any longer conference,

since thou deniest the
gentle King to speak.

Sound trumpets, let
our bloody colors wave!

And either victory, or else a grave.

Stay, Edward.

No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay.

These words will cost 10
thousand lives this day.

-[drums beat]
-[trumpets blare]

[cannons boom]

[men yelling]

Forspent with toil, as
runners with a race,

I lay me down a little while to breathe.

For strokes received,
and many blows repaid

have robbed my strong-knit
sinews of their strength.

And, spite of spite,
needs must I rest a while.

Smile, gentle heaven, or
strike, ungentle death.

For this world frowns, and
Edward's sun is clouded.

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

Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair

and our ranks are broke, ruin follows us.

What counsel give you,
whither shall we fly?

Bootless is flight, they
follow us with wings.

And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit.

Ah, Warwick, why hast
thou withdrawn thyself?

Thy father's blood the
thirsty earth hath drunk.

Broached with the steely
point of Clifford's lance.

And in the very pangs of death he cried,

like to a dismal clangor heard from far.

"Warwick revenge, my
son, revenge my death."

So, underneath the belly of their steeds,

that stained their fetlocks
in his smoking blood,

the noble Salisbury gave up the ghost.

Then let the earth be
drunken with our blood.

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

Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,

wailing our losses,
whiles the foe doth rage

and look upon, as if the tragedy

were played in jest by
counterfeiting actors?

Here on my knee I vow to God above

I'll never pause again, never stand still,

till either death hath
closed these eyes of mine

or fortune given me measure of revenge.

Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine.

And in this vow do chain my soul to thine.

And, ere my knee rise from
the earth's cold face,

I throw my hands, mine
eyes, my heart to Thee.

Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings.

Beseeching Thee, if
with Thy will it stands

that to my foes this body must be prey.

Yet that Thy brazen
gates of heaven may ope

and give sweet passage to my sinful soul.

Now, lords, take leave
until we meet again.

Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth.

Brother, give me thy
hand; and, gentle Warwick,

let me embrace thee in my weary arms.



Once more, sweet lords, farewell.

Yet let us all together to our troops,

and give them leave to
fly that will not stay.

This may plant courage in
their quailing breasts,

for yet is hope of life and victory.

For slow no longer, make we hence amain.

-[trumpet fanfare music]
-[drums beating]

[men yelling]

Clifford, Clifford!

Richard, Richard!

Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone.

Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York.

And this for Rutland,
both bound to revenge

wert thou environed with a brazen wall.

Now, Richard, I am here with thee alone.

This is the hand that
stabbed thy father York.

And this the hand that
slew thy brother Rutland.

And here's the heart that
triumphs in their death.

And cheers these hands that
slew thy sire and brother

to execute the like upon thyself.

And so, have at thee.

-[sword clanking]
-[men grunting]

Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase,

for I myself will hunt this wolf to death.

-[drums beating]
-[trumpets blare]

-[swords clanking]
-[men yelling]

This battle fares like
to the morning's war,

when dying clouds contend
with growing light.

What time the shepherd,
blowing of his nails,

can neither call it perfect day nor night,

now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,

forced by the tide to
combat with the wind.

Now sways it that way,
like the selfsame sea,

forced to retire by fury of the wind.

Sometime the flood
prevails, and then the wind.

Now one the better, then another best.

Both tugging to be
victors, breast to breast,

yet neither conqueror nor conquered.

So is the equal poise of this fell war.

Here on this molehill will I sit me down.

To whom God will, there be the victory.

For Margaret my Queen, and Clifford too

have chid me from the
battle, swearing both

they prosper best of all when I am thence.

Would I were dead, if
God's good will were so.

For what is in this
world but grief and woe?

O God!

Me thinks it were a happy life

to be no better than a homely swain.

To sit upon a hill, as I do now.

To carve out dials
quaintly, point by point,

thereby to see the minutes how they run.

How many make the hour full complete.

How many hours brings about the day.

How many days will finish up the year.

How many years a mortal man may live.

When this is known, then
to divide the times.

So many hours must I tend my flock.

So many hours must I take my rest.

So many hours must I contemplate.

So many hours must I sport myself.

So many days my ewes have been with young.

So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean.

So many years ere I
shall shear the fleece.

So minutes,

hours, days, weeks,

months, and years,

passed over to the end they were created

would bring white hairs
unto a quiet grave.

Ah, what a life were this,
how sweet, how lovely.

Gives not the hawthorn
bush a sweeter shade

to shepherds looking on their silly sheep,

than doth a rich embroidered canopy

to kings that fear their
subjects' treachery?

Oh yes, it doth; a thousandfold it doth.

And to conclude,

the shepherd's homely curds.

His cold thin drink out
of his leather bottle.

His wonted sleep under
a fresh tree's shade.

All which secure and sweetly he enjoys

as far beyond a prince's delicates.

His viands sparkling in a golden cup.

His body couched in a curious bed.

When care, mistrust, and
treason waits on him.

-[men yelling]
-[drums beating]

Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.

This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight

may be possessed with
some store of crowns.

And I, that haply take them from him now,

may yet ere night yield
both my life and them

to some man else, as
this dead man doth me.

Who's this?

O God!

It is my father's face,

whom in this conflict
I, unwares have killed.

Oh, heavy times, begetting such events.

From London by the King
was I pressed forth.

My father, being the
Earl of Warwick's man,

came on the part of York,
pressed by his master.

And I,

who at his hands received my life,

have by my hands of life bereaved him.

Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did.

And pardon, father, for I knew not thee.

My tears shall wipe
away these bloody marks.

And no more words till they
have flowed their fill.

Oh, piteous spectacle, oh bloody times.

Whiles lions war and battle for their dens

poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.

Weep, wretched man; I'll
aid thee tear for tear.

And let our hearts and
eyes, like civil war,

be blind with tears, and
break o'ercharged with grief.

[men yelling]

Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me

give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold.

For I have bought it
with an hundred blows.

But let me see

is this our foeman's face?

Ah, no, no, no,

it is mine only son.

Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee

throw up thine eye.


see what showers arise.

Blown with the windy tempest of my heart

upon thy wounds, that
kills mine eye and heart.

Oh, pity, God, this miserable age.

What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,

erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural

this deadly quarrel daily doth beget.

Oh boy, thy father gave
thee life too soon.

And hath bereft thee of thy life too late.

Woe above woe, grief
more than common grief.

Would that my death would
stay these ruthful deeds.

Oh, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity.

The red rose and the
white are on his face,

the fatal colors of our striving houses.

The one his purple blood
right well resembles.

The other his pale cheek,
methinks, presenteth.

Wither one rose, and
let the other flourish,

if you contend, a thousand
lives must wither.

How will my mother for a father's death

take on with me and ne'er be satisfied!

How will my wife for slaughter of my son

shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied.

How will the country
for these woeful chances

misthink the King and not be satisfied.

Was ever son so rued a father's death?

Was ever father so bemoaned his son?

Was ever king so grieved
for his subjects' woe?

Much is your sorrow mine 10 times so much.

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

These arms of mine shall
be thy winding-sheet.

My heart, sweet boy,
shall be thy sepulcher.

For from mine heart thine
image ne'er shall go.

My sighing breast shall
be thy funeral bell.

And so obsequious will thy father be,

even for the loss of thee, having no more,

as Priam was for all his valiant sons.

I'll bear thee hence

and let them fight that will,

For I have murdered,

where I should not kill.

Sad-hearted men, much over gone with care,

here sits a king more woeful than you are.

Fly, father, fly, for
all your friends are fled

and Warwick rages like a chafed bull.

Away for death doth hold us in pursuit.

Mount you my lord, towards
Berwick post amain.

Edward and Richard like
a brace of greyhounds,

having the fearful flying hare in sight

with fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,

and bloody steel grasped
in their ireful hands

are at our backs, therefore hence amain.

Away, for vengeance comes along with them.

Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed

or else come after, I'll away before.

Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter.

Not that I fear to stay, but love to go,

whither the Queen intends, forward away.

-[trumpets blare]
-[men yelling]

[Clifford moans]

Here burns my candle out.


Here it dies.

For whiles it lasted,
gave King Henry light.

Oh Lancaster,

I fear thy overthrow

more than my body's parting with my soul.

My love and fear glued
many friends to thee.

And, now I fall,

my tough commixture melts.

Impairing Henry,

strengthening misproud York.

The common people swarm like summer flies.

And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?

And who shines now but Henry's enemies?

Oh Henry,

hadst thou swayed as kings should do.

Or as thy father and his father did,

giving no ground unto the house of York.

They never then had
sprung like summer flies.

I, and 10 thousand in this luckless realm,

had left no mourning widows for our death

and thou this day hadst
kept thy chair in peace.

For what doth cherish
weeds but gentle air?

And what makes robbers
bold but too much lenity?

Bootless are plaints,

and cureless are my wounds.

No way to fly,

nor strength to hold out flight.

The foe is merciless and will not pity,

for at their hands I
have deserved no pity.

The air hath got into my deadly wounds.

And much effuse of blood
doth make me faint.

Come York and Richard,

Warwick and the rest.

I stabbed your fathers
bosoms, split my breast.

-[drums beating]
-[men yelling]

[trumpet fanfare music]

Now breathe we lords,

good fortune bids us pause.

And smooth the frowns of
war with peaceful looks.

Some troops pursue the
bloody-minded Queen.

[men yelling]

But think you, lords, that
Clifford fled with them?


it is impossible he should escape.

For, though before his
face I speak the words

your brother Richard
marked him for the grave.

And wheresoe'er he be, he's surely dead.

[Clifford groaning]

Whose soul is that which
takes her heavy leave?

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

See who it is!

And now the battle's ended,

if friend or foe, let him be gently used.

Revoke that doom of mercy,

for tis Clifford;

who not contented that
he lopped the branch

tn hewing Rutland when
his leaves put forth,

but set his murdering knife unto the root

from whence that tender
spray did sweetly spring.

I mean our princely father, Duke of York.

From off the gates of
York fetch down the head.

Your father's head, that
Clifford placed there.

Instead whereof let this supply the room.

Measure for measure must be answered.

Bring forth that fatal
screech-owl to our house,

that nothing sung but
death to us and ours.

Now death shall stop his
dismal threatening sound,

and his ill-boding tongue
no more shall speak.

I think his understanding is bereft.

Speak, Clifford, dost thou
know who speaks to thee?

Dark cloudy death over
shades his beams of life.

And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.

Oh, would he did.

And so perhaps he doth.

It is but his policy to counterfeit,

because he would avoid such bitter taunts

which in the time of
death he gave our father.

If so thou thinkest, vex
him with eager words.

Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.

Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.

While we devise fell
tortures for thy faults.

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

Thou pitiedest Rutland; I will pity thee.

Where's Captain Margaret to fence you now?

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

What, not an oath?

Nay, then the world goes hard

when Clifford cannot
spare his friends an oath.

I know by that he's dead.

By my soul, if this right hand

would buy but two hour's life,

that I in all despite might rail at him,

this hand would chop it off,
and with the issuing blood

stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst

York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

Ay, but he's dead.

Off with the traitor's head,

and rear it in the place
your father's stands.

And now to London with triumphant march.,

there to be crowned England's royal king.

From whence shall Warwick
cut the sea to France,

and ask the Lady Bona for thy queen.

So shalt thou sinew both
these lands together.

And, having France thy
friend, thou shalt not dread

the scattered foe that
hopes to rise again.

For though they cannot
greatly sting to hurt,

yet look to have them
buzz to offend thine ears.

First will I see the coronation.

And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea

to effect this marriage,
so it please my lord.

Even as thou wilt, sweet
Warwick, let it be.

For in thy shoulder do I build my seat.

And never will I undertake the thing

wherein thy counsel
and consent is wanting.

Richard, I will create
thee Duke of Gloucester.

George, of Clarence.

Warwick, as ourself,

shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.

Let me be Duke of Clarence,
George of Gloucester.

For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous.

Tut, that's a foolish observation.

Richard, be Duke of Gloucester.

Now to London, to see
these honors in possession.

-[trumpets blare]
-[drums beat]

[man whistling]

Under this thick-grown brake
we'll shroud ourselves.

For through this glade
anon the deer will come.

And in this covert will we make our stand.

Culling the principal of all the deer.

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

That cannot be.

The noise of thy cross-bow

will scare the herd,
and so my shoot is lost.

Here stand we both,
and aim we at the best.

And for the time shall not seem tedious,

I'll tell thee what befell me on a day

in this self place where
now we mean to stand.

Hey, here comes a man,
let's stay till he be past.

From Scotland am I
stolen, even of pure love,

to greet mine own land
with my wishful sight.

No, Harry, Harry, it is no land of thine.

Thy place is filled, thy
scepter wrung from thee.

Thy balm washed off
wherewith thou wast anointed.

No bending knee will call thee Caesar now.

No humble suitors press
to speak for right.

No, not a man comes for redress of thee.

For how can I help them and not myself?

Ay, here's a deer whose
skin's a keeper's fee.

This is the quondam king;
let's seize upon him.

Let me embrace thee, sour adversity.

For wise men say it is the wisest course.

Why linger we, let us lay hands upon him.

Forbear awhile, we'll hear a little more.

My Queen and son are
gone to France for aid.

And, as I hear, the
great commanding Warwick

is thither gone to crave
the French King's sister

to wife for Edward.

If this news be true, poor Queen and son

your labor is but lost,

for Warwick is a subtle orator

and Lewis a prince soon
won with moving words.

By this account then Margaret may win him.

For she's a woman to be pitied much.

Ay, but she's come to
beg, Warwick to give.

She, on his left side,
craving aid for Henry.

He, on his right, asking
a wife for Edward.

She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed.

He smiles, and says his
Edward is installed.

That she, poor wretch, for
grief can speak no more.

Whiles Warwick tells his
title, smooths the wrong.

Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,

and in conclusion wins the King from her

with promise of his sister, and what else,

to strengthen and support
King Edward's place.

Ay Margaret, thus it will be

and thou, poor soul,

art then forsaken, as
thou wentest forlorn.

Say, what art thou that
talkest of kings and queens?

More than I seem, and
less than I was born to.

A man at least, for less I should not be.

And men may talk of kings, and why not I?

Ay, but thou talkest
as if thou wert a king.

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

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

My crown is in my heart, not on my head.

Not decked with diamonds
and Indian stones.

Nor to be seen; my
crown is called content.

A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

Well, if you be a king
crowned with content

your crown content, and
you must be contented

to go along with us; for, as we think

you are the king King Edward hath deposed,

and we his subjects,
sworn in all allegiance

will apprehend you as his enemy.

But did you never swear,
and break an oath?

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

Where did you dwell when
I was King of England?

Here in this country, where we now remain.

I was anointed king at nine months old.

My father and my grandfather were kings,

and you were sworn true subjects unto me.

And tell me, then, have
you not broke your oaths?


we were subjects but while you were king.

Why, am I dead, do I not breathe a man?

Ah, simple men, you
know not what you swear.


as I blow this feather from my face,

as the air blows it to me again,

obeying with my wind when I do blow,

and yielding to another when it blows.

Commanded always by the greater gust.

Such is the lightness of you common men.

But do not break your
oaths; for of that sin.

my mild entreaty shall
not make you guilty.

Go where you will, the
King shall be commanded.

And be you kings, command, and I'll obey.

We are true subjects to
the King, King Edward.

So would you be again to Henry,

ff he were seated as King Edward is.

Therefore we charge you in
God's name, and the King's

to go with us unto the officers.

In God's name, lead; your
king's name be obeyed.

And what God will, that
let your king perform.

And what he will, I humbly yield unto.

[men yelling]

[men laugh]

[men muttering]

[men laughing]

Brother of Gloucester,

at Saint Albans field

this lady's husband, Sir
John Grey, was slain.

His lands then seized on by the conqueror.

Her suit is now to repossess those lands,

which we in justice cannot well deny,

because in quarrel of the House of York

the worthy gentleman did lose his life.

Your highness shall do
well to grant her suit.

It were dishonor to deny it her.

It were no less,

but yet I'll make a pause.

Yea, is it so?

I see the lady hath a thing to grant,

before the King will
grant her humble suit.

He knows the game, how
true he keeps the wind.


Widow, we will consider of your suit.

And come some other time to know our mind.

Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay.

May it please your
highness to resolve me now.

And what your pleasure
is shall satisfy me.

Ay, widow, then I'll
warrant you all your lands,

and if what pleases
him shall pleasure you.

Fight closer, or, good
faith, you'll catch a clap.

I fear her not unless she chance to fall.

Marry Gods forbode, for
he'll take vantages.

How many children hast
thou, widow, tell me.

I think he means to beg a child of her.

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

Three, my most gracious lord.

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

[they laugh]

For pity they should lose
their father's lands.

Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.

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

Ay, good leave have you
for you will have leave

till youth take leave and
leave you to the crutch.

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

Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.

And would you not do much to do them good?

To do them good I would sustain some harm.

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

Therefore I came unto your majesty.

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

So shall you bind me to
your highness service.

What service wilt thou do me,

if I give them?

What you command, that rests in me to do.

But you will take exceptions to my boon.

No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.

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

Why, then I will do what
your grace commands.

He plies her hard and much
rain wears the marble.

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

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

An easy task, tis but to love a king.

That's soon performed,
because I am a subject.

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

I take my leave with many thousand thanks.

But stay thee, it is the
fruits of love I mean.

The fruits of love I
mean, my loving liege.

Ay, but I fear me in another sense.

What love, thinkest thou,
I sue so much to get?

My love till death, my
humble thanks, my prayers.

That love which virtue
begs and virtue grants.

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

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

But now you partly may perceive my mind.

My mind will never grant what I perceive

your highness aims at, if I aim aright.

To tell thee plain,

I aim to lie with thee.

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

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

Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower.

For by that loss I will not purchase them.

Therein thou wrongest
thy children mightily.

Herein your highness
wrongs both them and me.

But, mighty lord, this merry inclination

accords not with the sadness of my suit.

Please you dismiss me,
either with ay or no.

Ay, if thou wilt say ay to my request.

No, if thou dost say no to my demand.

Then, no, my lord.

My suit is at an end.

The widow likes him not,
she knits her brows.

He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.

Her looks doth argue her
replete with modesty.

Her words doth show her wit incomparable.

All her perfections challenge sovereignty.

One way or other, she is for a king.

And she shall be my love or else my queen.

Say that King Edward
take thee for his queen?

It is better said than
done, my gracious lord.

I am a subject fit to jest withal

but far unfit to be a sovereign.

Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee

I speak no more than what my soul intends,

and that is to enjoy thee for my love.

And that is more than I will yield unto.

I know I am too mean to be your queen.

And yet too good to be your concubine.

You cavil widow, I did mean my queen.

It would grieve your grace my
sons should call you father.

No more than when my
daughters call thee mother.

Thou art a widow and
thou hast some children.

And, by God's mother,
I, being but a bachelor

have other some; why, it is a happy thing

to be the father unto many sons.

Answer no more,

for thou shalt be my queen.

The ghostly father now
hath done his shrift.

When he was made a
shriver it was for shift.

Brothers, you muse what
chat we two have had.

The widow likes it not,
for she looks vexed.

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

To who, my lord?

Why, Clarence, to myself.

[guffaws] That would be a 10
days' wonder at the least.

That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.

By so much is the wonder in extremes.

[all laugh]

Well, jest on, brothers
I can tell you both

her suit is granted for
her husband's lands.

My gracious lord.

Henry, your foe, is taken.

And brought your prisoner
to your palace gate.

[men cheer]

See that he be conveyed unto the Tower.

And go we, brothers, to
the man that took him

to question of his apprehension.

Sweet widow, go you along.

Lords, use her honorably.

Ay, Edward will use women honorably.

Would he were wasted,
marrow, bones, and all.

That from his loins no
hopeful branch may spring

to cross me from the
golden time I look for.

And yet, between my soul's desire and me

the lustful Edward's title buried

is Clarence, Henry, and
his son young Edward,

and all the unlooked-for
issue of their bodies

to take their rooms,
ere I can plant myself.

A cold premeditation for my purpose.

Why then, I do but dream on sovereignty.

Like one that stands upon a promontory

and spies a far-off shore
where he would tread,

wishing his foot were equal with his eye,

and chides the sea that
sunders him from thence,

saying he'll lade it dry to have his way.

So do I wish the crown, being so far off,

and so I chide the means
that keeps me from it.

And so I say I'll cut the causes off,

flattering me with impossibilities.

My eye's too quick, my
heart o'er weens too much.

Unless my hand and
strength could equal them.

Well, say there is no
kingdom then for Richard.

What other pleasure can the world afford?

I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap.

And deck my body in gay ornaments.

And witch sweet ladies
with my words and looks.

Oh, miserable thought and more unlikely

than to accomplish 20 golden crowns.

Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb.

And, for I should not
deal in her soft laws

she did corrupt frail
nature with some bribe

to shrink mine arm up
like a withered shrub.

To make an envious mountain on my back

where sits deformity to mock my body.

To shape my legs of an unequal size.

To disproportion me in every part

like to a chaos, or an unlicked bear-whelp

that carries no impression like the dam.

And am I then a man to be beloved?

Oh, monstrous fault, to
harbor such a thought.

Then, since this earth
affords no joy to me

but to command, to
check, to over bear such

as are of better person than myself,

I'll make my heaven to
dream upon the crown.

And, whiles I live, till
account this world but hell.

Until my misshaped trunk
that bears this head

be round impaled with a glorious crown.

And yet I know not how to get the crown.

For many lives stand between me and home.

And I, like one lost in a thorny wood,

that rents the thorns and
is rent with the thorns,

seeking a way and straying from the way,

not knowing how to find the open air,

but toiling desperately to find it out,

torment myself to catch the English crown.

And from that torment I will free myself,

or hew my way out with a bloody ax!

Why, I can smile,

and murder whiles I smile.

And cry content to that
which grieves my heart.

And wet my cheeks with artificial tears.

And frame my face to all occasions.

I'll drown more sailors
than the mermaid shall.

I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk.

I'll play the orator as well as Nestor.

Deceive more slyly than Ulysses could.

And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.

I can add colors to the chameleon.

Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,

and set the murderous Machiavel to school.

Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?

Tut, were it further
off, I'll pluck it down.

[drums beating]

[trumpets blare]

[trumpet fanfare music]

Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,

sit down with us.

It ill befits thy state and birth

that thou shouldst stand
while Lewis doth sit.

No, mighty King of France, now Margaret

must strike her sail and
learn awhile to serve

where kings command.

I was, I must confess,

Great Albion's Queen
in former golden days.

But now mischance hath trod my title down

and with dishonor laid me on the ground,

where I must take like
seat unto my fortune,

and to my humble state conform myself.

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

From such a cause as
fills mine eyes with tears

and stops my tongue, while
heart is drowned in cares.

Whate'er it be, be thou
still like thyself,

And sit thee by our side.

Yield not thy neck

to Fortune's yoke, but
let thy dauntless mind

still ride in triumph over all mischance.

Be plain, Queen Margaret,
and tell thy grief.

It shall be eased, if
France can yield relief.

Those gracious words revive
my drooping thoughts,

and give my tongue-tied
sorrows leave to speak.

Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis

that Henry, sole possessor of my love

is of a king become a banished man,

and forced to live in Scotland a forlorn

while proud ambitious Edward, Duke of York

usurps the regal title and the seat

of England's true-anointed lawful King.

This is the cause that I, poor Margaret,

with this my son, Prince
Edward, Henry's heir,

am come to crave thy just and lawful aid.

And if thou fail us, all our hope is done.

Scotland hath will to
help, but cannot help.

Our people and our peers are both misled.

Our treasure seized, our
soldiers put to flight.

And, as thou seest,
ourselves in heavy plight.

Renowned Queen, with
patience calm the storm,

while we bethink a means to break it off.

The more we stay, the
stronger grows our foe.

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

Oh, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.

-[drums pound]
-[trumpets blare]

And see where comes the
breeder of my sorrow.

What's he approacheth
boldly to our presence?

[Margaret] Our Earl of Warwick,
Edward's greatest friend.

Welcome, brave Warwick,
what brings thee to France?

Now begins a second storm to rise.

For this is he that
moves both wind and tide.

From worthy Edward, King of Albion,

my lord and sovereign,
and thy vowed friend,

I come, in kindness and unfeigned love.

First, to do greetings
to thy royal person,

and then to crave a league of amity.

And lastly to confirm that amity

with nuptial knot, if
thou vouchsafe to grant

that virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,

to England's King in lawful marriage.

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

And gracious madam, in our king's behalf.

I am commanded, with your leave and favor,

humbly to kiss your
hand, and with my tongue

to tell the passion of
my sovereign's heart,

where fame, late entering
at his heedful ears

hath placed thy beauty's
image and thy virtue.

King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak

before you answer Warwick.

His demand springs not from
Edward's well-meant honest love,

but from deceit bred by necessity.

For how can tyrants safely govern home,

unless abroad they
purchase great alliance?

To prove him tyrant
this reason may suffice.

That Henry liveth still but were he dead,

yet here Prince Edward
stands, King Henry's son.

Look, therefore, Lewis, that
by this league and marriage

thou draw not on thy danger and dishonor.

For though usurpers sway the rule awhile,

Heavens are just, and
time suppresseth wrongs.

Injurious Margaret.

And why not Queen?

Because thy father Henry did usurp.

And thou no more art
prince than she is queen.

Then Warwick disannuls
great John of Gaunt,

which did subdue the
greatest part of Spain.

And, after John of
Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,

whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest.

And, after that wise
prince, Henry the Fifth,

who by his prowess conquered all France.

From these our Henry lineally descends.

Oxford, how haps it in
this smooth discourse

you told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost

all that which Henry the Fifth had gotten?

Methinks these peers of
France should smile at that.

But for the rest, you tell a pedigree

of threescore and two years, a silly time

to make prescription
for a kingdom's worth.

Why, Warwick, canst thou
speak against thy liege

whom thou obeyed'st thirty-and-six years,

and not bewray thy treason with a blush?

Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right,

now buckler falsehood with a pedigree?

For shame, leave Henry,
and call Edward king.

Call him my king by whose injurious doom,

my elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere,

was done to death and
more than so, my father

even in the downfall
of his mellowed years,

when nature brought him
to the door of death?

No, Warwick, no, while
life upholds this arm,

this arm upholds the House of Lancaster.

And I the House of York.

Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford.

Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside

while I use further
conference with Warwick.

Heavens grant that Warwick's
words bewitch him not.

Now Warwick, tell me,
even upon thy conscience.

Is Edward your true king, for I were loath

to link with him that
were not lawful chosen.

Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honor.

But is he gracious in the people's eye?

The more that Henry was unfortunate.

Then further, all dissembling set aside,

tell me for truth the measure of his love

unto our sister Bona.

Such it seems as may beseem
a monarch like himself.

Myself have often heard him say and swear

that this his love was an eternal plant

whereof the root was
fixed in virtue's ground.

The leaves and fruit
maintained with beauty's sun,

exempt from envy, but not from disdain

unless the Lady Bona quiet his pain.

Now, sister, let us
hear your firm resolve.

Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine.

Yet I confess that often ere this day

when I have heard your
king's desert recounted

mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.

Then, Warwick, thus, our
sister shall be Edward's.

And now forthwith shall articles be drawn,

touching the jointure
that your king must make,

which with her dowry
shall be counterpoised.

Draw near, Queen
Margaret, and be a witness

that Bona shall be wife
to the English king.

[court applauds]

To Edward, but not to the English king.

Deceitful Warwick, it was thy device

by this alliance to make void my suit.

Before thy coming Lewis
was Henry's friend.

And still is friend to him and Margaret.

But if your title to the crown be weak,

as may appear by Edward's good success,

then tis but reason that I be released

from giving aid which late I promised.

Yet shall you have all
kindness at my hand,

which your estate requires
and mine can yield.

Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease.

Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.

And as for you yourself,
our quondam queen,

you have a father able to maintain you,

and better t'were you
troubled him than France.

Peace, impudent and
shameless Warwick, peace.

Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings.

I will not hence till,
with my talk and tears

both full of truth, I
make King Lewis behold

thy sly conveyance and
thy lord's false love.

For both of you are birds
of selfsame feather.

[trumpets blare]

Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.

My lord ambassador, these are for you.

Sent from your brother, Marquess Montague.

These from our king unto your majesty.

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

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

Mine, such as fill my
heart with unhoped joys.

Mine, full of sorrow
and heart's discontent.

What, has your king married the Lady Grey?

And now, to soothe your forgery and his

sends me a paper to persuade me patience?

Is this the alliance that
he seeks with France?

Dare he presume to
scorn us in this manner?

I told your majesty as much before.

This proveth Edward's love
and Warwick's honesty.

King Lewis, I here protest
in sight of heaven,

and by the hope I have of heavenly bliss

that I am clear from
this misdeed of Edward's.

No more my king, for he dishonors me,

but most himself, if
he could see his shame.

Did I impale him with the regal crown?

Did I put Henry from his native right?

And am I guerdoned at the last with shame?

Shame on himself, for my desert is honor.

And to repair my honor lost for him,

I here renounce him and return to Henry.

My noble Queen, let former grudges pass,

and henceforth I am thy true servitor.

I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona

and replant Henry in his former state.


these words have turned my hate to love.

And I forgive and quite forget old faults.

And joy that thou becomest
King Henry's friend.

So much his friend, ay,
his unfeigned friend,

that if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us

with some few bands of chosen soldiers,

I'll undertake to land them on our coast

and force the tyrant from his seat by war.

Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged,

but by thy help to this distressed queen?

Renowned Prince, how
shall poor Henry live,

unless thou rescue him from foul despair?

My quarrel and this
English queen's are one.

And mine, fair Lady
Bona, joins with yours.

And mine with hers, and
thine, and Margaret's.

Therefore at last I firmly am resolved.

You shall have aid.

Let me give humble thanks for all at once.

Then, England's messenger, return in post

and tell false Edward, thy supposed king,

that Lewis of France is
sending over masquers

to revel it with him and
his new bride. [laughs]

Thou seest what's passed,
go fear thy king withal.

Tell him, in hope he'll
prove a widower shortly,

I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.

Tell him my mourning weeds are laid aside,

and I am ready to put Armour on.

Tell him from me that
he hath done me wrong.

And therefore I'll
uncrown him ere't be long.

There's thy reward, be gone.

But, Warwick, thou and
Oxford, with five thousand men

shall cross the seas and
bid false Edward battle.

And, as occasion serves, this noble queen

and prince shall follow
with a fresh supply.

Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt;

what pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?

This shall assure my constant loyalty.

That if our Queen and
this young prince agree

I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy

to him forthwith in holy wedlock's bands.

Yes, I agree, and thank
you for your motion.

Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous.

Therefore delay not,
give thy hand to Warwick.

And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable

that only Warwick's
daughter shall be thine.

Yes, I accept her, for
she well deserves it.

And here, to pledge my
vow, I give my hand.

[court applauds]

Why stay we now, these
soldiers shall be levied.

I long till Edward fall
by war's mischance,

for mocking marriage
with a dame of France.

-[trumpets blare]
-[drums beat]

I came from Edward as ambassador,

but I return his sworn and mortal foe.

Matter of marriage was
the charge he gave me,

but dreadful war shall answer his demand.

Had he none else to make a stale but me?

Then none but I shall
turn his jest to sorrow.

I was the chief that
raised him to the crown,

and I'll be chief to bring him down again.

Not that I pity Henry's misery,

but seek revenge on Edward's mockery.

-[men cheering]
-[trumpets blare]

Now tell me, brother
Clarence, what think you

of this new marriage with the Lady Grey?

Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?

Alas, you know, it is
far from hence to France.

How could he stay till
Warwick made return?

My lords, forbear this
talk, here comes the King.

And his well-chosen bride.

I mind to tell him plainly what I think.

[men applaud]

Now, brother of Clarence,
how like you our choice,

that you stand pensive,
as half-malcontent?

As well as Lewis of France,
or the Earl of Warwick,

which are so weak of
courage and in judgment

that they'll take no offense at our abuse.

Suppose they take offense without a cause.

They are but Lewis and
Warwick; I am Edward,

your king and Warwick's
and must have my will.

And you shall have your
will, because our king,

yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

Yea, brother Richard,
are you offended too?

No, God forfend that I
should wish them severed

whom God hath joined.

Ay, and it were a pity.

to sunder them that yoke so well together.

[man chuckles]

Setting your scorns
and your mislike aside,

tell me some reason why the Lady Grey

should not become my
wife and England's queen.

And you too, Somerset and Montague,

speak freely what you think.

Then this is mine opinion, that King Lewis

becomes your enemy, for mocking him

about the marriage of the Lady Bona.

And Warwick, doing what
you gave in charge,

is now dishonored by this marriage.

[sighs] What if both Lewis
and Warwick be appeased

by such invention as I can devise?

Yet, to have joined with
France in such alliance

more have strengthened
this, our commonwealth,

against foreign storms than
any home-bred marriage.

Why, knows not Montague that of itself

England is safe, if true within itself?

But the safer when tis backed with France.

It is better using France
than trusting France.

Let us be backed with
God and with the seas

which He hath given for fence impregnable.

And with their helps
only defend ourselves.

In them and in ourselves our safety lies.

For this one speech Lord
Hastings well deserves

to have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.

Ay, what of that?

It was my will and grant.

And for this once my
will shall stand for law.

And yet methinks your
grace hath not done well

to give the heir and
daughter of Lord Scales

unto the brother of your loving bride.

She better would have
fitted me or Clarence.

But in your bride you bury brotherhood.

Or else you would not
have bestowed the heir

of the Lord Bonville
on your new wife's son,

and leave your brothers
to go speed elsewhere.

Alas, poor Clarence, is it for a wife

that thou art malcontent?

I will provide thee.

In choosing for yourself,
you showed your judgment.

Which being shallow,
you shall give me leave

to play the broker in mine own behalf.

And to that end I shortly
mind to leave you.

Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king

and not be tied unto his brother's will.

My lords, before it pleased his majesty

to raise my state to title of a queen,

do me but right, and you must all confess

that I was not ignoble of descent,

and meaner than myself
have had like fortune.

But as this title honors me and mine,

so your dislikes, to
whom I would be pleasing,

doth cloud my joys with
danger and with sorrow.

My love, forbear to
fawn upon their frowns.

What danger or what sorrow can befall thee

so long as Edward is thy constant friend

and their true sovereign,
whom they must obey?

Nay, whom they shall
obey, and love thee too,

unless they seek for hatred at my hands.

Which if they do, yet
will I keep thee safe

and they shall feel the
vengeance of my wrath.

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

[trumpets blare]

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

My sovereign liege, no
letters and few words,

but such as I, without your special pardon

dare not relate.

Oh, go to, we pardon
thee; therefore, in brief

tell me their words as near
as thou canst guess them.

What answer makes King
Lewis unto our letters?

At my depart, these were his very words.

"Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king

"that Lewis of France
is sending over masquers

"to revel it with him and his new bride."

Is Lewis so brave?

Be like he thinks me Henry.

But what said Lady Bona to my marriage?

These were her words,
uttered with mild disdain.

"Tell him, in hope he'll
prove a widower shortly,

"I'll wear the willow
garland for his sake."

I blame not her, she
could say little less,

she had the wrong, but
what said Henry's queen?

For I have heard that
she was there in place.

"Tell him", quoth she, "My
mourning weeds are done,

"and I am ready to put Armour on."

[Edward laughs]

Belike she minds to play the Amazon.

[men chuckle]

But what said Warwick to these injuries?

He, more incensed against your majesty

than all the rest, discharged
me with these words.

"Tell him from me that
he hath done me wrong.

"And therefore I'll
uncrown him ere't be long."


Durst the traitor breathe
out so proud words?

Well, I will arm me,
being thus forewarned.

They shall have wars and
pay for their presumption.

But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?

Ay, gracious sovereign, they
are so linked in friendship

that young Prince Edward
marries Warwick's daughter.

Belike the elder, Clarence
will have the younger.

Now, brother King,
farewell, and sit you fast,

for I will hence to
Warwick's other daughter,

that, though I want a
kingdom, yet in marriage

I may not prove inferior to yourself.

You that love me and Warwick, follow me.

Not I, my thoughts aim
at a further matter.

I stay not for the love
of Edward, but the crown.

Clarence and Somerset
both gone to Warwick.

Yet am I armed against
the worst can happen.

And haste is needful
in this desperate case.

Go levy men, and make prepare for war.

Myself in person will straight follow you.

But, ere I go, Hastings and
Montague, resolve my doubt.

You twain, of all the rest

are near to Warwick by
blood and by alliance.

Tell me if you love Warwick more than me.

If it be so, then both depart to him,

I rather wish you foes
than hollow friends.

But if you mind to hold
your true obedience,

give me assurance with some friendly vow

that I may never have you in suspect.

So God help Montague as he prove true.

And Hastings as he favors Edward's cause.

Now, brother Richard,
will you stand by us?

Ay, in despite of all
that shall withstand you.

[Edward laughs]

Why, so then am I sure of victory.

Now therefore let us
hence and lose no hour.

till we meet Warwick
with his foreign power.

[drums beat]

[man whistles]

Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well.

The common people by numbers swarm to us.

[bell chimes]

But see where Somerset and Clarence comes.

Speak suddenly, my lords,
are we all friends?

Fear not that, my lord.

Then, gentle Clarence,
welcome unto Warwick.

And welcome, Somerset.

I hold it cowardice

to rest mistrustful where a noble heart.

hath pawned an open hand in sign of love.

Else might I think that
Clarence, Edward's brother,

were but a feigned friend
to our proceedings.

But come, sweet Clarence,
my daughter shall be thine.

And now what rests but,
in night's coverture,

thy brother being carelessly encamped,

his soldiers lurking in the towns about,

and but attended by a simple guard,

we may surprise and take
him at our pleasure?

Our scouts have found
the adventure very easy;

so we, well covered with
the night's black mantle,

at unawares may beat down Edward's guard

and seize himself; I
say not slaughter him,

for I intend but only to surprise him.

You that will follow me to this attempt,

applaud the name of
Henry with your leader.



Why, then, let's on
our way in silent sort,

for Warwick and his friends,
God and Saint George.

[drums beat]

Come on, my masters,
each man take his stand.

The King by this is set him down to sleep.

What, will he not to bed?

Why, no, for he hath made a solemn vow

never to lie and take his natural rest

till Warwick or himself
be quite suppressed.

Tomorrow then belike shall be the day,

if Warwick be so near as men report.

But say, I pray, what nobleman is that,

that with the King here
resteth in his tent?

It is the Lord Hastings,
the King's chiefest friend.

Oh, is that so?


why commands the King

that his chief followers
lodge in towns about him,

while he himself keeps in the cold field?

Tis the more honor,
because the more dangerous.

Ay, but give me worship and quietness;

I like it better than a dangerous honor.

If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,

tis to be doubted he would waken him.

Unless our halberds did
shut up his passage.

Ay, wherefore else
guard we his royal tent,

but to defend his person from night-foes?

[man whistles]

Whose goes there?

[man whistles]

Stay, or thou diest.

[men yelling]

-[drums beating]
-[trumpets blare]

What are they that fly there?

Richard and Hastings, let them go.

Here is the Duke.

Why, Warwick, when we parted
thou calle'dst me king.

Ay, but the case is altered

when you disgraced me in my embassade.

Then I degraded you from being king,

and come now to create you Duke of York.

Alas, how should you govern any kingdom

that know not how to use ambassadors,

nor how to be contented with one wife,

nor how to use your brothers brotherly,

nor how to study for the people's welfare,

[laughs] nor how to shroud
yourself from enemies?

[men chuckle]

Yea, brother of Clarence,
art thou here too?

Nay, then I see that
Edward needs must down.

Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance,

of thee thyself and all thy complices

Edward will always bear himself a king.

Though Fortune's malice
overthrow my state,

my mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.

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

But Henry now shall
wear the English crown,

and be true king indeed,

thou but the shadow.

My lord of Somerset, at my request

see that forthwith Duke Edward be conveyed

unto my brother, Archbishop of York.

So, for a while farewell,
good Duke of York.

What fates impose, that
men must needs abide.

It boots not to resist both wind and tide.

What now remains, my lords, for us to do

but march to London with our soldiers?

Ay, that's the first
thing that we have to do.

To free King Henry from imprisonment.

And see him seated in the regal throne.

[woman weeping]

These news, I must
confess, are full of grief.

Yet, dearest sister, bear it as you may.

Warwick may lose, that
now hath won the day.

Till then fair hope must
hinder life's decay.

And I the rather wean me from despair,

for love of Edward's offspring in my womb.

This is it that makes me bridle passion,

and bear with mildness
my misfortune's cross.

Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear,

and stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs

lest with my sighs or
tears I blast or drown

King Edward's fruit, true
heir to the English crown.

Madam, where is Warwick then become?

I am informed that he
comes towards London,

to set the crown once
more on Henry's head.

Guess thou the rest, King
Edward's friends must down,

but to prevent the tyrant's violence,

for trust not him that
hath once broken faith.

I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary

to save at least the
heir of Edward's right.

There shall I rest secure
from force and fraud.

Come, therefore, let us
fly while we may fly.

If Warwick take us, we are sure to die.

[drums beat]

Now, my Lord Hastings
and Sir William Stanley,

leave off to wonder why I drew you hither

into this chiefest thicket of the park.

Thus stands the case; you
know our King, my brother

is prisoner to the Bishop
here, at whose hands

he hath good usage and great liberty,

and, often but attended with weak guard,

comes hunting this way to disport himself.

I have advertised him by secret means

that if about this hour he make this way

he shall here find his
friends with horse and men

to set him free from his captivity.

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

Nay, this way, man; see
where the huntsmen stand.

Now, brother of Gloucester,
Hastings, and the rest,

stand you thus close to
steal the Bishop's deer?

Brother, the time and
case requireth haste.

Your horse stands ready
at the park corner.

But whither shall we then?

To Lynn, my lord and ship
from thence to Flanders?

Well guessed, believe me,
for that was my meaning.

Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.

But wherefore stay we,
it is no time to talk.

Huntsman, what sayst
thou wilt thou go along?

Better do so than tarry and be hanged.

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

Bishop, farewell; shield
thee from Warwick's frown.

And pray that I may repossess the crown.

[trumpet fanfare music]

Master Lieutenant,

now that God and friends

have shaken Edward from the regal seat

and turned my captive state to liberty,

my fears to hope, my sorrows unto joys

at our enlargement, what are thy due fees?

Subjects may challenge
nothing of their sovereigns.

But if an humble prayer may prevail,

I then crave pardon of your majesty.

For what, Lieutenant, for well using me?

Nay, be thou sure I'll
well requite thy kindness.

For that it made my
imprisonment a pleasure.

Ay, such a pleasure as in caged birds

conceive when, after many moody thoughts

at last by notes of household harmony

they quite forget their loss of liberty.

But, Warwick, after God,
thou settest me free.

And chiefly therefore
I thank God and thee.

He was the author, thou the instrument.

Therefore, that I may
conquer Fortune's spite

by living low, where
Fortune cannot hurt me,

and that the people of this blessed land

may not be punished
with my thwarting stars,

Warwick, although my head
still wear the crown,

I here resign my government to thee.

For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.

Your grace hath still
been famed for virtuous,

and now may seem as wise as virtuous,

by spying and avoiding Fortune's malice

for few men rightly temper with the stars.

Yet in this one thing
let me blame your grace,

for choosing me when Clarence is in place.

No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway.

To whom the heavens in thy nativity

adjudged an olive branch and laurel crown

as likely to be blest in peace and war.

And therefore I yield
thee my free consent.

And I choose Clarence only for Protector.

Warwick and Clarence,
give me both your hands.

Now join your hands, and
with your hands your hearts,

that no dissension hinder government.

I make you both Protectors of this land.

Whilst I myself will lead a private life

and in devotion spend my latter days

to sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise.

What answers Clarence
to his sovereign's will?

That he consents, if
Warwick yield consent.

For on thy fortune I repose myself.

Why then, though loath,
yet must I be content.

[crowd applauds]

We'll yoke together, like a double shadow

to Henry's body, and supply his place,

I mean, in bearing weight of government,

while he enjoys the honor and his ease.

And, Clarence, now then
it is more than needful

forthwith that Edward
be pronounced a traitor,

and all his lands and goods be confiscate.

What else?

And that succession be determined.

Ay, therein Clarence
shall not want his part.

But with the first of
all your chief affairs

let me entreat, for I command no more.

That Margaret, your
queen, and my son Edward

be sent for, to return
from France with speed.

For, till I see them
here, by doubtful fear

my joy of liberty is half eclipsed.

It shall be done, my
sovereign, with all speed.

My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that

of whom you seem to have so tender care?

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

Come hither, England's hope.

If secret powers suggest but
truth to my divining thoughts,

this pretty lad will
prove our country's bliss.

His looks are full of peaceful majesty.

His head by nature framed to wear a crown.

His hand to wield a scepter, and himself

likely in time to bless a regal throne.

Make much of him, my lords, for this is he

must help you more than
you are hurt by me.

[trumpet fanfare music]

[Warwick] What news, my friend?

Edward is escaped from your brother

and fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.

Unsavory news, but how made he escape?

He was conveyed by
Richard Duke of Gloucester

and the Lord Hastings, who attended him

in secret ambush on the forest side

and from the Bishop's
huntsmen rescued him,

for hunting was his daily exercise.

Our brother was too
careless of his charge.

But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide

a salve for any sore that may betide.

[drums beat]

My lord, I like not of
this flight of Edward's.

For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help

and we shall have more
wars before it be long.

As Henry's late presaging prophecy

did glad my heart with hope
of this young Richmond,

so doth my heart misgive
me, in these conflicts

what may befall him, to his harm and ours.

Therefore, Lord Oxford,
to prevent the worst,

forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany

till storms be past of civil enmity.

Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown,

it is like that Richmond
with the rest shall down.

[Somerset] It shall be
so; he shall to Brittany.

Come, therefore, let's about it speedily.

-[drums beat]
-[trumpets blare]

Now, brother Richard,
Hastings, and lord Stanley,

yet thus far fortune maketh us amends.

And says that once more
I shall interchange

my waned state for Henry's regal crown.

Well have we passed and
now repassed the seas

and brought desired help from Burgundy.

What then remains, we being thus arrived

from Ravenspurgh haven
before the gates of York

but that we enter, as into our dukedom?

[door rattles]

The gates made fast;
brother, I like not this,

For many men that stumble at the threshold

are well foretold that
danger lurks within.

[laughs] Tush man, abodements
must not now affright us.

By fair or foul means we must enter in,

for hither will our friends repair to us.

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

My lords, we were
forewarned of your coming.

And shut the gates for
safety of ourselves.

For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.

But, master Mayor, if Henry be your king,

yet Edward at the least is Duke of York.

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

Why, and I challenge
nothing but my dukedom,

as being well content with that alone.

But when the fox hath
once got in his nose,

he'll soon find means
to make the body follow.

Why, master Mayor, why
stand you in a doubt?

Open the gates, we are
King Henry's friends.


say you so?

The gates shall then be opened.

[men cheer]

A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded.

The good old man would
fain that all were well,

so t'were not 'long of
him; but being entered

I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade

both him and all his brothers unto reason.

So, master Mayor, these
gates must not be shut

but in the night or in the time of war.

What fear not man, but
yield me up the keys,

for Edward will defend the town and thee,

and all those friends
that deign to follow me.

[drums beat]

Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery,

our trusty friend, unless I be deceived.

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

To help King Edward in his time of storm,

as every loyal subject ought to do.

Thanks, good Montgomery but we now forget

our title to the crown, and only claim

our dukedom till God
please to send the rest.

Then fare you well,
for I will hence again.

I came to serve a king and not a duke.

Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.

Nay, stay, Sir John, a
while, and we'll debate

by what safe means the
crown may be recovered.

What talk you of debating!

In few words, if you'll not
here proclaim yourself our king,

I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone

to keep them back that come to succor you.

Why shall we fight, if
you pretend no title?

[Soldiers] Ay.

Why, brother, wherefore
stand you on nice points?

Resolve yourself and
let us claim the crown.

When we grow stronger,
then we'll make our claim.

Till then, tis wisdom
to conceal our meaning.

Away with scrupulous
wit, now arms must rule.

And fearless minds climb
soonest unto crowns.

Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand.

The bruit thereof will
bring you many friends.

Then be it as you will for it is my right.

And Henry but usurps the diadem.

Ay, now my sovereign
speaketh like himself.

And now will I be Edward's champion.

Sound trumpet, Edward
shall be here proclaimed.

Come, master mayor,
make thou proclamation.

-[men cheer]
-[trumpets blare]

Edward the Fourth,

by the grace of God,

King of England and France,
and Lord of Ireland.

True and just heir.

Duke of York, Earl of March and Elster.

And whosoe'er gainsays
King Edward's right.

By this I challenge him to single fight.

-[men cheer]
-[trumpets blare]

[All] Long live Edward the Fourth.

Thanks, brave Montgomery,
and thanks unto you all.

If fortune serve me, I'll
requite this kindness.

Now, for this night,
let's harbor here in York.

And when the morning
sun shall raise his car

above the border of this horizon

we'll forward towards
Warwick and his mates.

For well I wot that Henry is no soldier.

[men chuckle]

Come on, brave soldiers;
doubt not of the day.

And, that once gotten,
doubt not of large pay.

-[men cheer]
-[drums beat]

[bells ring]

What counsel, lords?

For Edward from doth
march amain to London.

And many giddy people flock to him.

Let's levy men and beat him back again.

A little fire is quickly trodden out

which, being suffered,
rivers cannot quench.

In Warwickshire I have
true-hearted friends.

Those will I muster up
and thou son Clarence,

shalt stir up in Suffolk,
Norfolk, and in Kent

the knights and gentlemen
to come with thee.

Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,

Northampton, and in
Leicestershire, shalt find

men well inclined to hear
what thou commandest.

And thou, brave Oxford,
wondrous well-beloved

in Oxfordshire, shalt
muster up thy friends.

My sovereign, with the loving citizens

like to his island girt in with the ocean

or modest Dian circled with her nymphs

shall rest in London till we come to him.

Fair lords, take leave
and stand not to reply.

Farewell, my sovereign.

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

In sign of truth, I
kiss your highness hand.

Well minded Clarence, be thou fortunate.

Comfort, my lord and so I take my leave.

And thus I seal my truth and bid adieu.

Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,

And all at once, once
more a happy farewell.

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

Here at the palace I will rest a while.

Cousin of Exeter, what
thinks your lordship?

Methinks the power that
Edward hath in field

should not be able to encounter mine.

The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.

That's not my fear; my
meed hath got me fame.

I have not stopped mine
ears to their demands,

nor posted off their
suits with slow delays.

My pity hath been balm
to heal their wounds.

My mildness hath allayed
their swelling griefs.

My mercy dried their water-flowing tears.

I have not been desirous of their wealth,

nor much oppressed them
with great subsidies.

Nor forward of revenge,
though they much erred.

Then why should they
love Edward more than me?

No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace.

And when the lion fawns upon the lamb,

the lamb will never cease to follow him.

[men yelling]

Hark, my lord what shouts are these?

Seize on the shamefaced
Henry, bear him hence.

And once again proclaim
us King of England.

You are the fount that
makes small brooks to flow,

now stops thy spring; my
sea shall suck them dry.

And swell so much the higher by their ebb.

Hence with him to the Tower.

Let him not speak.

And, lords, towards
Coventry bend we our course.

Where peremptory Warwick now remains.

The sun shines hot and if we use delay

cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay.

[drums beat]

-[trumpets blare]
-[bell rings]

Where is the post that
came from valiant Oxford?

How far hence is thy
lord, mine honest fellow?

By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.

Where is the post that came from Montague?

How far off is our brother Montague?

By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.

And, by thy guess, how
nigh is Clarence now?

At Southam I did leave
him with his forces,

and do expect him here
some two hours hence.

Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.

It is not his, my lord, here Southam lies

The drum your honor hears
marcheth from Warwick.

Who should that be, belike,
unlooked-for friends.

They are at hand, and
you shall quickly know.

[drums beat]

Oh, unbid spite, is sportful Edward come?

Where slept our scouts,
or how are they seduced

that we could hear no news of his repair?

Now, Warwick, wilt thou
ope the city gates,

speak gentle words, and
humbly bend thy knee,

call Edward king, and
at his hands beg mercy?

And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

Nay, rather, wilt thou
draw thy forces hence.

Confess who set thee up
and plucked thee down,

call Warwick patron, and be penitent?

And thou shalt still
remain the Duke of York.

I thought at least he
would have said the King.

Or did he make the jest against his will?

[Warwick] Is not a dukedom,
sir, a goodly gift?

Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give,

I'll do thee service for so good a gift.

[Edward laughs]

It was I that gave the
kingdom to thy brother.

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

Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight.

And, weakling, Warwick
takes his gift again.

And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject.

But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner.

And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this.

What is the body when the head is off?

Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast.

But whiles he thought
to steal the single 10,

the king was slyly fingered from the deck.

You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace

and 10 to one you'll
meet him in the Tower.

Tis even so, yet you are Warwick still.

