Act V, Scene I
Enter Warwicke, the Maior of Couentry, two Messengers,
and others vpon the Walls.
Where is the Post that came from valiant Oxford?
How farre hence is thy Lord, mine honest fellow?
By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.
How farre off is our Brother Mountague?
Where is the Post that came from Mountague?
By this at Daintry, with a puissant troope.
Say Someruile, what sayes my louing Sonne?
And by thy guesse, how nigh is Clarence now?
At Southam I did leaue him with his forces,
And doe expect him here some two howres hence.
Then Clarence is at hand, I heare his Drumme.
It is not his, my Lord, here Southam lyes:
The Drum your Honor heares, marcheth from Warwicke.
Who should that be? belike vnlook'd for friends.
They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.
March. Flourish. Enter Edward, Richard, and Souldiers.
Goe, Trumpet, to the Walls, and sound a Parle.
See how the surly Warwicke mans the Wall.
Oh vnbid spight, is sportfull Edward come?
Where slept our Scouts, or how are they seduc'd,
That we could heare no newes of his repayre.
Now Warwicke, wilt thou ope the Citie Gates,
Speake gentle words, and humbly bend thy Knee,
Call Edward King, and at his hands begge Mercy,
And he shall pardon thee these Outrages?
Nay rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
Confesse who set thee vp, and pluckt thee downe,
Call Warwicke Patron, and be penitent,
And thou shalt still remaine the Duke of Yorke.
I thought at least he would haue said the King,
Or did he make the Ieast against his will?
Is not a Dukedome, Sir, a goodly gift?
I, by my faith, for a poore Earle to giue,
Ile doe thee seruice for so good a gift.
'Twas I that gaue the Kingdome to thy Brother.
Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwickes gift.
Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight:
And Weakeling, Warwicke takes his gift againe,
And Henry is my King, Warwicke his Subiect.
But Warwickes King is Edwards Prisoner:
And gallant Warwicke, doe but answer this,
What is the Body, when the Head is off?
Alas, that Warwicke had no more fore-cast,
But whiles he thought to steale the single Ten,
The King was slyly finger'd from the Deck:
You left poore Henry at the Bishops Pallace,
And tenne to one you'le meet him in the Tower.
'Tis euen so, yet you are Warwicke still.
Come Warwicke, / Take the time, kneele downe, kneele downe:
Nay when? strike now, or else the Iron cooles.
I had rather chop this Hand off at a blow,
And with the other, fling it at thy face,
Then beare so low a sayle, to strike to thee.
Sayle how thou canst, / Haue Winde and Tyde thy friend,
This Hand, fast wound about thy coale-black hayre,
Shall, whiles thy Head is warme, and new cut off,
Write in the dust this Sentence with thy blood,
Wind-changing Warwicke now can change no more.
Enter Oxford, with Drumme and Colours.
Oh chearefull Colours, see where Oxford comes.
Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster.
The Gates are open, let vs enter too.
So other foes may set vpon our backs.
Stand we in good array: for they no doubt
Will issue out againe, and bid vs battaile;
If not, the Citie being but of small defence,
Wee'le quickly rowze the Traitors in the same.
Oh welcome Oxford, for we want thy helpe.
Enter Mountague, with Drumme and Colours.
Mountague, Mountague, for Lancaster.
Thou and thy Brother both shall buy this Treason
Euen with the dearest blood your bodies beare.
The harder matcht, the greater Victorie,
My minde presageth happy gaine, and Conquest.
Enter Somerset, with Drumme and Colours.
Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster.
Two of thy Name, both Dukes of Somerset,
Haue sold their Liues vnto the House of Yorke,
And thou shalt be the third, if this Sword hold.
Enter Clarence, with Drumme and Colours.
And loe, where George of Clarence sweepes along,
Of force enough to bid his Brother Battaile:
With whom, in vpright zeale to right, preuailes
More then the nature of a Brothers Loue.
Come Clarence, come: thou wilt, if Warwicke call.
Father of Warwick, know you what this meanes?
Looke here, I throw my infamie at thee:
I will not ruinate my Fathers House,
Who gaue his blood to lyme the stones together,
And set vp Lancaster. Why, trowest thou, Warwicke,
That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt vnnaturall,
To bend the fatall Instruments of Warre
Against his Brother, and his lawfull King.
