And, had he match'd according to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day:
But, when he took a beggar to his bed,
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day;
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
And we, in pity of the gentle king,

Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never pause again, never stand still,
Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;
And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine;
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings!
Beseeching thee, if with thy will it stands,
That to my foes this body must be prey,

spring,

And that thy summer bred us no increase,
We set the axe to thy usurping root:

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

Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.
Sound trumpets!-let our bloody colours wave!
And either victory, or else a grave.

Q. Mar. Stay, Edward.

Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay; These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day.

[Exeunt. A Field of Battle between Towton and Saxton in Yorkshire.

SCENE III.

Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance:
And in the very pangs of death, he cried,.
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,
Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!
So underneath the belly of their steeds,
That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage?
And look upon, as if the tragedy

Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?

And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! -
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.

Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; —and, gentle
Warwick,

Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:-
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
That winter should cut off our spring-time so.
War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, fare-
well.

Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops,
And give them leave to fly that will not stay;
And call them pillars, that will stand to us;
And if we thrive, promise them such rewards
As victors wear at the Olympian games:
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts;
For yet is hope of life, and victory.
Fore-slow 3 no longer, make we hence amain.

SCENE IV. - The same.

Field.

[Exeunt.

Another Part of the

Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFford. Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

This is the hand, that stabb'd thy father York; Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: 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;

Alarum. Enter KING HENRY.

K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light; What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day, nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind: Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind: Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind; Now, one the better; then, another best; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered : So is the equal poise of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory! > Be dilatory.

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?
Alas! methinks, it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
How many make the hour full complete,
How many hours bring 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 cóntemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Pass'd 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 embroider'd canopy
To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery?
O, yes it doth a thousand fold 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,

Is 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, wait on him.

Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father, dragging in the dead Body.

Son. 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 Heaven! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd. O heavy times, begetting such events! From London by the king was I press'd forth; My father, being the earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; And I, who at his hands receiv'd 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 flow'd their fill. K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whilst 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'ercharg'd with grief. Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with the Body in his arms.

Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;

grief!

O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!
O, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!

The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:
The one, his purple blood right well resembles;
The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present:
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish !
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied?

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied?

K. Hen. How will the country, for these woful chances,

Misthink the king, and not be satisfied?

Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death? Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son? K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much. Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my [Exit, with the Body. Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy windingsheet;

fill.

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre;
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious 5 will thy father be,
Sad 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 murder'd where I should not kill.

[Exit, with the Body. K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with

care,

Here sits a king more woful than you are.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER.

Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull : Away for death doth hold us in pursuit.

Q. Mar. 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 grasp'd in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.
Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with them:
Or else come after, I'll away before.
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;

K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet
Exeter;

4 i. e. Dreadful events.

Careful of obsequies, or funeral rites.

A loud Alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded. Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. O, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow, More than my body's parting with my soul. My love, and fear, glu'd many friends to thee; And now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt. Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud 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? O Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth: And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd 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 ten 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 deserv'd 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; 1 stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.

[He faints. Alarum and Retreat. Enter EDWARD, George, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers. Edw. 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 ;
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
Command an argosy to stem the waves.
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape:
For, though before his face I speak the words,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:
And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.

[CLIFFORD groans and dies. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

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

Edw. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd.

Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In 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.

War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,

Your father's head, which Clifford placed there: Instead whereof, let this supply the room; Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. 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.
[Attendants bring the Body forward.

War. I think his understanding is bereft :
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?-
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say.
Rich. O, 'would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth;
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,

Because he would avoid such bitter taunts,
Which in the time of death he gave our father.
Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager
words. 6

Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.
Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.
Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now?
War. They mock thee, Clifford! swear as thou

Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

War. 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 scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.
First, will I see the coronation;

And then to Britany I'll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be:
For on 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 Gloster;
And George, of Clarence- Warwick, as ourself,
Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best.

