The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  KING EDWARD

  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.

  GEORGE OF CLARENCE

  A little gale will soon disperse that cloud,

  And blow it to the source from whence it came.

  Thy very beams will dry those vapours up,

  For every cloud engenders not a storm.

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  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.

  KING EDWARD

  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⌉ Exeunt

  5.4 Flourish. March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, the Duke of Somerset, the Earl of Oxford, and soldiers

  QUEEN MARGARET

  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 top-mast—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 wreck.

  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 barque.

  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 York

  More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks.

  Why, courage then—what cannot be avoided

  ’Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.

  PRINCE EDWARD

  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.

  OXFORD

  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 I

  SOMERSET

  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.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks.

  PRINCE EDWARD

  And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.

  Enter a Messenger

  MESSENGER

  Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand

  Ready to fight—therefore be resolute.

  OXFORD

  I thought no less. It is his policy

  To haste thus fast to find us unprovided.

  SOMERSET

  But he’s deceived; we are in readiness.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.

  OXFORD

  Here pitch our battle—hence we will not budge.

  Flourish and march. Enter King Edward, Richard Duke of Gloucester, and George Duke of Clarence, with soldiers

  KING EDWARD (to his followers)

  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.

  QUEEN MARGARET (to her followers)

  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.

  Alarum, retreat, excursions. Exeunt

  5.5 Flourish. Enter King Edward, Richard Duke of Gloucester, and George Duke of Clarence with Queen Margaret, the Earl of Oxford, and the Duke of Somerset, guarded

  KING EDWARD

  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.

  OXFORD

  For my part, I’ll not trouble thee with words.

  Exit, guarded

  SOMERSET

  Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.

  Exit, guarded

  QUEEN MARGARET

  So part we sadly in this troublous world

  To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

  KING EDWARD

  Is proclamation made that who finds Edward

  Shall have a high reward and he his life?

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  It is, and lo where youthful Edward comes.

  Enter Prince Edward, guarded

  KING EDWARD

  Bring forth the gallant—let us hear him speak.

  What, can so youn
g 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?

  PRINCE EDWARD

  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.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Ah, that thy father had been so resolved.

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  That you might still have worn the petticoat

  And ne’er have stolen the breech from Lancaster.

  PRINCE EDWARD

  Let Aesop fable in a winter’s night—

  His currish riddles sorts not with this place.

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  By heaven, brat, I’ll plague ye for that word.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  For God’s sake take away this captive scold.

  PRINCE EDWARD

  Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.

  KING EDWARD

  Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.

  GEORGE OF CLARENCE (to Prince Edward)

  Untutored lad, thou art too malapert.

  PRINCE EDWARD

  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 usurp’st my father’s right and mine.

  KING EDWARD

  Take that, the likeness of this railer here.

  King Edward stabs Prince Edward

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  Sprawl’st thou? Take that, to end thy agony.

  Richard stabs Prince Edward

  GEORGE OF CLARENCE

  And there’s for twitting me with perjury.

  George stabs Prince Edward, ⌈who dies⌉

  QUEEN MARGARET

  O, kill me too!

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER Marry, and shall.

  He offers to kill her

  KING EDWARD

  Hold, Richard, hold—for we have done too much.

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  Why should she live to fill the world with words?

  Queen Margaret faints

  KING EDWARD

  What—doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery.

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER (aside to George)

  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.

  GEORGE OF CLARENCE (aside to Richard) What? What?

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER (aside to George)

  The Tower, the Tower. Exit

  QUEEN MARGARET

  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!

  KING EDWARD

  Away with her—go, bear her hence perforce.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  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.

  GEORGE OF CLARENCE

  By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.

  GEORGE OF CLARENCE

  Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?

  QUEEN MARGARET

  Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself.

  ‘Twas sin before, but now ’tis charity.

  What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil’s butcher,

  Hard-favoured Richard? Richard, where art thou?

  Thou art not here. Murder is thy atms-deed—

  Petitioners for blood thou ne‘er putt’st back.

  KING EDWARD

  Away, I say—t charge ye, bear her hence.

  QUEEN MARGARET

  So come to you and yours as to this Prince!

  Exit, guarded

  KING EDWARD Where’s Richard gone?

  GEORGE OF CLARENCE

  To London all in post—⌈aside⌉ and as I guess,

  To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

  KING EDWARD

  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. Exeunt

  5.6 Enter on the walls King Henry the Sixth, reading a book, Richard Duke of Gloucester, and the Lieutenant of the Tower

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?

  KING HENRY

  Ay, my good ford—‘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’.

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER (to the Lieutenant)

  Sirrah, leave us to ourselves. We must confer.

  Exit Lieutenant

  KING HENRY

  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?

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;

  The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

  KING HENRY

  The bird that hath been limèd 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.

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  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.

  KING HENRY

  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?

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  Think’st thou I am an executioner?

  KING HENRY

  A persecutor I am sure thou art;

  If murdering innocents be executing,

 
Why, then thou art an executioner.

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  Thy son I killed for his presumption.

  KING HENRY

  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‘,

  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 chatt’ring 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 cam‘st to bite the world;

  And if the rest be true which I have heard

  Thou cam’st—

  RICHARD

  I’ll hear no more. Die, prophet, in thy speech,

  He stabs him

  For this, amongst the rest, was I ordained.

  KING HENRY

  Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.

  O, God forgive my sins, and pardon thee. He dies

  RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

  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?