Perhaps thou wilt obiect my holy Oath:
To keepe that Oath, were more impietie,
Then Iephah, when he sacrific'd his Daughter.
I am so sorry for my Trespas made,
That to deserue well at my Brothers hands,
I here proclayme my selfe thy mortall foe:
With resolution, wheresoe're I meet thee,
(As I will meet thee, if thou stirre abroad)
To plague thee, for thy foule mis-leading me.
And so, prowd-hearted Warwicke, I defie thee,
And to my Brother turne my blushing Cheekes.
Pardon me Edward, I will make amends:
And Richard, doe not frowne vpon my faults,
For I will henceforth be no more vnconstant.
Now welcome more, and ten times more belou'd,
Then if thou neuer hadst deseru'd our hate.
Welcome good Clarence, this is Brother-like.
Oh passing Traytor, periur'd and vniust.
What Warwicke, / Wilt thou leaue the Towne, and fight?
Or shall we beat the Stones about thine Eares?
Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence:
I will away towards Barnet presently,
And bid thee Battaile, Edward, if thou dar'st.
Yes Warwicke, Edward dares, and leads the way:
Lords to the field: Saint George, and Victorie.
March. Warwicke and his companie followes.
Act V, Scene II
Alarum, and Excursions. Enter Edward bringing forth
So, lye thou there: dye thou, and dye our feare,
For Warwicke was a Bugge that fear'd vs all.
Now Mountague sit fast, I seeke for thee,
That Warwickes Bones may keepe thine companie.
Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend, or foe,
And tell me who is Victor, Yorke, or Warwicke?
Why aske I that? my mangled body shewes,
My blood, my want of strength, my sicke heart shewes,
That I must yeeld my body to the Earth,
And by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
Thus yeelds the Cedar to the Axes edge,
Whose Armes gaue shelter to the Princely Eagle,
Vnder whose shade the ramping Lyon slept,
Whose top-branch ouer-peer'd Ioues spreading Tree,
And kept low Shrubs from Winters pow'rfull Winde.
These Eyes, that now are dim'd with Deaths black Veyle,
Haue beene as piercing as the Mid-day Sunne,
To search the secret Treasons of the World:
The Wrinckles in my Browes, now fill'd with blood,
Were lik'ned oft to Kingly Sepulchers:
For who liu'd King, but I could digge his Graue?
And who durst smile, when Warwicke bent his Brow?
Loe, now my Glory smear'd in dust and blood.
My Parkes, my Walkes, my Mannors that I had,
Euen now forsake me; and of all my Lands,
Is nothing left me, but my bodies length.
Why, what is Pompe, Rule, Reigne, but Earth and Dust?
And liue we how we can, yet dye we must.
Enter Oxford and Somerset.
Ah Warwicke, Warwicke, wert thou as we are,
We might recouer all our Losse againe:
The Queene from France hath brought a puissant power.
Euen now we heard the newes: ah, could'st thou flye.
Why then I would not flye. Ah Mountague,
If thou be there, sweet Brother, take my Hand,
And with thy Lippes keepe in my Soule a while.
Thou lou'st me not: for, Brother, if thou didst,
Thy teares would wash this cold congealed blood,
That glewes my Lippes, and will not let me speake.
Come quickly Mountague, or I am dead.
Ah Warwicke, Mountague hath breath'd his last,
And to the latest gaspe, cry'd out for Warwicke:
And said, Commend me to my valiant Brother.
And more he would haue said, and more he spoke,
Which sounded like a Cannon in a Vault,
That mought not be distinguisht: but at last,
I well might heare, deliuered with a groane,
Oh farewell Warwicke.
Sweet rest his Soule: / Flye Lords, and saue your selues,
For Warwicke bids you all farewell, to meet in Heauen.
Away, away, to meet the Queenes great power.
Here they beare away his Body. Exeunt.
Act V, Scene III
Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph, with Richard,
Clarence, and the rest.
Thus farre our fortune keepes an vpward course,
And we are grac'd with wreaths of Victorie:
But in the midst of this bright-shining Day,
I spy a black suspicious threatning Cloud,
That will encounter with our glorious Sunne,
Ere he attaine his easefull Westerne Bed:
I meane, my Lords, those powers that the Queene
Hath rays'd in Gallia, haue arriued our Coast,
And, as we heare, march on to fight with vs.
A little gale will soone disperse that Cloud,
And blow it to the Source from whence it came,
Thy very Beames will dry those Vapours vp,
For euery Cloud engenders not a Storme.
The Queene is valued thirtie thousand strong,
And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her:
If she haue time to breathe, be well assur'd
Her faction will be full as strong as ours.
We are aduertis'd by our louing friends,
That they doe hold their course toward Tewksbury.
We hauing now the best at Barnet field,
Will thither straight, for willingnesse rids way,
And as we march, our strength will be augmented:
In euery Countie as we goe along,
Strike vp the Drumme, cry courage, and away.
Act V, Scene IV
Flourish. March. Enter the Queene, young Edward,
Somerset, Oxford, and Souldiers.
Great Lords, wise men ne'r sit and waile their losse,
But chearely seeke how to redresse their harmes.
What though the Mast be now blowne ouer-boord,
The Cable broke, the holding-Anchor lost,
And halfe our Saylors swallow'd in the flood?
Yet liues our Pilot still. Is't meet, that hee
Should leaue the Helme, and like a fearefull Lad,
With tearefull Eyes adde Water to the Sea,
And giue more strength to that which hath too much,
Whiles in his moane, the Ship splits on the Rock,
Which Industrie and Courage might haue sau'd?
Ah what a shame, ah what a fault were this.
Say Warwicke was our Anchor: what of that?
And Mountague our Top-Mast: what of him?
Our slaught'red friends, the Tackles: what of these?
Why is not Oxford here, another Anchor?
And Somerset, another goodly Mast?
The friends of France our Shrowds and Tacklings?
And though vnskilfull, why not Ned and I,
For once allow'd the skilfull Pilots Charge?
We will not from the Helme, to sit and weepe,
But keepe our Course (though the rough Winde say no)
From Shelues and Rocks, that threaten vs with Wrack.
As good to chide the Waues, as speake them faire.
And what is Edward, but a ruthlesse Sea?
What Clarence, but a Quick-sand of Deceit?
And Richard, but a raged fatall Rocke?
All these, the Enemies to our poore Barke.
Say you can swim, alas 'tis but a while:
Tread on the Sand, why there you quickly sinke,
Bestride the Rock, the Tyde will wash you off,
Or else you famish, that's a three-fold Death.
This speake I (Lords) to let you vnderstand,
If case some one of you would flye from vs,
That there's no hop'd-for Mercy with the Brothers,
More then with ruthlesse Waues, with Sands and Rocks.
Why courage then, what cannot be auoided,
'Twere childish weakenesse to lament, or feare.
Me thinkes a Woman of this valiant Spirit,
Should, if a Coward heard her speake these words,
Infuse his Breast with Magnanimitie,
And make him, naked, foyle a man at Armes.
I speake not this, as doubting any here:
For did I but suspect a fearefull man,
He should haue leaue to goe away betimes,
Least in our need he might infect another,
And make him of like spirit to himselfe.
If any such be here, as God forbid,
Let him depart, before we neede his helpe.
Women and Children of so high a courage,
And Warriors faint, why 'twere perpetuall shame.
Oh braue young Prince: thy famous Grandfather
Doth liue againe in thee; long may'st thou liue,
To beare his Image, and renew his Glories.
And he that will not fight for such a hope,
Goe home to Bed, and like the Owle by day,
If he arise, be mock'd and wondred at.
Thankes gentle Somerset, sweet Oxford thankes.
And take his thankes, that yet hath nothing else.
Enter a Messenger.
Prepare you Lords, for Edward is at hand,
Readie to fight: therefore be resolute.
I thought no lesse: it is his Policie,
To haste thus fast, to finde vs vnprouided.
But hee's deceiu'd, we are in readinesse.
This cheares my heart, to see your forwardnesse.
Here pitch our Battaile, hence we will not budge.
