Part 20

_War._ Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. [caa189]

_Exe._ They seek revenge and therefore will not yield. ·caa190·

_K. Hen._ Ah, Exeter!

_War._ Why should you sigh, my lord?

_K. Hen._ Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son, Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. But be it as it may: I here entail The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; ·caa195· Conditionally, that here thou take an oath [caa196] To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, To honour me as thy king and sovereign, And neither by treason nor hostility [caa199] To seek to put me down and reign thyself. ·caa200·

_York._ This oath I willingly take and will perform. [caa201]

_War._ Long live King Henry! Plantagenet, embrace him.

_K. Hen._ And long live thou and these thy forward sons!

_York._ Now York and Lancaster are reconciled.

_Exe._ Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes! [caa205] [_Sennet. Here they come down._

_York._ Farewell, my gracious lord; I’ll to my castle.

_War._ And I’ll keep London with my soldiers.

_Norf._ And I to Norfolk with my followers.

_Mont._ And I unto the sea from whence I came. [caa209] [_Exeunt York and his Sons, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague, their Soldiers, and Attendants._

_K. Hen._ And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. [caa210]

_Enter_ QUEEN MARGARET _and the_ PRINCE OF WALES.

_Exe._ Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger: [caa211] I’ll steal away.

_K. Hen._ Exeter, so will I. [caa212]

_Q. Mar._ Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee.

_K. Hen._ Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.

_Q. Mar._ Who can be patient in such extremes? ·caa215· Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid, And never seen thee, never borne thee son, Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father! Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus? Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, [caa220] Or felt that pain which I did for him once, Or nourish’d him as I did with my blood, Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, Rather than have made that savage duke thine heir [caa224] And disinherited thine only son. ·caa225·

_Prince._ Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed?

_K. Hen._ Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son: The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me.

_Q. Mar._ Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced? ·caa230· I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me; And given unto the house of York such head As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, [caa235] What is it, but to make thy sepulchre And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais; Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; The duke is made protector of the realm; ·caa240· And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds The trembling lamb environed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have toss’d me on their pikes Before I would have granted to that act. [caa245] But thou preferr’st thy life before thine honour: And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repeal’d Whereby my son is disinherited. ·caa250· The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let’s away; ·caa255· Our army is ready; come, we’ll after them. [caa256]

_K. Hen._ Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

_Q. Mar._ Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone.

_K. Hen._ Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? [caa259]

_Q. Mar._ Ay, to be murder’d by his enemies. ·caa260·

_Prince._ When I return with victory from the field [caa261] I’ll see your grace: till then I’ll follow her.

_Q. Mar._ Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. [caa263] [_Exeunt Queen Margaret and the Prince._

_K. Hen._ Poor queen! how love to me and to her son [caa264] Hath made her break out into terms of rage! ·caa265· Revenged may she be on that hateful duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle [caa268] Tire on the flesh of me and of my son! The loss of those three lords torments my heart: ·caa270· I’ll write unto them and entreat them fair. Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.

_Exe._ And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. [caa273] [_Exeunt._

## SCENE II. _Sandal Castle_.

_Enter_ RICHARD, EDWARD, _and_ MONTAGUE.

_Rich._ Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. [cab001]

_Edw._ No, I can better play the orator.

_Mont._ But I have reasons strong and forcible.

_Enter the_ DUKE OF YORK.

_York._ Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? [cab004] What is your quarrel? how began it first? ·cab005·

_Edw._ No quarrel, but a slight contention. [cab006]

_York._ About what?

_Rich._ About that which concerns your grace and us; The crown of England, father, which is yours.

_York._ Mine, boy? not till King Henry be dead. [cab010]

_Rich._ Your right depends not on his life or death.

_Edw._ Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will outrun you, father, in the end.

_York._ I took an oath that he should quietly reign. ·cab015·

_Edw._ But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. [cab017]

_Rich._ No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn.

_York._ I shall be, if I claim by open war.

_Rich._ I’ll prove the contrary, if you’ll hear me speak. ·cab020·

_York._ Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.

_Rich._ An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: [cab024] Henry had none, but did usurp the place; ·cab025· Then, seeing ’twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; Within whose circuit is Elysium ·cab030· And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest Until the white rose that I wear be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry’s heart.

