’Tis virtue that doth make them most admir’d;
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The contrary doth make thee wonder’d at.
’Tis government that makes them seem divine;
The want thereof makes thee abominable.
Thou art as opposite to every good
As the Antipodes are unto us,
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Or as the south to the Septentrion.
O tiger’s heart wrapp’d in a woman’s hide!
How could’st 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?
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Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
Thou stern, indurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bid’st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish.
Would’st have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will.
For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
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And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland’s obsequies,
And every drop cries vengeance for his death
’Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false French-woman.
NORTHUMBERLAND
Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so
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As hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
YORK That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch’d, would not have stain’d with blood;
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable –
O, ten times more – than tigers of Hyrcania.
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See, ruthless queen, a hapless father’s tears.
This cloth thou dipp’d’st 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,
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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
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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!
NORTHUMBERLAND
Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin
I should not for my life but weep with him,
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To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
QUEEN MARGARET
What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northumberland?
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
CLIFFORD
Here’s for my oath, here’s for my father’s death.
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[stabbing him]
QUEEN MARGARET
And here’s to right our gentle-hearted king.
[stabbing him]
YORK Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. [Dies.]
QUEEN MARGARET
Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
So York may overlook the town of York.
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Flourish. Exeunt.
2.1 A March. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD and their power.
EDWARD I wonder how our princely father scap’d,
Or whether he be scap’d away or no
From Clifford’s and Northumberland’s pursuit.
Had he been ta’en, we should have heard the news;
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
5
Or had he scap’d, methinks we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.
How fares my brother? Why is he so sad?
RICHARD I cannot joy until I be resolv’d
Where our right valiant father is become.
10
I saw him in the battle range about,
And watch’d him how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought he bore him in the thickest troop
As doth a lion in a herd of neat;
Or as a bear, encompass’d round with dogs,
15
Who having pinch’d a few and made them cry,
The rest stand all aloof and bark at him.
So far’d our father with his enemies;
So fled his enemies my warlike father:
Methinks ’tis prize enough to be his son.
20
See how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun;
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm’d like a younker prancing to his love!
[Three suns appear in the air.]
EDWARD Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?
25
RICHARD Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
Not separated with the racking clouds,
But sever’d in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
As if they vow’d some league inviolable:
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Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
In this the heaven figures some event.
EDWARD
’Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.
I think it cites us, brother, to the field,
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
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Each one already blazing by our meeds,
Should notwithstanding join our lights together,
And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
Whate’er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair-shining suns.
40
RICHARD
Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it,
You love the breeder better than the male.
Enter a Messenger, blowing.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
MESSENGER Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on
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When as the noble Duke of York was slain,
Your princely father and my loving lord!
EDWARD O, speak no more, for I have heard too much.
RICHARD Say how he died, for I will hear it all.
MESSENGER Environed he was with many foes,
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And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks that would have enter’d Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hews down and fells the hardest-timber’d oak.
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By many hands your father was subdu’d;
But only slaughter’d by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford, and the Queen,
Who crown’d the gracious Duke in high despite,
Laugh’d in his face; and when with grief he wept,
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The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheeks
A napkin steeped 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
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They set the same; and there it doth remain,
The saddest spectacle that e’er I view’d.
EDWARD Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain
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The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
And treacherously hast thou vanquish’d him,
For hand to hand he wo
uld have vanquish’d thee.
Now my soul’s palace is become a prison:
Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body
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Might in the ground be closed up in rest!
For never henceforth shall I joy again;
Never, O never, shall I see more joy.
RICHARD I cannot weep, for all my body’s moisture
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart;
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Nor can my tongue unload my heart’s great burden;
For self-same 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:
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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.
EDWARD
His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;
His dukedom and his chair with me is left.
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RICHARD Nay, if thou be that princely eagle’s bird,
Show thy descent by gazing ’gainst the sun:
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say,
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.
March. Enter WARWICK, MARQUESS MONTAGUE and their army.
WARWICK
How now, fair lords! What fare? What news abroad?
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RICHARD 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!
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EDWARD O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet
Which held thee dearly as his soul’s redemption
Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.
WARWICK Ten days ago I drown’d these news in tears,
And now, to add more measure to your woes,
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I come to tell you things sith then befall’n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
Where your brave father breath’d his latest gasp,
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
Were brought me of your loss and his depart.
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I, then in London, keeper of the King,
Muster’d my soldiers, gather’d flocks of friends,
And very well appointed, as I thought,
March’d toward St Albans to intercept the Queen,
Bearing the King in my behalf along;
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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 St Albans met,
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Our battles join’d, and both sides fiercely fought:
But whether ’twas the coldness of the King,
Who look’d full gently on his warlike Queen,
That robb’d my soldiers of their heated spleen;
Or whether ’twas report of her success;
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Or more than common fear of Clifford’s rigour,
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,
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Or like an idle thresher with a flail,
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer’d 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,
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And we in them no hope to win the day;
So that we fled: the King unto the Queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself,
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you;
For in the Marches here we heard you were,
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Making another head to fight again.
EDWARD
Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?
And when came George from Burgundy to England?
WARWICK
Some six miles off the Duke is with the soldiers;
And for your brother, he was lately sent
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From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.
RICHARD
’Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
But ne’er till now his scandal of retire.
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WARWICK
The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works Page 233