Flourish, and march. Enter Edward, Richard, Clarence,
Braue followers, yonder stands the thornie Wood,
Which by the Heauens assistance, and your strength,
Must by the Roots be hew'ne vp yet ere Night.
I need not adde more fuell to your fire,
For well I wot, ye blaze, to burne them out:
Giue signall to the fight, and to it Lords.
Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen, what I should say,
My teares gaine-say: for euery word I speake,
Ye see I drinke the water of my eye.
Therefore no more but this: Henry your Soueraigne
Is Prisoner to the Foe, his State vsurp'd,
His Realme a slaughter-house, his Subiects slaine,
His Statutes cancell'd, and his Treasure spent:
And yonder is the Wolfe, that makes this spoyle.
You fight in Iustice: then in Gods Name, Lords,
Be valiant, and giue signall to the fight.
Alarum, Retreat, Excursions. Exeunt.
Act V, Scene V
Flourish. Enter Edward, Richard, Queene, Clarence,
Now here a period of tumultuous Broyles.
Away with Oxford, to Hames Castle straight:
For Somerset, off with his guiltie Head.
Goe beare them hence, I will not heare them speake.
For my part, Ile not trouble thee with words.
Nor I, but stoupe with patience to my fortune.
So part we sadly in this troublous World,
To meet with Ioy in sweet Ierusalem.
Is Proclamation made, That who finds Edward,
Shall haue a high Reward, and he his Life?
It is, and loe where youthfull Edward comes.
Enter the Prince.
Bring forth the Gallant, let vs heare him speake.
What? can so young a Thorne begin to prick?
Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make,
For bearing Armes, for stirring vp my Subiects,
And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?
Speake like a Subiect, prowd ambitious Yorke.
Suppose that I am now my Fathers Mouth,
Resigne thy Chayre, and where I stand, kneele thou,
Whil'st I propose the selfe-same words to thee,
Which (Traytor) thou would'st haue me answer to.
Ah, that thy Father had beene so resolu'd.
That you might still haue worne the Petticoat,
And ne're haue stolne the Breech from Lancaster.
Let Aesop fable in a Winters Night,
His Currish Riddles sorts not with this place.
By Heauen, Brat, Ile plague ye for that word.
I, thou wast borne to be a plague to men.
For Gods sake, take away this Captiue Scold.
Nay, take away this scolding Crooke-backe, rather.
Peace wilfull Boy, or I will charme your tongue.
Vntutor'd Lad, thou art too malapert.
I know my dutie, you are all vndutifull:
Lasciuious Edward, and thou periur'd George,
And thou mis-shapen Dicke, I tell ye all,
I am your better, Traytors as ye are,
And thou vsurp'st my Fathers right and mine.
Take that, the likenesse of this Rayler here.
Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agonie.
Rich. stabs him.
And ther's for twitting me with periurie.
Clar. stabs him.
Oh, kill me too.
Marry, and shall.
Offers to kill her.
Hold, Richard, hold, for we haue done too much.
Why should shee liue, to fill the World with words.
What? doth shee swowne? vse meanes for her recouerie.
Clarence excuse me to the King my Brother:
Ile hence to London on a serious matter,
Ere ye come there, be sure to heare some newes.
Tower, the Tower.
Oh Ned, sweet Ned, speake to thy Mother Boy.
Can'st thou not speake? O Traitors, Murtherers!
They that stabb'd Casar, shed no blood at all:
Did not offend, nor were not worthy Blame,
If this foule deed were by, to equall it.
He was a Man; this (in respect) a Childe,
And Men, ne're spend their fury on a Childe.
What's worse then Murtherer, that I may name it?
No, no, my heart will burst, and if I speake,
And I will speake, that so my heart may burst.
Butchers and Villaines, bloudy Caniballes,
How sweet a Plant haue you vntimely cropt:
You haue no children (Butchers) if you had,
The thought of them would haue stirr'd vp remorse,
But if you euer chance to haue a Childe,
Looke in his youth to haue him so cut off.
As deathsmen you haue rid this sweet yong Prince.
Away with her, go beare her hence perforce.
Nay, neuer beare me hence, dispatch me heere:
Here sheath thy Sword, Ile pardon thee my death:
What? wilt thou not? Then Clarence do it thou.