Come, Warwick, take the
time, kneel down, kneel down.

Nay, when strike now,
or else the iron cools.

I had rather chop this hand off at a blow.

And with the other fling it at thy face

than bear so low a sail to strike to thee.

Sail how thou canst, have
wind and tide thy friend.

This hand, fast wound
about thy coal-black hair

shall, whiles thy head
is warm and new cut off

write in the dust this
sentence with thy blood.

"Wind-changing Warwick
now can change no more."

[drums beat]

Oh, cheerful colors
see where Oxford comes.

Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!

[trumpets blare]

The gates are open; let us enter too.

So other foes may set upon our backs.

Stand we in good array, for they no doubt

will issue out again and bid us battle.

If not, the city being
but of small defense,

we'll quickly rouse the
traitors in the same.

Oh, welcome, Oxford, for we want thy help.

Montague, Montague, for Lancaster.

Thou and thy brother both
shall buy this treason

even with the dearest
blood your bodies bear.

The harder matched, the greater victory;

my mind presageth happy gain and conquest.

Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster.

Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,

have sold their lives
unto the House of York,

and thou shalt be the
third, if this sword hold.

And lo, where George of
Clarence sweeps along,

of force enough to bid his brother battle;

with whom an upright
zeal to right prevails

more than the nature of a brother's love.

Clarence, Clarence for Lancaster.

Et tu, Brute, wilt thou stab Caesar too?

A parley, sirrah, to George of Clarence.

[trumpet fanfare music]

Come Clarence, come.

Thou wilt if Warwick call.

Father of Warwick, know
you what this means?

Look here, I throw my infamy at thee.

I will not ruinate my father's house,

who gave his blood to
lime the stones together

and set up Lancaster.

Why, choise thou, Warwick,

that Clarence is so
harsh, so blunt, unnatural

to bend the fatal instruments of war

against his brother and his lawful king?

Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath.

To keep that oath were more impiety

than Jephthah, when he
sacrificed his daughter.

I am so sorry for my trespass made,

that, to deserve well
at my brother's hands

I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe.

With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee,

as I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad

to plague thee for thy foul misleading me

and so, proud-hearted
Warwick, I defy thee,

and to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.

Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;

and, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,

for I will henceforth
be no more unconstant.

Now welcome more, and
10 times more beloved,

than if thou never
hadst deserved our hate.

Welcome, good Clarence,
this is brother-like.

[Warwick] Oh passing
traitor, perjured and unjust.

What, Warwick, wilt thou
leave the town and fight?

Or shall we beat the
stones about thine ears?

Alas, I am not cooped here for defense.

I will away towards Barnet presently

and bid thee battle,
Edward, if thou darest.

Yes, Warwick, Edward dares,

and leads the way.

Lords, to the field,
Saint George and victory!

-[drums beat]
-[trumpets blare]

-[men yelling]
-[swords clanking]

[Edward and Warwick grunting]

[Warwick groans]

[both yell]

[Edward pants]

So, lie thou there,

die thou, and die our fear.

For Warwick was a bug that feared us all.

Now, Montague, sit fast, I seek for thee

that Warwick's bones
may keep thine company.

[Warwick moans]

Who is nigh?

Come to me, friend or foe,

and tell me who is victor.


or Warwick?

Why ask I that?

My mangled body shows,

my blood,

my want of strength, my sick heart shows

that I must yield my body to the earth,

and, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.

Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge

whose arms gave shelter
to the princely eagle,

wnder whose shade the ramping lion slept.

Whose top branch overpeered
Jove's spreading tree

and kept low shrubs from
winter's powerful wind.

These eyes,

that now are dimmed
with death's black veil

have been as piercing as the midday sun,

to search the secret
treasons of the world.

The wrinkles in my brows,
now filled with blood,

were likened oft to kingly sepulchres;

for who lived king, but
I could dig his grave?

And who durst smile when
Warwick bent his brow?


now my glory smeared in dust and blood.

My parks,

my walks,

my manors that I had

even now forsake me,

and of all my lands

is nothing left me but my body's length.


what is pomp,

rule, reign, but earth and dust?

And, live we how we can,

yet die we must.

Ah, Warwick,

Warwick wert thou as we are

we might recover all our loss again.

The Queen from France hath
brought a puissant power.

Even now we heard the
news, ah, couldst thou fly.

Why, then I would not fly. [groans]

Ah, Montague,

tf thou be there, sweet
brother, take my hand.

And with thy lips keep in
my soul a while. [pants]

Thou lovest me not,

for, brother, if thou didst

thy tears would wash
this cold congealed blood

that glues my lips and will
not let me speak. [sobs]

Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.

Ah, Warwick, Montague
hath breathed his last.

And to the latest gasp
cried out for Warwick.

And said, "Commend me
to my valiant brother."

And more he would have
said, and more he spoke,

which sounded like a cannon in a vault

that mought not be
distinguished but at last

I well might hear delivered with a groan,

"Oh, farewell, Warwick."

Sweet rest his soul.

Fly, lords, and save yourselves;

for Warwick bids you all farewell,

[laughs bitterly] to meet in heaven.



to meet the Queen's great power.

-[trumpet blare]
-[men yell]

Thus far our fortune
keeps an upward course,

and we are graced with wreaths of victory.

[men cheer]

But, in the midst of
this bright-shining day

I spy a black, suspicious,
threatening cloud

that will encounter with our glorious sun,

ere he attain his easeful western bed.

I mean, my lords, those
powers that the Queen

hath raised in Gallia
have arrived our coast.

And, as we hear, march
on to fight with us.

A little gale will soon
disperse that cloud

and blow it to the source
from whence it came.

[men cheer]

The very beams will dry those vapours up.

For every cloud engenders not a storm.

The Queen is valued 30 thousand strong,

and Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her.

If she have time to
breathe, be well assured

her faction will be
full as strong as ours.

We are advertised by our loving friends

that they do hold their
course toward Tewkesbury.

We, having now the best at Barnet field

will thither straight,
for willingness rids way.

And, as we march, our
strength will be augmented

in every county as we go along.

Strike up the drum,
cry "Courage" and away.

[drums beat]

[men cheer]

[drum beats solemnly]

[man groaning]

Great lords,

wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,

but cheerly seek how
to redress their harms.

What though the mast
be now blown overboard,

the cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,

and half our sailors
swallowed in the flood?

Yet lives our pilot still.

Is it meet that he should leave the helm

and like a fearful lad,

wth tearful eyes add water to the sea,

and give more strength to
that which hath too much,

whilst, in his moan, the
ship splits on the rocks,

which industry and
courage might have saved?

Oh, what a shame.

Oh, what a fault were this.

Say Warwick was our anchor,

what of that?

And Montague our topmast,

what of him?

Our slaughtered friends
the tackles, what of these?

Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?

And Somerset another goodly mast?

The friends of France our
shrouds and tacklings?

And, though unskilful,

why not Ned and I

for once allowed the
skilful pilot's charge?

We will not from the helm to sit and weep,

but keep our course,

though the rough wind say no,

from shelves and rocks that
threaten us with wrack.

As good to chide the
waves as speak them fair.

And what is Edward,

but a ruthless sea?

What Clarence,

the quicksand of deceit?

And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?

All these,

the enemies to our poor bark.

Say you can swim.

Alas, tis but a while.

Tread the sand,

why, there you quickly sink.

Bestride the rock; the
tide will wash you off.

Or else you famish,

that's a threefold death.

This speak I, lords,
to let you understand,

if case some one of you would fly from us

that there's no hoped-for
mercy with the brothers

more than with ruthless
waves, with sands and rocks.


courage then.

What cannot be avoided

t'were childish weakness to lament

or fear.

Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit

should, if a coward heard
her speak these words,

infuse his breast with magnanimity

and make him, naked, foil a man at arms.

I speak not this as doubting any here,

for did I but suspect a fearful man

he should have leave to go away betimes.

Lest in our need he might infect another,

and make him of like spirit to himself.

If any such be here, as God forbid,

let him depart before we need his help.

Women and children of so high a courage,

and warriors faint,
why to perpetual shame.

Oh brave young Prince,
thy famous grandfather

doth live again in thee;
long mayst thou live

to bear his image and renew his glories.

And he that will not
fight for such a hope,

go home to bed, and like the owl by day,

if he arise, be mocked and wondered at.

[Oxford laughs]

Thanks, gentle Somerset;
sweet Oxford, thanks.

And take his thanks that
yet hath nothing else.

Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand.

Ready to fight, therefore be resolute.

I thought no less; it is his policy

to haste thus fast to find us unprovided.

But he's deceived!

We are in readiness.

[Soldiers] Ay.

This cheers my heart,
to see your forwardness.

Here pitch our battle,
hence we will not budge.

[trumpets blare]

[men yelling]

[Edward] Brave followers,
yonder stands the thorny wood,

which, by the heavens
assistance and your strength,

must by the roots be
hewn up yet ere night.

[men cheer]

I need not add more fuel to your fire,

for well I wot ye blaze to burn them out.

