The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  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.

  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 the Earl of Warwick and the Marquis of Montague ⌈with drummers, an ensign, and soldiers⌉

  WARWICK

  How now, fair lords? What fare? What news abroad?

  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.

  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 drowned these news in tears.

  And now, to add more measure to your woes,

  I come to tell you things sith then befall’n.

  After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,

  Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp,

  Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,

  Were brought me of your loss and his depart.

  I then in London, keeper of the King,

  Mustered my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends,

  And, very well appointed as I thought,

  Marched toward Saint Albans to intercept the Queen,

  Bearing the King in my behalf along—

  For by my scouts I was advertised

  That she was coming with a full intent

  To dash our late decree in Parliament

  Touching King Henry’s oath and your succession.

  Short tale to make, we at Saint Albans met,

  Our battles joined, and both sides fiercely fought;

  But whether ‘twas the coldness of the King,

  Who looked full gently on his warlike queen,

  That robbed my soldiers of their heated spleen,

  Or whether ’twas report of her success,

  Or more than common fear of Clifford’s rigour—

  Who thunders to his captains blood and death—

  I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth,

  Their weapons like to lightning came and went;

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

  Or like an idle thresher with a flail,

  Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.

  I cheered them up with justice of our cause,

  With promise of high pay, and great rewards.

  But all in vain. They had no heart to fight,

  And we in them no hope to win the day.

  So that we fled—the King unto the Queen,

  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,

  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 his soldiers;

  And for your brother—he was lately sent

  From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,

  With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

  RICHARD

  ‘Twas odd belike when valiant Warwick fled.

  Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,

  But ne’er till now his scandal of retire.

  WARWICK

  Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear—

  For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine

  Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry’s head

  And wring the aweful sceptre from his fist,

  Were he as famous and as bold in war

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

  RICHARD

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

  ‘Tis love I bear thy glories make me speak.

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

  Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,

  And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,

  Numb’ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?

  Or shall we on the helmets of our foes

  Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?

  If for the last, say ‘ay’, and to it, lords.

  WARWICK

  Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out,

  And therefore comes my brother Montague.

  Attend me, lords. The proud insulting Queen,

  With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,

  And of their feather many more proud birds,

  Have wrought the easy-melting King like wax.

  (To Edward) He swore consent to your succession,

  His oath enrolled in the Parliament.

  And now to London all the crew are gone,

  To frustrate both his oath and what beside

  May make against the house of Lancaster.

  Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong.

  Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself,

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

  Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,

  Will but amount to five-and-twenty thousand,

  Why, via, to London will we march,

  And once again bestride our foaming steeds,

  And once again cry ‘Charge upon. our foes—

  But never once again turn back and fly.

  RICHARD

  Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak.

  Ne‘er may he live to see a sunshine day

  That cries ‘retire if Warwick bid him stay.

  EDWARD

  Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean,

  And when thou fail’st—as God forbid the hour—

  Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend I

  WARWICK

  No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York;

  The next degree is England’s royal throne—

  For King of England shalt thou be proclaimed

  In every borough as we pass along,

  And he that throws not up his cap for joy,

  Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.

  King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague—

  Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,

  But sound the trumpets and about our task.

  RICHARD

  Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,

  As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,

  I come to pierce it or to give thee mine.

  EDWARD

  Then strike up drums—God and Saint George for us!

  Enter a Messenger

  WARWICK How now? What news?

  MESSENGER

  The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me

  The Queen is coming with a puissant host,

  And craves your company for speedy counsel.

  WARWICK

  Why then it sorts. Brave warriors, let’s away.

  ⌈March.⌉ Exeunt

  2.2 ⌈York’s head is thrust out, above⌉ Flourish. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Lord Clifford, the Earl of Northumberland, and young Prince Edward, with a drummer and trumpeters

  QUEEN MARGARET

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

  Yonder’s the head of that arch-enemy

  That sought to be encompassed with your crown.

  Doth not the object
cheer your heart, my lord?

  KING HENRY

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

  To see this sight, it irks my very soul.

  Withhold revenge, dear God—’tis not my fault,

  Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.

  CLIFFORD

  My gracious liege, this too much lenity

  And harmful pity must be laid aside.

  To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?

  Not to the beast that would usurp their den.

  Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?

  Not his that spoils her young before her face.

  Who scapes the lurking serpent’s mortal sting?

  Not he that sets his foot upon her back.

  The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on,

  And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.

  Ambitious York did level at thy crown,

  Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows.

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

  And raise his issue like a loving sire;

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

  Didst yield consent to disinherit him,

  Which argued thee a most unloving father.

  Unreasonable creatures feed their young,

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

  Yet, in protection of their tender ones,

  Who hath not seen them, even with those wings

  Which sometime they have used with fearful flight,

  Make war with him that climbed unto their nest,

  Offering their own lives in their young’s defence?

  For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!