By heauen, I will not do thee so much ease.
Good Clarence do: sweet Clarence do thou do it.
Did'st thou not heare me sweare I would not do it?
I, but thou vsest to forsweare thy selfe.
'Twas Sin before, but now 'tis Charity.
What wilt yu not? Where is that diuels butcher Richard?
Hard fauor'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?
Thou art not heere; Murther is thy Almes-deed:
Petitioners for Blood, thou ne're put'st backe.
Away I say, I charge ye beare her hence,
So come to you, and yours, as to this Prince.
Where's Richard gone.
To London all in post, and as I guesse,
To make a bloody Supper in the Tower.
He's sodaine if a thing comes in his head.
Now march we hence, discharge the common sort
With Pay and Thankes, and let's away to London,
And see our gentle Queene how well she fares,
By this (I hope) she hath a Sonne for me.
Act V, Scene VI
Enter Henry the sixt, and Richard, with
the Lieutenant on the Walles.
Good day, my Lord, what at your Booke so hard?
I my good Lord: my Lord I should say rather,
Tis sinne to flatter, Good was little better:
'Good Gloster, and good Deuill, were alike,
And both preposterous: therefore, not Good Lord.
Sirra, leaue vs to our selues, we must conferre.
So flies the wreaklesse shepherd from ye Wolfe:
So first the harmlesse Sheepe doth yeeld his Fleece,
And next his Throate, vnto the Butchers Knife.
What Scene of death hath Rossius now to Acte?
Suspition alwayes haunts the guilty minde,
The Theefe doth feare each bush an Officer,
The Bird that hath bin limed in a bush,
With trembling wings misdoubteth euery bush;
And I the haplesse Male to one sweet Bird,
Haue now the fatall Obiect in my eye,
Where my poore yong was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd.
Why what a peeuish Foole was that of Creet,
That taught his Sonne the office of a Fowle,
And yet for all his wings, the Foole was drown'd.
I Dedalus, my poore Boy Icarus,
Thy Father Minos, that deni'de our course,
The Sunne that sear'd the wings of my sweet Boy.
Thy Brother Edward, and thy Selfe, the Sea
Whose enuious Gulfe did swallow vp his life:
Ah, kill me with thy Weapon, not with words,
My brest can better brooke thy Daggers point,
Then can my eares that Tragicke History.
But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my Life?
Think'st thou I am an Executioner?
A Persecutor I am sure thou art,
If murthering Innocents be Executing,
Why then thou art an Executioner.
Thy Son I kill'd for his presumption.
Hadst thou bin kill'd, when first yu didst presume,
Thou had'st not liu'd to kill a Sonne of mine:
And thus I prophesie, that many a thousand,
Which now mistrust no parcell of my feare,
And many an old mans sighe, and many a Widdowes,
And many an Orphans water-standing-eye,
Men for their Sonnes, Wiues for their Husbands,
Orphans, for their Parents timeles death,
Shall rue the houre that euer thou was't borne.
The Owle shriek'd at thy birth, an euill signe,
The Night-Crow cry'de, aboding lucklesse time,
Dogs howl'd, and hiddeous Tempest shook down Trees:
The Rauen rook'd her on the Chimnies top,
And chatt'ring Pies in dismall Discords sung:
Thy Mother felt more then a Mothers paine,
And yet brought forth lesse then a Mothers hope,
To wit, an indigested and deformed lumpe,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly Tree.
Teeth had'st thou in thy head, when thou was't borne,
To signifie, thou cam'st to bite the world:
And if the rest be true, which I haue heard,
Ile heare no more: / Dye Prophet in thy speech,
For this (among'st the rest) was I ordain'd.
I, and for much more slaughter after this,
O God forgiue my sinnes, and pardon thee.
What? will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sinke in the ground? I thought it would haue mounted.
See how my sword weepes for the poore Kings death.
O may such purple teares be alway shed
From those that wish the downfall of our house.
If any sparke of Life be yet remaining,
Downe, downe to hell, and say I sent thee thither.
Stabs him againe.
I that haue neyther pitty, loue, nor feare,
Indeed 'tis true that Henrie told me of:
For I haue often heard my Mother say,
I came into the world with my Legges forward.
Had I not reason (thinke ye) to make hast,
And seeke their Ruine, that vsurp'd our Right?
The Midwife wonder'd, and the Women cri'de
O Iesus blesse vs, he is borne with teeth,
And so I was, which plainly signified,
That I should snarle, and bite, and play the dogge:
Then since the Heauens haue shap'd my Body so,
Let Hell make crook'd my Minde to answer it.
I haue no Brother, I am like no Brother:
And this word (Loue) which Gray-beards call Diuine,
Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me: I am my selfe alone.
Clarence beware, thou keept'st me from the Light,
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee:
For I will buzze abroad such Prophesies,
That Edward shall be fearefull of his life,
And then to purge his feare, Ile be thy death.
King Henry, and the Prince his Son are gone,
Clarence thy turne is next, and then the rest,
Counting my selfe but bad, till I be best.
Ile throw thy body in another roome,
And Triumph Henry, in thy day of Doome.
Act V, Scene VII
Flourish. Enter King, Queene,
Clarence, Richard, Hastings, Nurse,
Once more we sit in Englands Royall Throne,
Re-purchac'd with the Blood of Enemies:
What valiant Foe-men, like to Autumnes Corne,
Haue we mow'd downe in tops of all their pride?
Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold Renowne,
For hardy and vndoubted Champions:
Two Cliffords, as the Father and the Sonne,
And two Northumberlands: two brauer men,
Ne're spurr'd their Coursers at the Trumpets sound.
With them, the two braue Beares, Warwick & Montague,
That in their Chaines fetter'd the Kingly Lyon,
And made the Forrest tremble when they roar'd.
Thus haue we swept Suspition from our Seate,
And made our Footstoole of Security.
Come hither Besse, and let me kisse my Boy:
Yong Ned, for thee, thine Vnckles, and my selfe,
Haue in our Armors watcht the Winters night,
Went all afoote in Summers scalding heate,
That thou might'st repossesse the Crowne in peace,
And of our Labours thou shalt reape the gaine.
Ile blast his Haruest, if your head were laid,
For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
This shoulder was ordain'd so thicke, to heaue,
And heaue it shall some waight, or breake my backe,
Worke thou the way, and that shalt execute.
Clarence and Gloster, loue my louely Queene,
And kis your Princely Nephew Brothers both.
The duty that I owe vnto your Maiesty,
I Seale vpon the lips of this sweet Babe.
Thanke Noble Clarence, worthy brother thanks.
And that I loue the tree frõ whence yu sprang'st:
Witnesse the louing kisse I giue the Fruite,
To say the truth, so Iudas kist his master,
And cried all haile, when as he meant all harme.
Now am I seated as my soule delights,
Hauing my Countries peace, and Brothers loues.
What will your Grace haue done with Margaret,
Reynard her Father, to the King of France
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Ierusalem,
And hither haue they sent it for her ransome.
Away with her, and waft her hence to France:
And now what rests, but that we spend the time
With stately Triumphes, mirthfull Comicke shewes,
Such as befits the pleasure of the Court.
Sound Drums and Trumpets, farwell sowre annoy,
For heere I hope begins our lasting ioy.
Enter Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two Messengers,
and others upon the walls
Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford? –
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?
By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.
How far off is our brother Montague?
Where is the post that came from Montague?
By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.
Enter Sir John Somerville
Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?
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.
A drum is heard
Then Clarence is at hand; I hear his drum.
It is not his, my lord. Here Southam lies;
The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick.
Who should that be? Belike, unlooked-for friends.
They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.
March. Flourish. Enter Edward, Richard, and soldiers
Go, trumpet, to the walls and sound a parle.
See how the surly Warwick mans the wall!
O, 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?
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.
'Twas 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 ten,
The king was slily fingered from the deck!
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
And ten 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.’
Enter Oxford, with drum and colours
O, cheerful colours! See where Oxford comes!
Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!
He leads his forces into the city
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 defence,
We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same.
O, welcome, Oxford, for we want thy help.
Enter Montague, with drum and colours
Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!
