King Henry VI
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?
Gloucester
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
King Henry VI
The bird that hath been limed 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 kill’d.
Gloucester
Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
That taught his son the office of a fowl!
An yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown’d.
King Henry VI
I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
The sun that sear’d 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?
Gloucester
Think’st thou I am an executioner?
King Henry VI
A persecutor, I am sure, thou art:
If murdering innocents be executing,
Why, then thou art an executioner.
Gloucester
Thy son I kill’d for his presumption.
King Henry VI
Hadst thou been kill’d 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,
And orphans for their parents timeless death —
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek’d at thy birth,— an evil sign;
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howl’d, and hideous tempest shook down trees;
The raven rook’d her on the chimney’s top,
And chattering 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 camest to bite the world:
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou camest —
Gloucester
I’ll hear no more: die, prophet in thy speech:
Stabs him
For this amongst the rest, was I ordain’d.
King Henry VI
Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
God forgive my sins, and pardon thee!
Dies
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:
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 usurp’d our right?
The midwife wonder’d and the women cried
‘O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!’
And so I was; which plainly signified
That I should snarl and bite and play the dog.
Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so,
Let hell make crook’d my mind to answer it.
I have no brother, I am like no brother;
And this word ‘love,’ which graybeards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another
And not in me: I am myself alone.
Clarence, beware; thou keep’st me from the light:
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;
For I will buz abroad such prophecies
That Edward shall be fearful of his life,
And then, to purge his fear, I’ll be thy death.
King Henry and the prince his son are gone:
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest,
Counting myself but bad till I be best.
I’ll throw thy body in another room
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.
Exit, with the body
SCENE VII. LONDON. THE PALACE.
Flourish. Enter King Edward IV, Queen Elizabeth, Clarence, Gloucester, Hastings, a Nurse with the young Prince, and Attendants
King Edward IV
Once more we sit in England’s royal throne,
Re-purchased with the blood of enemies.
What valiant foemen, like to autumn’s corn,
Have we mow’d down, in tops of all their pride!
Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown’d
For hardy and undoubted champions;
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
And two Northumberlands; two braver men
Ne’er spurr’d their coursers at the trumpet’s sound;
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,
That in their chains fetter’d the kingly lion
And made the forest tremble when they roar’d.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat
And made our footstool of security.
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself
Have in our armours watch’d the winter’s night,
Went all afoot in summer’s scalding heat,
That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace;
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.
Gloucester
[Aside] I’ll blast his harvest, if your head were laid;
For yet I am not look’d on in the world.
This shoulder was ordain’d so thick to heave;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:
Work thou the way,— and thou shalt execute.
King Edward IV
Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen;
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
Clarence
The duty that I owe unto your majesty
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.
Queen Elizabeth
Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.
Gloucester
And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang’st,
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.
Aside
And cried ‘all hail!’ when as he meant all harm.
King Edward IV
Now am I seated as my soul delights,
Having my country’s peace and brothers’ loves.
Clarence
What will your grace have done with Margaret?
Reignier, her father, to the king of France
Hath pawn’d the Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have they sent it for her ransom.
; King Edward IV
Away with her, and waft her hence to France.
And now what rests but that we spend the time
With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,
Such as befits the pleasure of the court?
Sound drums and trumpets! farewell sour annoy!
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.
Exeunt
The Life of King Henry the Eighth
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
PROLOGUE
ACT I
SCENE I. LONDON. AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE PALACE.
SCENE II. THE SAME. THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER.
SCENE III. AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE PALACE.
SCENE IV. A HALL IN YORK PLACE.
ACT II
SCENE I. WESTMINSTER. A STREET.
SCENE II. AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE PALACE.
SCENE III. AN ANTE-CHAMBER OF THE QUEEN’S APARTMENTS.
SCENE IV. A HALL IN BLACK-FRIARS.
ACT III
SCENE I. LONDON. QUEEN KATHARINE’S APARTMENTS.
SCENE II. ANTE-CHAMBER TO KING HENRY VIII’S APARTMENT.
ACT IV
SCENE I. A STREET IN WESTMINSTER.
SCENE II. KIMBOLTON.
ACT V
SCENE I. LONDON. A GALLERY IN THE PALACE.
SCENE II. BEFORE THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER. PURSUIVANTS, PAGES, & C.
SCENE III. THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER.
SCENE IV. THE PALACE YARD.
SCENE V. THE PALACE.