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George, of
Gloster;

For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.
War. Tut, that's a foolish observation;
Richard be duke of Gloster: Now to London,
To see these honours in possession.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-A Chase in the North of England. Enter two Keepers, with Cross-bows in their Hands. 1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves;

For through this laund 7 anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer.

2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. 1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy crossbow

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. 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past.

Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a Prayer-book. K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,

To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
Thy place is fill'd, thy scepter wrung from thee,
Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar 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?

1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's

fee:

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 labour is but lost;
For Warwick is a subtle orator,

2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings and queens?

K. Hen. 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?

2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is call'd, content; A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy.

2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd 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 depos'd;
Will apprehend you as his enemy.
And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance,

K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an

oath?

2 Keep. No, never such an oath, nor will not now. K. Hen. Where did you dwell, when I was king of England?

2 Keep. Here in this country, where we now remain.

K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old; And you were sworn true subjects unto me: My father and my grandfather, were kings; And, tell me then, have you not broke your oaths? For we were subjects but while you were king. 1 Keep. No;

K. Hen. Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a

man?

Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear.
Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
And 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

By this account, then, Margaret may win him;

For she's a woman to be pitied much :
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn;
And Nero will be tainted with remorse,
To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears.
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 depos'd;
He smiles, and says -his Edward is install'd;
That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more:
Whiles Warwick tells his titles, 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.
O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,
Art then forsaken as thou went'st forlorn.

7 A plain extended between woods,

Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; And be you kings; command and I'll obey.

1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king Edward.

K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as king Edward is.

1 Keep. We charge you in God's name, and in the king's,

To go with us unto the officers.

K. Hen. In God's name lead; your king's name

SCENE II. - London. A Room in the Palace. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOSTER, CLARENCE, and Lady GREY.

K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans' field This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain,

His lands then seiz'd 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.

Glo. Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; It were dishonour, to deny it her.

K. Edw. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. Glo. Yea! is it so ?

I see, the lady hath a thing to grant,

Before the king will grant her humble suit. Cla. He knows the game; How true he keeps the wind?

Glo. Silence !

[Aside. Aside. K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time, to know our mind. L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay:

May it please your highness to resolve me now;
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.

Glo. [Aside.] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you all your lands,

An if what pleases him, shall pleasure you.

K. Edw. How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.

L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord.

K. Edw. 'Twere pity they should lose their father's land.

L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. K. Edw. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit.

Glo. Ay, good leave have you; for you will have leave,

Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. [GLOSTER and CLARENCE retire to the other side.

K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?

L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. K. Edw. And would you not do much to do them good?

L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some harm.

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

L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. K. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' service.

K. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give them?

L. Grey. What you command, that rests in me to do.

K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon. L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.

L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace commands.

Glo. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. [Aside. Clar. As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt. [Aside. L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my task?

K. Edw. An easy task: 'tis but to love a king. L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.

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

L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand

thanks.

Glo. The match is made; she seals it with a curt'sy. K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I

mean.

L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;

That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants. K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.

L. Grey. Why then you mean not as I thought you did.

K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my mind.

L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.

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

L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;

For by that loss I will not purchase them. K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.

L. Grey. 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.

K. Edw. Ay; if thou wilt say ay, to my request: No; if thou dost say no, to my demand.

L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. Glo. The widow likes him not; she knits her

brows.

Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.

[Aside. [Aside.

K. Edw. [Aside.] Her looks do argue her replete with modesty ;

Her words do show her wit imcomparable;
All her perfections challenge sovereignty :
One way, or other, she is for a king;
And she shall be my love, or else iny queen.
Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen?
L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious
lord:

I am a subject fit to jest withal,
But far unfit to be a sovereign.

K. Edw. 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.

L. Grey. 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.

K. Edw. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen. L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace, my sons should call you father. K. Edw. No more, than when thy daughters call thee mother. Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad. K. Edw. You'd think it strange if I should marry

her.

Clar. To whom, my lord?
K. Edw.
Why, Clarence, to myself.
Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least.
Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.