He leads his forces into the city
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.
Enter Somerset, with drum and colours
Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!
He leads his forces into the city
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.
Enter George, with drum and colours
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!
Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call.
Father of Warwick, know you what this means?
He takes his red rose out of his hat and throws it at
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, trowest 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 ten times more beloved,
Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.
Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like.
O 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 defence!
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!
Exeunt Edward and his company
March. Warwick and his company follow
Alarum and excursions. Enter Edward, bringing forth
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.
Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York 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,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
Whose top branch over-peered 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?
Lo, 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.
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And, live we how we can, yet die we must.
Enter Oxford and Somerset
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. Ah, Montague,
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
And with thy lips keep in my soul a while!
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.
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,
‘ O, farewell, Warwick!’
Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves;
For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven.
Away, away, to meet the Queen's great power.
Here they bear away his body. Exeunt
Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph, with Richard,
George, and the rest
Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course,
And we are graced with wreaths of victory.
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;
The very beams will dry those vapours up,
For every cloud engenders not a storm.
The Queen is valued thirty 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!
Flourish. March. Enter the Queen, Prince Edward,
Somerset, Oxford, and soldiers
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't meet that he
Should leave the helm and, like a fearful lad,
With tearful eyes add water to the sea,
And give more strength to that which hath too much,
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have saved?
Ah, what a shame! Ah, what a fault were this!
Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that?
And Montague our topmast; what of him?
Our 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 but a quicksand of deceit?
And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?
All these the enemies to our poor bark.
Say you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while!
Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink.
Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,
Or else you famish; that's a threefold death.
This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
If case some one of you would fly from us,
That there's no hoped-for mercy with the brothers
More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks.
Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided
'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.
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, 'twere perpetual shame.
O 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.
Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks.
And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.
Enter a Messenger
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.
This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.
Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.
Flourish and march. Enter Edward, Richard, George,
Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood,
Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength,
Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
I need not add more fuel to your fire,
For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out.
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords!
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 is the wolf that makes this spoil.
You fight in justice; then in God's name, lords,
Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.
Alarums, retreat, excursions. Exeunt
Flourish. Enter Edward, Richard, George, and their
army, with the Queen, Oxford, and Somerset,
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.
Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded
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!
Enter the Prince, guarded
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 self-same 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.
By 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 likeness of this railer here.
He stabs him
Sprawlest thou? Take that, to end thy agony.
He stabs him
And there's for twitting me with perjury.
He stabs him
O, kill me too!
Marry, and shall.
He offers to kill her
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.
The Tower, the Tower.
O Ned, sweet Ned, speak to thy mother, boy!
Canst thou not speak? O traitors! Murderers!
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?
No, no, my heart will burst an if I speak;
And I will speak that so my heart may burst.
Butchers and villains! Bloody cannibals!
How sweet a plant have you untimely 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.
Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here;
Here sheathe thy sword; I'll pardon thee my death.
What! Wilt thou not? Then, Clarence, do it thou.
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,
'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.
What! Wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher Richard?
Hard-favoured Richard; Richard, where art thou?
Thou art not here; murder is thy alms-deed;
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er puttest back.
Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence.
So come to you and yours as to this Prince!
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,
And see our gentle Queen how well she fares;
By this, I hope, she hath a son for me.
Enter King Henry the Sixth and Richard below, with
the Lieutenant of the Tower on the walls
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.
What 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.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point
Than can my ears that tragic history.
But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my life?
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',
And 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 and 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!
He stabs him
For this, amongst the rest, was I ordained.
Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
O, 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!
O, may such purple tears be alway shed
From those that wish the downfall of our house!
If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither,
(He stabs him again)
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
‘ O, 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
That 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.
Exit with the body
Flourish. Enter Edward and Lady Grey, as king and
queen, George, Richard, Hastings, a nurse carrying
the infant prince, and attendants
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;
And two Northumberlands – two braver men
Ne'er spurred their coursers at the trumpet's sound;
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
Have 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.
I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid;
For yet I am not looked on in the world.
This shoulder was ordained so thick to heave;
And heave it shall some weight or break my back.
Work thou the way, and that shall execute.
Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely Queen;
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
The 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.
(aside) 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.
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.