EPILOGUE
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
Abergavenny,
All,
Anne,
Both,
Boy,
Brandon,
Buckingham,
Capucius,
Cardinal Campeius,
Cardinal Wolsey,
Chamberlain,
Chancellor,
Cranmer,
Crier,
Cromwell,
Denny,
Doctor Butts,
First Gentleman,
First Secretary,
Gardiner,
Garter,
Gentleman,
Griffith,
Guildford,
Katharine,
Keeper,
King Henry VIII,
Lincoln,
Lovell,
Man,
Messenger,
Norfolk,
Old Lady,
Patience,
Porter,
Queen Katharine,
Sands,
Scribe,
Second Gentleman,
Sergeant,
Servant,
Suffolk,
Surrey,
Surveyor,
Third Gentleman,
Vaux,
PROLOGUE
I come no more to make you laugh: things now,
That bear a weighty and a serious brow,
Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,
Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,
We now present. Those that can pity, here
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;
The subject will deserve it. Such as give
Their money out of hope they may believe,
May here find truth too. Those that come to see
Only a show or two, and so agree
The play may pass, if they be still and willing,
I’ll undertake may see away their shilling
Richly in two short hours. Only they
That come to hear a merry bawdy play,
A noise of targets, or to see a fellow
In a long motley coat guarded with yellow,
Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know,
To rank our chosen truth with such a show
As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting
Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring,
To make that only true we now intend,
Will leave us never an understanding friend.
Therefore, for goodness’ sake, and as you are known
The first and happiest hearers of the town,
Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see
The very persons of our noble story
As they were living; think you see them great,
And follow’d with the general throng and sweat
Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see
How soon this mightiness meets misery:
And, if you can be merry then, I’ll say
A man may weep upon his wedding-day.
ACT I
SCENE I. LONDON. AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE PALACE.
Enter Norfolk at one door; at the other, Buckingham and Abergavenny
Buckingham
Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done
Since last we saw in France?
Norfolk
I thank your grace,
Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
Of what I saw there.
Buckingham
An untimely ague
Stay’d me a prisoner in my chamber when
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
Met in the vale of Andren.
Norfolk
’Twixt Guynes and Arde:
I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;
Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
In their embracement, as they grew together;
Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh’d
Such a compounded one?
Buckingham
All the whole time
I was my chamber’s prisoner.
Norfolk
Then you lost
The view of earthly glory: men might say,
Till this time pomp was single, but now married
To one above itself. Each following day
Became the next day’s master, till the last
Made former wonders its. To-day the French,
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they
Made Britain India: every man that stood
Show’d like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too,
Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labour
Was to them as a painting: now this masque
Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night
Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
As presence did present them; him in eye,
Still him in praise: and, being present both
’Twas said they saw but one; and no discerner
Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns —
For so they phrase ’em — by their heralds challenged
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform
Beyond thought’s compass; that former fabulous story,
Being now seen possible enough, got credit,
That Bevis was believed.
Buckingham
O, you go far.
Norfolk
As I belong to worship and affect
In honour honesty, the tract of every thing
Would by a good discourser lose some life,
Which action’s self was tongue to. All was royal;
To the disposing of it nought rebell’d.
Order gave each thing view; the office did
Distinctly his full function.
Buckingham
Who did guide,
I mean, who set the body and the limbs
Of this great sport together, as you guess?
Norfolk
One, certes, that promises no element
In such a business.
Buckingham
I pray you, who, my lord?
Norfolk
All this was order’d by the go
od discretion
Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.
Buckingham
The devil speed him! no man’s pie is freed
From his ambitious finger. What had he
To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder
That such a keech can with his very bulk
Take up the rays o’ the beneficial sun
And keep it from the earth.
Norfolk
Surely, sir,
There’s in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
For, being not propp’d by ancestry, whose grace
Chalks successors their way, nor call’d upon
For high feats done to the crown; neither allied
For eminent assistants; but, spider-like,
Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note,
The force of his own merit makes his way
A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys
A place next to the king.
Abergavenny
I cannot tell
What heaven hath given him,— let some graver eye
Pierce into that; but I can see his pride
Peep through each part of him: whence has he that,
If not from hell? the devil is a niggard,
Or has given all before, and he begins
A new hell in himself.
Buckingham
Why the devil,
Upon this French going out, took he upon him,
Without the privity o’ the king, to appoint
Who should attend on him? He makes up the file
Of all the gentry; for the most part such
To whom as great a charge as little honour
He meant to lay upon: and his own letter,
The honourable board of council out,
Must fetch him in the papers.
Abergavenny
I do know
Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
By this so sickened their estates, that never
They shall abound as formerly.
Buckingham
O, many
Have broke their backs with laying manors on ’em
For this great journey. What did this vanity
But minister communication of
A most poor issue?
Norfolk
Grievingly I think,
The peace between the French and us not values
The cost that did conclude it.
Buckingham
Every man,
After the hideous storm that follow’d, was
A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke
Into a general prophecy; That this tempest,
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
The sudden breach on’t.
Norfolk
Which is budded out;
For France hath flaw’d the league, and hath attach’d
Our merchants’ goods at Bourdeaux.
Abergavenny
Is it therefore
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