_York._ Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. ·cab035· Brother, thou shalt to London presently, [cab036] And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, [cab038] And tell him privily of our intent. You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, [cab040] With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise: In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. [cab043] While you are thus employ’d, what resteth more, But that I seek occasion how to rise, ·cab045· And yet the king not privy to my drift, [cab046] Nor any of the house of Lancaster? [cab047]

_Enter a_ Messenger.

But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post?

_Gabr._ The queen with all the northern earls and lords [cab049]

Intend here to besiege you in your castle: [cab050] She is hard by with twenty thousand men; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.

_York._ Ay, with my sword. What! think’st thou that we fear them? [cab053] Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague shall post to London: [cab055] Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we have left protectors of the king, With powerful policy strengthen themselves, And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.

_Mont._ Brother, I go; I’ll win them, fear it not: [cab060] And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [_Exit._ [cab061]

_Enter_ SIR JOHN MORTIMER _and_ SIR HUGH MORTIMER.

_York._ Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, [cab062] You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. [cab064]

_Sir John._ She shall not need; we’ll meet her in the field. ·cab065·

_York._ What, with five thousand men?

_Rich._ Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need: A woman’s general; what should we fear? [_A march afar off._

_Edw._ I hear their drums: let’s set our men in order, [cab069] And issue forth and bid them battle straight. ·cab070·

_York._ Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like success? [cab075] [_Alarum. Exeunt._

## SCENE III. _Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and

Wakefield_.

_Alarums. Enter_ RUTLAND _and his_ Tutor.

_Rut._ Ah, whither shall I fly to ’scape their hands? [cac001] Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! [cac002]

_Enter_ CLIFFORD _and_ Soldiers.

_Clif._ Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, [cac004] Whose father slew my father, he shall die. [cac005]

_Tut._ And I, my lord, will bear him company.

_Clif._ Soldiers, away with him! [cac007]

_Tut._ Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man! [cac009] [_Exit, dragged off by Soldiers._

_Clif._ How now! is he dead already? or is it fear [cac010] That makes him close his eyes? I’ll open them.

_Rut._ So looks the pent-up lion o’er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; [cac013] And so he walks, insulting o’er his prey, And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. ·cac015· Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threatening look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath: Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. ·cac020·

_Clif._ In vain thou speak’st, poor boy; my father’s blood [cac021] Hath stopp’d the passage where thy words should enter.

_Rut._ Then let my father’s blood open it again: [cac023] He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

_Clif._ Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine ·cac025· Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if I digg’d up thy forefathers’ graves And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York [cac030] Is as a fury to torment my soul; And till I root out their accursed line And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore-- [_Lifting his hand._ [cac034]

_Rut._ O, let me pray before I take my death! ·cac035· To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!

_Clif._ Such pity as my rapier’s point affords.

_Rut._ I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me?

_Clif._ Thy father hath.

_Rut._ But ’twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, ·cac040· Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days; And when I give occasion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. ·cac045·

_Clif._ No cause! Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [cac047] [_Stabs him._

_Rut._ Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuæ! [cac048] [_Dies._

_Clif._ Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son’s blood cleaving to my blade ·cac050· Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal’d with this, do make me wipe off both. [cac052] [_Exit._

## SCENE IV. _Another part of the field_.

_Alarum. Enter_ RICHARD, Duke of York.

_York._ The army of the queen hath got the field: [cad001] My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. ·cad005· My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them: But this I know, they have demean’d themselves Like men born to renown by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me, And thrice cried ‘Courage, father! fight it out!’ ·cad010· And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple falchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encounter’d him: And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried, ‘Charge! and give no foot of ground!’ ·cad015· And cried, ‘A crown, or else a glorious tomb! [cad016] A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!’ With this, we charged again: but, out, alas! We bodged again; as I have seen a swan [cad019] With bootless labour swim against the tide ·cad020· And spend her strength with over-matching waves. [_A short alarum within._ Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury: And were I strong, I would not shun their fury: The sands are number’d that make up my life; [cad025] Here must I stay, and here my life must end. [cad026]

_Enter_ QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, _the_ young Prince, _and_ Soldiers.

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage: I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

_North._ Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. ·cad030·

_Clif._ Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show’d unto my father. Now Phaëthon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick.

_York._ My ashes, as the phœnix, may bring forth [cad035] A bird that will revenge upon you all: And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate’er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?

_Clif._ So cowards fight when they can fly no further; ·cad040· So doves do peck the falcon’s piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives ’gainst the officers.

_York._ O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o’er-run my former time; ·cad045· And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this!

_Clif._ I will not bandy with thee word for word, But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. [cad050]

_Q. Mar._ Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor’s life. Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.

_North._ Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: ·cad055· What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war’s prize to take all vantages; [cad059] And ten to one is no impeach of valour. [cad060] [_They lay hands on York, who struggles._

_Clif._ Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

_North._ So doth the cony struggle in the net. [cad062]

_York._ So triumph thieves upon their conquer’d booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o’er-match’d. [cad064]

_North._ What would your grace have done unto him now? ·cad065·

_Q. Mar._ Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, [cad068] Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What! was it you that would be England’s king? ·cad070· Was’t you that revell’d in our parliament, And made a preachment of your high descent? [cad072] Where are your mess of sons to back you now? [cad073] The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And where’s that valiant crook-back prodigy, ·cad075· Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York: I stain’d this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford, with his rapier’s point, ·cad080· Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if thine eyes can water for his death, [cad082] I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. ·cad085· I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch’d thine entrails

That not a tear can fall for Rutland’s death? Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. ·cad090· Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. [cad091] Thou wouldst be fee’d, I see, to make me sport: York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him: Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. [cad095] [_Putting a paper crown on his head._ Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! Ay, this is he that took King Henry’s chair; And this is he was his adopted heir. [cad098] But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crown’d so soon, and broke his solemn oath? [cad100] As I bethink me, you should not be king Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale your head in Henry’s glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath? [cad105] O, ’tis a fault too too unpardonable! Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.

_Clif._ That is my office, for my father’s sake. [cad109]

_Q. Mar._ Nay, stay; let’s hear the orisons he makes. [cad110]

_York._ She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, [cad111] Whose tongue more poisons than the adder’s tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! ·cad115· But that thy face is, visard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, [cad117] I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. [cad118] To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. [cad120] Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, [cad121] Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, ·cad125· Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. ’Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: ’Tis virtue that doth make them most admired; ·cad130· 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, ·cad135· Or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger’s heart wrapp’d in a woman’s hide! [cad137] How couldst 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? ·cad140· Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; [cad141] Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bid’st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: For raging wind blows up incessant showers, ·cad145· And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland’s obsequies: And every drop cries vengeance for his death, [cad148] ’Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.

_North._ Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so [cad150] That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. [cad151]

_York._ That face of his the hungry cannibals [cad152] Would not have touch’d, would not have stain’d with blood: [cad153] But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. ·cad155· See, ruthless queen, a hapless father’s tears: This cloth thou dip’dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: [cad159] And if thou tell’st the heavy story right, ·cad160· 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; [cad164] And in thy need such comfort come to thee ·cad165· 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!

_North._ Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, [cad169] I should not for my life but weep with him, [cad170] To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.

_Q. Mar._ What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? [cad172] Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.

_Clif._ Here’s for my oath, here’s for my father’s death. [cad175] [_Stabbing him._

_Q. Mar._ And here’s to right our gentle-hearted king. [cad176] [_Stabbing him._

_York._ Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. [cad178] [_Dies._

_Q. Mar._ Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. [cad180] [_Flourish. Exeunt._

## ACT II.

## SCENE I. _A plain near Mortimer’s Cross in Herefordshire_.

_A march. Enter_ EDWARD, RICHARD, _and their power_.

_Edw._ I wonder how our princely father ’scaped, [cba001] Or whether he be ’scaped away or no From Clifford’s and Northumberland’s pursuit: [cba003] Had he been ta’en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; ·cba005· Or had he ’scaped, methinks we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my brother? why is he so sad?

_Rich._ I cannot joy, until I be resolved Where our right valiant father is become. ·cba010· 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, ·cba015· Who having pinch’d a few and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So fared our father with his enemies; So fled his enemies my warlike father: Methinks, ’tis prize enough to be his son. [cba020] See how the morning opes her golden gates, [cba021] 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!

_Edw._ Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? [cba025]

_Rich._ Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But sever’d in a pale clear-shining sky. [cba028] See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow’d some league inviolable: ·cba030· Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. [cba032]

_Edw._ ’Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. [cba033] I think it cites us, brother, to the field, That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, ·cba035· Each one already blazing by our meeds, [cba036] 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. [cba040]

_Rich._ Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it. [cba041] You love the breeder better than the male. [cba042]

_Enter a_ Messenger.

But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

_Mess._ Ah, one that was a woful looker-on ·cba045· When as the noble Duke of York was slain, Your princely father and my loving lord!