  Were it not pity that this goodly boy

  Should lose his birthright by his father’s fault,

  And long hereafter say unto his child

  ‘What my great-grandfather and grandsire got

  My careless father fondly gave away’?

  Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy,

  And let his manly face, which promiseth

  Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart

  To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.

  KING HENRY

  Full well hath Clifford played the orator,

  Inferring arguments of mighty force.

  But, Clifford, tell me—didst thou never hear

  That things ill got had ever bad success?

  And happy always was it for that son

  Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?

  I’ll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind,

  And would my father had left me no more.

  For all the rest is held at such a rate

  As brings a thousandfold more care to keep

  Than in possession any jot of pleasure.

  Ah, cousin York, would thy best friends did know

  How it doth grieve me that thy head is here.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  My lord, cheer up your spirits—our foes are nigh,

  And this soft courage makes your followers faint.

  You promised knighthood to our forward son.

  Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.

  Edward, kneel down.

  Prince Edward kneels

  KING HENRY

  Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight—

  And learn this lesson: draw thy sword in right.

  PRINCE EDWARD (rising)

  My gracious father, by your kingly leave,

  I’ll draw it as apparent to the crown,

  And in that quarrel use it to the death.

  CLIFFORD

  Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

  Enter a Messenger

  MESSENGER

  Royal commanders, be in readiness—

  For with a band of thirty thousand men

  Comes Warwick backing of the Duke of York;

  And in the towns, as they do march along,

  Proclaims him king, and many fly to him.

  Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.

  CLIFFORD (to King Henry)

  I would your highness would depart the field—

  The Queen hath best success when you are absent.

  QUEEN MARGARET (to King Henry)

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

  KING HENRY

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

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Be it with resolution then to fight.

  PRINCE EDWARD (to King Henry)

  My royal father, cheer these noble lords

  And hearten those that fight in your defence.

  Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry ‘Saint George!’

  March. Enter Edward Duke of York, the Earl of

  Warwick, Richard, George, the Duke of Norfolk, the

  Marquis of Montague, and soldiers

  EDWARD

  Now, perjured Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace,

  And set thy diadem upon my head—

  Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy!

  Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms

  Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?

  EDWARD

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

  I was adopted heir by his consent.

  GEORGE (to Queen Margaret)

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

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

  Have caused him by new act of Parliament

  To blot our brother out, and put his own son in.

  CLIFFORD And reason too—

  Who should succeed the father but the son?

  RICHARD

  Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!

  CLIFFORD

  Ay, crookback, here I stand to answer thee,

  Or any he the proudest of thy sort.

  RICHARD

  ’Twas you that killed young Rutland, was it not?

  CLIFFORD

  Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.

  RICHARD

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

  WARWICK

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

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick, dare you

  speak?

  When you and I met at Saint Albans last,

  Your legs did better service than your hands.

  WARWICK

  Then ‘twas my turn to fly—and now ‘tis thine.

  CLIFFORD

  You said so much before, and yet you fled.

  WARWICK

  ’Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.

  RICHARD

  Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.

  Break off the parley, for scarce I can refrain

  The execution of my big-swoll’n heart

  Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

  CLIFFORD

  I slew thy father—call’st thou him a child?

  RICHARD

  Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,

  As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland.

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

  KING HENRY

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

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Defy them, then, or else hold close thy lips.

  KING HENRY

  I prithee give no limits to my tongue—

  I am a king, and privileged to speak.

  CLIFFORD

  My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here

  Cannot be cured by words—therefore be still.

  RICHARD

  Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword.

  By him that made us all, I am resolved
/>
  That Clifford’s manhood lies upon his tongue.

  EDWARD

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

  A thousand men have broke their fasts today

  That ne’er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.

  WARWICK (to King Henry)

  If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;

  For York in justice puts his armour on.

  PRINCE EDWARD

  If that be right which Warwick says is right,

  There is no wrong, but everything is right.

  RICHARD

  Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands—

  For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother’s tongue.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam,

  But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,

  Marked by the destinies to be avoided,

  As venom toads or lizards’ dreadful stings.

  RICHARD

  Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,

  Whose father bears the title of a king—

  As if a channel should be called the sea—

  Sham’st thou not, knowing whence thou art

  extraught,

  To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?

  EDWARD

  A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns

  To make this shameless callet know herself.

  Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,

  Although thy husband may be Menelaus;

  And ne’er was Agamemnon’s brother wronged

  By that false woman, as this king by thee.

  His father revelled in the heart of France,

  And tamed the King, and made the Dauphin stoop;

  And had he matched according to his state,

  He might have kept that glory to this day.

  But when he took a beggar to his bed,

  And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day,

  Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him

  That washed his father’s fortunes forth of France,

  And heaped sedition on his crown at home.

  For what hath broached this tumult but thy pride?

  Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept,

  And we, in pity of the gentle King,

  Had slipped our claim until another age.

  GEORGE (to Queen Margaret)

  But when we saw our sunshine made thy 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 bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.

  EDWARD (to Queen Margaret)

  And in this resolution I defy thee,