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

-[trumpets blare]
-[drums beat]

[men cheer]

Lords, knights, and gentlemen,

what I should say

my tears gainsay,

for every word I speak

ye see I drink the water of my eye.

Therefore, no more but this.

Henry, your sovereign, is prisoner

to the foe, his state usurped.

His realm a slaughter-house,
his subjects slain.

His statutes cancelled,
and his treasure spent.

And yonder stands the wolf
that makes this spoil.

You fight in justice, lords,

then in God's name, lords,

be valiant, and give signal to the fight.

-[soldiers yelling]
-[trumpet blare]

[winds howl]

Now here a period of tumultuous broils.

Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight;

for Somerset, off with his guilty head.

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

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

Nor I, but stoop with
patience to my fortune.

So part we sadly in this troublous world,

to meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

Is proclamation made that who finds Edward

shall have a high reward, and he his life?

It is

and lo, where youthful Edward comes.

Bring forth the gallant,
let us hear him speak.

What, can so young a thorn begin to prick?

Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make

for bearing arms, for
stirring up my subjects,

and all the trouble
thou hast turned me to?

Speak like a subject,
proud ambitious York.

Suppose that I am now my father's mouth.

Resign thy chair, and
where I stand kneel thou,

whilst I propose the
selfsame words to thee

which, traitor, thou
wouldst have me answer to.

Ah, that thy father had been so resolved.

That you might still
have worn the petticoat

and ne'er have stolen the
breech from Lancaster.

Let Aesop fable in a winter's night,

his currish riddles sorts
not with this place.

For heaven, brat, I'll
plague ye for that word.

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

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

Nay, take away this
scolding crook-back rather.

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

Untutored lad, thou art too malapert.

I know my duty; you are all undutiful.

Lascivious Edward, and
thou, perjured George.

And thou misshapen Dick, I tell ye all

I am your better, traitors as ye are.

And thou usurpest my
father's right and mine.

Take that, the likenesse

-of this railer here.
-[Margaret yells]

Sprawlest thou take
that, to end thy agony.

And there's for twitting me with perjury.

Oh, kill me too.

Marry, and shall.

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

Why should she live to
fill the world with words?

What doth she swoon?

Use means for her recovery.

Clarence, excuse me to
the King, my brother.

I'll hence to London on a serious matter.

Ere ye come there, be
sure to hear some news.

What, what.

The Tower, the Tower, I'll root them out.

Oh Ned,

sweet Ned,

speak to thy mother, boy.

Canst thou not speak?


Murderers. [sobs]

They that stabbed Caesar

shed no blood at all.

Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,

if this foul deed were by to equal it.

He was a man.

This in respect, a child.

And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.

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



my heart will burst an if I speak.

And I will speak

that so my heart may burst.

Butchers and villains.

Bloody cannibals.

How sweet a plant have you

untimely cropped.

You have no children, butchers!

If you had, the thought of them

would have stirred up remorse.

But if you ever chance to have a child,

look in his youth to have him so cut off

as, deathsmen, you have rid
this sweet young prince.

Away with her, go bear her hence perforce.


never bear me hence,

dispatch me here.

Here, sheathe thy sword,
I'll pardon thee my death.

What, wilt thou not?

Then, Clarence, do it thou.

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

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

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

Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself,

t'was sin before, but now tis charity.

What, wilt thou not?

Where's that devil's butcher, Richard?

Hard-favoured Richard.

Where art thou?

Thou art not here.

[Margaret weeping]

Murder is thy alms-deed.

Petitioners for blood
thou ne'er puttest back.

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

[Margarey screams]

So come to you and
yours as to this Prince.

[Margaret weeps]

Where's Richard gone?

To London all in post; and, as I guess,

to make a bloody supper in the Tower.

He's sudden if a thing comes in his head.

Now march we hence;
discharge the common sort

with pay and thanks, and
let's away to London,

to see our gentle Queen,
how well she fares.

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

[drums beat]

[Richard] Good day, my lord,

what, at your book so hard?

Ay, my good lord.

My lord, I should say rather.

Tis sin to flatter,
good was little better.

Good Gloucester and good devil were alike,

and both preposterous,
therefore not good lord.

Sirrah, leave us to
ourselves; we must confer.

So flies the reckless
shepherd from the wolf.

So first the harmless
sheep doth yield his fleece

and next his throat unto
the butcher's knife.

Scene of death hath Roscius now to act?

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.

The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

The bird that hath been limed in a bush

with trembling wings
misdoubteth every bush.

And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird

have now the fatal object in my eye.,

where my poor young was
limed, was caught and killed.

Why, what a peevish
fool was that of Crete,

that taught his son the office of a fowl.

And yet, for all his wings,
the fool was drowned.

I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus.

Thy father, Minos, that denied our course.

The sun that seared the
wings of my sweet boy.

Thy brother Edward, and thyself, the sea

whose envious gulf did
swallow up his life.

Who kill me with thy
weapon, not with words,

my breast can better
brook thy dagger's point

than can my ears that tragic history.

But wherefore dost thou come?

Is it for my life?

Thinkest thou I am an executioner?

A persecutor I am sure thou art.

If murdering innocents be executing,

why, then thou art an executioner.

Thy son I killed for his presumption.

Hadst thou been killed when
first thou didst presume,

thou hadst not lived
to kill a son of mine.

And thus I prophesy,

that many a thousand

which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,

and many an old man's
sigh, and many a widow's,

and many an orphan's water-standing eye

Men for their sons,
wives for their husbands,

orphans for their parents, timeless death

shall rue the hour that
ever thou wast born.

The owl shrieked at thy
birth, an evil sign.

The night-crow cried,
aboding luckless time.

Dogs howled, and hideous
tempests shook down trees.

The raven rooked her on the chimney's top.

And chattering pies in
dismal discords sung.

Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,

and yet brought forth
less than a mother's hope.

To wit, an indigested, deformed lump.

Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.

Teeth hadst thou in thy
head when thou wast born,

to signify thou camest to bite the world.

And if the rest be true
which I have heard,

thou camest.

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

For this, amongst the
rest, was I ordained.

Ay, and for much more
slaughter after this.

Oh, God forgive my sins, and pardon thee.

What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster

sink in the ground?

I thought it would have mounted.

See how my sword weeps
for the poor King's death.

Oh, may such purple tears be always shed

from those that wish the
downfall of our house.

If any spark of life be yet remaining,


down to hell and say I sent thee thither.

I that have neither pity, love, nor fear.

Indeed, tis true that Henry told me of,

for I have often heard my mother say.

I came into the world
with my legs forward.

Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,

and seek their ruin
that usurped our right?

The midwife wondered and the women cried,

"Oh, Jesus bless us,
he is born with teeth."

And so I was,

which plainly signified

that I should snarl and
bite and play the dog.

Then, since the heavens
have shaped my body so,

let hell make crooked
my mind to answer it.

I have no brother, I am like no brother.

And this word love which
greybeards call divine

be resident in men like one another,

and not in me.

I am myself alone.

Clarence, beware thou
keepest me from the light.

But I will sort a pitchy day for thee.

For I will buzz abroad such prophecies

as Edward shall be fearful of his life.

And then, to purge his
fear, I'll be thy death.

King Henry and the
Prince, his son, are gone.

Clarence, thy turn is
next, and then the rest.

Counting myself but bad till I be best.

I'll throw thy body in another room

and triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.

[drums beat]

[trumpets blare]

[trumpet fanfare music]

[Crowd] Long live Edward the Fourth!

Once more we sit in
England's royal throne.

Repurchased with the blood of enemies.

What valiant foemen,
like to autumn's corn,

have we mowed down in
tops of all their pride.

Three Dukes of Somerset,
threefold renowned

for hardy and undoubted champions.

Two Cliffords, as the father and the son.

With them, the two brave
bears, Warwick and Montague,

that in their chains
fettered the kingly lion

and made the forest
tremble when they roared.

Thus have we swept
suspicion from our seat.

And made our footstool of security.

Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.

Young Ned,

for thee, thine uncles and myself

aave in our armours
watched the winter's night.

Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat

that thou mightst repossess
the crown in peace.

And of our labours thou
shalt reap the gain.

Clarence and Gloucester,
love my lovely Queen,

and kiss your princely
nephew, brothers both.

For duty that I owe unto your majesty

I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

Thanks, noble Clarence
worthy brother, thanks.

And that I love the tree
from whence thou sprangest,

witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.

[crowd applauds]

To say the truth, so
Judas kissed his master,

and cried "All hail" when
as he meant all harm.

Now am I seated as my soul delights,

having my country's
peace and brothers loves.

What will your grace
have done with Margaret?

Reignier, her father,
to the King of France

hath pawned the Sicils and Jerusalem,

and hither have they
sent it for her ransom.

Away with her and waft
her hence to France.

[court laughs]

And now what rests but
that we spend the time

with stately triumphs,
mirthful comic shows

such as befits the pleasure of the court?

Sound drums and trumpets!

Farewell sour annoy.

For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.

[crowd applauds]

[drums beat]

[all cheer]

[Men] Hey, hey!

[men chanting]

[dramatic orchestral music]