The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works
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Myself had notice of your conventicles –
And all to make away my guiltless life.
I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt.
The ancient proverb will be well effected:
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A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.
CARDINAL My liege, his railing is intolerable.
If those that care to keep your royal person
From treason’s secret knife and traitor’s rage
Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at,
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And the offender granted scope of speech,
’Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.
SUFFOLK Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here
With ignominious words, though clerkly couched,
As if she had suborned some to swear
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False allegations to o’erthrow his state?
QUEEN But I can give the loser leave to chide.
GLOUCESTER
Far truer spoke than meant: I lose indeed –
Beshrew the winners, for they played me false!
And well such losers may have leave to speak.
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BUCKINGHAM
He’ll wrest the sense and hold us here all day.
Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner.
CARDINAL
Sirs, take away the Duke and guard him sure.
GLOUCESTER
Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch
Before his legs be firm to bear his body.
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Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.
Ah, that my fear were false; ah, that it were!
For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear.
Exit Gloucester with attendants.
KING My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best
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Do, or undo, as if ourself were here.
QUEEN What, will your highness leave the parliament?
KING Ay, Margaret; my heart is drowned with grief,
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes,
My body round engirt with misery;
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For what’s more miserable than discontent?
Ah, uncle Humphrey, in thy face I see
The map of honour, truth and loyalty;
And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come
That e’er I proved thee false or feared thy faith.
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What louring star now envies thy estate
That these great lords and Margaret our Queen
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?
Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong.
And as the butcher takes away the calf
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And binds the wretch and beats it when it strains,
Bearing it to the bloody slaughterhouse,
Even so remorseless have they borne him hence;
And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
Looking the way her harmless young one went,
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And can do naught but wail her darling’s loss,
Even so myself bewails good Gloucester’s case
With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimmed eyes
Look after him, and cannot do him good,
So mighty are his vowed enemies.
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His fortunes I will weep, and ’twixt each groan
Say, ‘Who’s a traitor, Gloucester he is none.’
Exit with Buckingham, Salisbury and Warwick.
QUEEN
Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun’s hot beams.
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,
Too full of foolish pity; and Gloucester’s show
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Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers,
Or as the snake, rolled in a flowering bank,
With shining checkered slough doth sting a child
That for the beauty thinks it excellent.
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Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I –
And yet herein I judge mine own wit good –
This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world,
To rid us from the fear we have of him.
CARDINAL That he should die is worthy policy;
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But yet we want a colour for his death.
’Tis meet he be condemned by course of law.
SUFFOLK But in my mind that were no policy.
The King will labour still to save his life,
The commons haply rise to save his life;
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And yet we have but trivial argument,
More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.
YORK So that, by this, you would not have him die?
SUFFOLK Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I.
YORK [aside]
’Tis York that hath more reason for his death. –
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But, my Lord Cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,
Say as you think, and speak it from your souls:
Were’t not all one an empty eagle were set
To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,
As place Duke Humphrey for the King’s Protector?
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QUEEN So the poor chicken should be sure of death.
SUFFOLK
Madam, ’tis true; and were’t not madness then
To make the fox surveyor of the fold,
Who being accused a crafty murderer,
His guilt should be but idly posted over
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Because his purpose is not executed?
No – let him die in that he is a fox,
By nature proved an enemy to the flock,
Before his chaps be stained with crimson blood,
As Humphrey proved, by reasons, to my liege.
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And do not stand on quillets how to slay him;
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,
Sleeping or waking, ’tis no matter how,
So he be dead; for that is good deceit
Which mates him first that first intends deceit.
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QUEEN Thrice-noble Suffolk, ’tis resolutely spoke.
SUFFOLK Not resolute, except so much were done;
For things are often spoke and seldom meant.
But that my heart accordeth with my tongue –
Seeing the deed is meritorious,
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And to preserve my sovereign from his foe –
Say but the word, and I will be his priest.
CARDINAL
But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,
Ere you can take due orders for a priest.
Say you consent and censure well the deed,
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And I’ll provide his executioner;
I tender so the safety of my liege.
SUFFOLK Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.
QUEEN And so say I.
YORK And I: and now we three have spoke it,
It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.
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Enter a Post.
POST Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain
To signify that rebels there are up
And put the Englishmen unto the sword.
Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,
Before the wound do grow uncurable;
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For, being green, there is great hope of help.
CARDINAL
A breach that craves a quick expedient stop! –
What counsel give you in this weighty cause?
YORK That Somerset be sent as regent thither.
’Tis meet that lucky ruler be employed;
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Witness the
fortune he hath had in France.
SOMERSET If York, with all his far-fet policy,
Had been the regent there instead of me,
He never would have stayed in France so long.
YORK No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done.
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I rather would have lost my life betimes
Than bring a burden of dishonour home
By staying there so long till all were lost.
Show me one scar charactered on thy skin;
Men’s flesh preserved so whole do seldom win.
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QUEEN Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging fire
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with.
No more, good York. Sweet Somerset, be still.
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,
Might happily have proved far worse than his.
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YORK
What, worse than naught? Nay, then a shame take all!
SOMERSET And in the number thee, that wishest shame.
CARDINAL My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.
Th’uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen.
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To Ireland will you lead a band of men
Collected choicely, from each county some,
And try your hap against the Irishmen?
YORK I will, my lord, so please his majesty.
SUFFOLK Why, our authority is his consent,
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And what we do establish he confirms.
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.
YORK I am content. Provide me soldiers, lords,
Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.
SUFFOLK
A charge, Lord York, that I will see performed.
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But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.
CARDINAL No more of him; for I will deal with him
That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.
And so break off, the day is almost spent.
[aside] Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.
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YORK My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
At Bristol I expect my soldiers;
For there I’ll ship them all for Ireland.
SUFFOLK I’ll see it truly done, my Lord of York.
Exeunt all but York.
YORK Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,
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And change misdoubt to resolution.
Be that thou hop’st to be, or what thou art
Resign to death; it is not worth th’enjoying.
Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man
And find no harbour in a royal heart.
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Faster than springtime showers comes thought on thought,
And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
Well, nobles, well; ’tis politicly done,
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To send me packing with an host of men;
I fear me you but warm the starved snake
Who, cherished in your breasts, will sting your hearts.
’Twas men I lacked, and you will give them me;
I take it kindly, yet be well assured
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You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands.
Whiles I in Ireland nurse a mighty band
I will stir up in England some black storm
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
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Until the golden circuit on my head,
Like to the glorious sun’s transparent beams,
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.
And for a minister of my intent
I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,
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John Cade of Ashford,
To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,
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And fought so long till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quilled porpentine;
And in the end, being rescued, I have seen
Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.
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Full often, like a shag-haired crafty kern,
Hath he conversed with the enemy
And, undiscovered, come to me again
And given me notice of their villainies.
This devil here shall be my substitute;
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For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble.