Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  King Henry VI

  They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down:

  We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,

  And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York,

  We here discharge your grace from being regent

  I’ the parts of France, till term of eighteen months

  Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester,

  Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset,

  Salisbury, and Warwick;

  We thank you all for the great favour done,

  In entertainment to my princely queen.

  Come, let us in, and with all speed provide

  To see her coronation be perform’d.

  Exeunt King Henry VI, Queen Margaret, and Suffolk

  Gloucester

  Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,

  To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief,

  Your grief, the common grief of all the land.

  What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,

  His valour, coin and people, in the wars?

  Did he so often lodge in open field,

  In winter’s cold and summer’s parching heat,

  To conquer France, his true inheritance?

  And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,

  To keep by policy what Henry got?

  Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,

  Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,

  Received deep scars in France and Normandy?

  Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,

  With all the learned council of the realm,

  Studied so long, sat in the council-house

  Early and late, debating to and fro

  How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe,

  And had his highness in his infancy

  Crowned in Paris in despite of foes?

  And shall these labours and these honours die?

  Shall Henry’s conquest, Bedford’s vigilance,

  Your deeds of war and all our counsel die?

  O peers of England, shameful is this league!

  Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,

  Blotting your names from books of memory,

  Razing the characters of your renown,

  Defacing monuments of conquer’d France,

  Undoing all, as all had never been!

  Cardinal

  Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,

  This peroration with such circumstance?

  For France, ’tis ours; and we will keep it still.

  Gloucester

  Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can;

  But now it is impossible we should:

  Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,

  Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine

  Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style

  Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.

  Salisbury

  Now, by the death of Him that died for all,

  These counties were the keys of Normandy.

  But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?

  Warwick

  For grief that they are past recovery:

  For, were there hope to conquer them again,

  My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.

  Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;

  Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer:

  And are the cities, that I got with wounds,

  Delivered up again with peaceful words?

  Mort Dieu!

  York

  For Suffolk’s duke, may he be suffocate,

  That dims the honour of this warlike isle!

  France should have torn and rent my very heart,

  Before I would have yielded to this league.

  I never read but England’s kings have had

  Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives:

  And our King Henry gives away his own,

  To match with her that brings no vantages.

  Gloucester

  A proper jest, and never heard before,

  That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth

  For costs and charges in transporting her!

  She should have stayed in France and starved

  in France, Before —

  Cardinal

  My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot:

  It was the pleasure of my lord the King.

  Gloucester

  My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind;

  ’Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,

  But ’tis my presence that doth trouble ye.

  Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face

  I see thy fury: if I longer stay,

  We shall begin our ancient bickerings.

  Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,

  I prophesied France will be lost ere long.

  Exit

  Cardinal

  So, there goes our protector in a rage.

  ’Tis known to you he is mine enemy,

  Nay, more, an enemy unto you all,

  And no great friend, I fear me, to the king.

  Consider, lords, he is the next of blood,

  And heir apparent to the English crown:

  Had Henry got an empire by his marriage,

  And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,

  There’s reason he should be displeased at it.

  Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words

  Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect.

  What though the common people favour him,

  Calling him ‘Humphrey, the good Duke of

  Gloucester,’

  Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice,

  ‘Jesu maintain your royal excellence!’

  With ‘God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!’

  I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,

  He will be found a dangerous protector.

  Buckingham

  Why should he, then, protect our sovereign,

  He being of age to govern of himself?

  Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,

  And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk,

  We’ll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat.

  Cardinal

  This weighty business will not brook delay:

  I’ll to the Duke of Suffolk presently.

  Exit

  Somerset

  Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey’s pride

  And greatness of his place be grief to us,

  Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal:

  His insolence is more intolerable

  Than all the princes in the land beside:

  If Gloucester be displaced, he’ll be protector.

  Buckingham

  Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector,

  Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal.

  Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset

  Salisbury

  Pride went before, ambition follows him.

  While these do labour for their own preferment,

  Behoves it us to labour for the realm.

  I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester

  Did bear him like a noble gentleman.

  Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal,

  More like a soldier than a man o’ the church,

  As stout and proud as he were lord of all,

  Swear like a ruffian and demean himself

  Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.

  Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age,

  Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping,

  Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,

  Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey:

  And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,

  In bringing them to civil discipline,

  Thy late exploits done in the heart of France,

  When thou wert regent for our sovereign,

  Have made thee fear’d and honour’
d of the people:

  Join we together, for the public good,

  In what we can, to bridle and suppress

  The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal,

  With Somerset’s and Buckingham’s ambition;

  And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey’s deeds,

  While they do tend the profit of the land.

  Warwick

  So God help Warwick, as he loves the land,

  And common profit of his country!

  York

  [Aside] And so says York, for he hath greatest cause.

  Salisbury

  Then let’s make haste away, and look unto the main.

  Warwick

  Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost;

  That Maine which by main force Warwick did win,

  And would have kept so long as breath did last!

  Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine,

  Which I will win from France, or else be slain,

  Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury

  York

  Anjou and Maine are given to the French;

  Paris is lost; the state of Normandy

  Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone:

  Suffolk concluded on the articles,

  The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased

  To change two dukedoms for a duke’s fair daughter.

  I cannot blame them all: what is’t to them?

  ’Tis thine they give away, and not their own.

  Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage

  And purchase friends and give to courtezans,

  Still revelling like lords till all be gone;

  While as the silly owner of the goods

  Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands

  And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,

  While all is shared and all is borne away,

  Ready to starve and dare not touch his own:

  So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,

  While his own lands are bargain’d for and sold.

  Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland

  Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood

  As did the fatal brand Althaea burn’d

  Unto the prince’s heart of Calydon.

  Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!

  Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,

  Even as I have of fertile England’s soil.

  A day will come when York shall claim his own;

  And therefore I will take the Nevils’ parts

  And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,

  And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown,

  For that’s the golden mark I seek to hit:

  Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,

  Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,

  Nor wear the diadem upon his head,

  Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.

  Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve:

  Watch thou and wake when others be asleep,

  To pry into the secrets of the state;

  Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,

  With his new bride and England’s dear-bought queen,

  And Humphrey with the peers be fall’n at jars:

  Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,

  With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed;

  And in my standard bear the arms of York

  To grapple with the house of Lancaster;

  And, force perforce, I’ll make him yield the crown,

  Whose bookish rule hath pull’d fair England down.

  Exit

  SCENE II. GLOUCESTER’S HOUSE.

  Enter Gloucester and his Duchess

  Duchess

  Why droops my lord, like over-ripen’d corn,

  Hanging the head at Ceres’ plenteous load?

  Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,

  As frowning at the favours of the world?

  Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth,

  Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?

  What seest thou there? King Henry’s diadem,

  Enchased with all the honours of the world?

  If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,

  Until thy head be circled with the same.

  Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.

  What, is’t too short? I’ll lengthen it with mine:

  And, having both together heaved it up,

  We’ll both together lift our heads to heaven,

  And never more abase our sight so low

  As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

  Gloucester

  O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,

  Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts.

  And may that thought, when I imagine ill

  Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,

  Be my last breathing in this mortal world!

  My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.

  Duchess

  What dream’d my lord? tell me, and I’ll requite it

  With sweet rehearsal of my morning’s dream.

  Gloucester

  Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,

  Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot,

  But, as I think, it was by the cardinal;

  And on the pieces of the broken wand

  Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset,

  And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk.

  This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows.

  Duchess

  Tut, this was nothing but an argument

  That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester’s grove

  Shall lose his head for his presumption.

  But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke:

  Methought I sat in seat of majesty

  In the cathedral church of Westminster,

  And in that chair where kings and queens are crown’d;

  Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel’d to me

  And on my head did set the diadem.

  Gloucester

  Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright:

  Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor,

  Art thou not second woman in the realm,

  And the protector’s wife, beloved of him?

  Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,

  Above the reach or compass of thy thought?

  And wilt thou still be hammering treachery,

  To tumble down thy husband and thyself

  From top of honour to disgrace’s feet?

  Away from me, and let me hear no more!

  Duchess

  What, what, my lord! are you so choleric

  With Eleanor, for telling but her dream?

  Next time I’ll keep my dreams unto myself,

  And not be cheque’d.

  Gloucester

  Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again.

  Enter Messenger

  Messenger

  My lord protector, ’tis his highness’ pleasure

  You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban’s,

  Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk.

  Gloucester

  I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?

  Duchess

  Yes, my good lord, I’ll follow presently.

  Exeunt Gloucester and Messenger

  Follow I must; I cannot go before,

  While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind.

  Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,

  I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks

  And smooth my way upon their headless necks;

  And, being a woman, I will not be slack

  To play my part in Fortune’s pageant.

  Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man,

  We are alone; here’s none but thee and I.

  Enter Hume

  Hume


  Jesus preserve your royal majesty!

  Duchess

  What say’st thou? majesty! I am but grace.

  Hume

  But, by the grace of God, and Hume’s advice,

  Your grace’s title shall be multiplied.

  Duchess

  What say’st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr’d

  With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch,

  With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?

  And will they undertake to do me good?

  Hume

  This they have promised, to show your highness

  A spirit raised from depth of under-ground,

  That shall make answer to such questions

  As by your grace shall be propounded him.

  Duchess

  It is enough; I’ll think upon the questions:

  When from St. Alban’s we do make return,

  We’ll see these things effected to the full.

  Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man,

  With thy confederates in this weighty cause.

  Exit

  Hume

  Hume must make merry with the duchess’ gold;

  Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume!

  Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum:

  The business asketh silent secrecy.

  Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch:

  Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.

  Yet have I gold flies from another coast;

  I dare not say, from the rich cardinal

  And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk,

  Yet I do find it so; for to be plain,

  They, knowing Dame Eleanor’s aspiring humour,

  Have hired me to undermine the duchess

  And buz these conjurations in her brain.

  They say ‘A crafty knave does need no broker;’

  Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal’s broker.

  Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near

  To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.

  Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last

  Hume’s knavery will be the duchess’ wreck,

  And her attainture will be Humphrey’s fall:

  Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all.

  Exit

  SCENE III. THE PALACE.

  Enter three or four Petitioners, Peter, the Armourer’s man, being one

  First Petitioner

  My masters, let’s stand close: my lord protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in the quill.

  Second Petitioner

  Marry, the Lord protect him, for he’s a good man!

  Jesu bless him!

  Enter Suffolk and Queen Margaret

  Peter

  Here a’ comes, methinks, and the queen with him.

  I’ll be the first, sure.

  Second Petitioner

  Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector.