And he that throws not up his cap for joy,
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward,
tague,-
Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown,
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. 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.
Edw. Then strike up, drums :-God, and
Saint George for us!
War. How now! what news? [by me,
Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word
The
queen is coming with a puissant host:
And craves your company for speedy counsel.
War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors:
let's away.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-Before York.
Flourish. Enter King Henry, Queen Mar-
garet, the Prince of Wales, Clifford, and
Northumberland, with forces.
And long hereafter say unto his child,-
"What my great-grandfather and grandsire
My careless father fondly gave away?" [got,
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.
[orator,
K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the
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 thousand-fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure. [know,
Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!
Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits:
our foes are nigh,
[faint.
Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave And this soft courage makes your followers town of York.
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,
That sought to be encompass'd with your
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?
K. Hen. 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 infring'd my vow.
Clif. 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, bless'd with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argu'd 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
(flight)
Which sometime they have us'd with fearful
Make war with him that climb'd unto their
[fence?
Offering their own lives in their young's de-
For shame, my liege, make them your pre-
Were it not pity that this goodly boy [cedent!
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault,
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son :
Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.
Edward, kneel down.
K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson,-Draw thy sword in right.
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, [leave,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward
Enter a Messenger. [prince.
Mess. 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.
Clif. I would your highness would depart
[absent.
The queen hath best success when you are
Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to
[fore I'll stay.
K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too; there-
North. Be it with resolution, then, to fight.
Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble
Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his I was adopted heir by his consent : [knee; Since when, his oath is broke: for, as hear, You, that are king, though he do wear the
Have caus'd him, by new Act of Parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. Clif. And reason too :
Who should succeed the father, but the son? Rich. Are you there, butcher?-O, I cannot speak! [thee, Clif. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer any he the proudest of thy sort. Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? [fied. Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisRich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. [yield the crown? War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick! dare you speak?
When you and I met at St Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands. War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. [fled. Clif. You said so much before, and yet you War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.
North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you stay.
[ently. Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverBreak off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. Clif. I slew thy father, -call'st thou him a child?
[coward, Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But ere sun-set I'll make thee curse the deed. K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. [thy lips. Q. Mar. Defy them, then, or else hold close K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. [tongue Clif. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here,
Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still. Rich. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword:
By him that made us all, I am resolv'd,
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.
Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or
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Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam;
But like a foul mis-shaped stigmatick,
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.
Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,
Whose father bears the title of a king,
(As if a channel should be call'd the sea,)
Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art
extraught,
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? Edw. 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 wrong'd
By that false woman, as this king by thee.
His father revell'd in the heart of France,
And tam'd the king, and made the Dauphin
stoop;
And had he match'd according to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day;
But when he took a beggar to his bed,
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day,
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for
him,
France,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy
pride?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
And we,
in pity of the gentle king,
Had slipp'd our claim until another age.
Geo. But when we saw our sunshine made
And that thy summer bred us no increase,
We set the axe to thy usurping root: [selves.
And though the edge hath something hit our-
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,
We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down,
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.
Edw. And in this resolution I defy thee;
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.--
Sound trumpets! - let our bloody colours
And either victory, or else a grave. [wave!-
Q. Mar. Stay, Edward.
Edw. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer These words will cost ten thousand lives today. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire.
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is For yet is hope of life, and victory.
War. How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good?
[spair; Geo. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad deOur ranks are broke, and ruin follows us : What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? Edw. Bootless is flight,-they follow us with wings;
And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.
Enter Richard.
Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou with-
drawn thyself?
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's
lance;
And, in the very pangs of death, he cried,
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,
"Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my
death!"
So, underneath the belly of their steeds,
That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking
blood,
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
War. Then let the earth be drunken with
our blood:
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage;
And look upon, as if the tragedy
Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never pause again, never stand still,
Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with
thine;
And in this vow do chain my soul to thine;
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold
face,
[thee,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings!
Beseeching thee, if with thy will it stands
That to my foes this body must be prey,
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth.
Ruh. Brother, give me thy hand;-and,
gentle Warwick,
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms:
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
That winter should cut off our spring-time so.
War. Away, away! Once more, sweet
lords, farewell.
Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops,
And give them leave to fly that will not stay;
And call them pillars that will stand to us;
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
As victors wear at the Olympian games:
This may plant courage in their quailing
breasts;
Foreslow no longer; make we hence amain.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.-Another Part of the Field.
Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford.
Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee
alone :
Suppose this arm is for the duke of York,
And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.
Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here
alone :
This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York,
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rut-
land;
[death,
And here's the heart that triumphs in their
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and
To execute the like upon thyself; [brother,
And so, have at thee.
[They fight. Warwick enters; Clifford flies.
Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other
chase;
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.
SCENE V.-Another Part of the Field.
Alarum. Enter King Henry.
K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morn
ing's war,
[light,
When dying clouds contend with growing
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind: [wind;
Sometime the flood prevails, and then the
Now one the better, then another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered :
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead! if God's good will were so;
For what is in this world but grief and woe?
O God! methinks it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run ;-
How many make the hour full complete;
How many hours bring about the day;
How many days will finish up the year;
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times,—
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:
So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,
Pass'd over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how
lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery?
O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold, it doth.
And to conclude, the shepherd's homely
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couchèd in a curious bed,
When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.
Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his
Father, with the dead body.
Son. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
May be possessed with some store of crowns:
And I, that haply take them from him now,
May yet ere night yield both my life and them
To some man else, as this dead man doth me.—
Who's this?-O God! it is my father's face,
Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.
O heavy times, begetting such events!
From London by the king was I press'd forth;
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
Came on the part of York, press'd by his
master;
And I, who at his hands received my life,
Have by my hands of life bereaved him.-
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!-
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee !-
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
And no more words, till they have flow'd their
fill.
[times!
K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody
While lions war, and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee, tear for tear;
And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,
Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd
with grief.
Enter a Father who has killed his Son, with the body in his arms.
Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; For I have bought it with a hundred blows.— But let me see :-is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son !-Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, [arise, Throw up thine eye! see, see, what showers Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and O, pity, God, this miserable age! [heart!What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!
K. Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
O, that my death would stay these ruthful
O, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! [deeds!
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:
The one his purple blood right well resembles;
The other his pale cheeks, methinks, pre-
senteth :
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish;
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Son. How will my mother, for a father's
death,
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied!
Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of
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My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre ;
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go;
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that
For I have murder'd where I should not kill.
[Exit with the body.
K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone
with care,
Here sits a king more woful than you are. Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince of Wales, and Exeter. Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord; towards
Berwick post amain :
[hounds
Edward and Richard, like a brace of grey-
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.
Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along
Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed; Or else come after I'll away before.
K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter.
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
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A loud alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded.
Chf. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies,
Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow
More than my body's parting with my soul !
My love and fear glu'd many friends to thee:
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt.
Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud
York,
The common people swarm like summer flies;
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun?
And who shines now, but Henry's enemies?
O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!|
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings
should do,
Or as thy father, and his father, did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never, then, had sprung like summer
flies;
I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death;
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in
peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?— [wounds;
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For at their hands I have deserved no pity; The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.[rest; Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the I stabb'd your father's bosoms, split my breast. [He faints. Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers. Edw. Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause, looks.And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape; For though before his face I speak the words, Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:
Edw. See who it is and now the battle's ended,
If friend or foe, let him be gently us'd.
Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis
Clifford ;
Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
But set his murd'ring knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly
spring,-
I mean, our princely father, duke of York. War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head, [there. Your father's head, which Clifford placed Instead whereof, let this supply the room : Measure for measure must be answered.
Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to
That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death shall stop his dismal threat'ning sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. Soldiers bring the body forward.
War. I think his understanding is bereft.-Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?life, Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of And he nor sees, nor hears us, what we say.
Rich. O, would he did! and so, perhaps, 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, [he doth: Because he would avoid such bitter taunts, Which in the time of death he gave our father. Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager
Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. [to York.
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity [you now?
Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence War. They mock thee, Clifford swear as thou wast wont.
Rich. What, not an oath? nay then, the world goes hard, [oath; When Clifford cannot spare his friends an I know by that, he's dead; and, by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hours' life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing blood
Stifle the villain, whose unstaunchèd thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. War. Ay, but he's dead: off with the
And rear it in the place your father's stands.And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal king. From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. [Clifford groans and dies. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? [departing. And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen : Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
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