ACT III,

SCENE I.-A Chace in the North of England. Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands. 1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves;

For through this lawn anon the deer will come,
And in this covert will we make our stand,
Culling the principal of all the deer.

2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. 1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross

bow

Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best :
And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befel me on a day,

In this self-place where now we mean to stand.
2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be
past.

Enter King HENRY, disguised, with a prayer-book. K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,

To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;

Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now,
No humble suitors press to speak for right,
No, not a man comes for redress of thee,
For how can I help them, and not myself?

1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee.

This is the quondam king: let's seize upon him. K. Hen. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity; For wise men say, it is the wisest course.

2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

1 Keep. Forbear a while; we'll hear a little more. K. Hen. My queen and son are gone to France for aid;

And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister
To wife for Edward. If this news be true,
Poor queen, and son, your labour is but lost;
For Warwick is a subtle orator,

And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.
By this account, then, Margaret may win him,
For she's a woman to be pitied much :

Her sighs will make a battery in his breast,

Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn,
And Nero will be tainted with remorse,
To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears.
Ay, but she's come to beg; Warwick, to give :
She on his left side craving aid for Henry,
He on his right asking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says-her Henry is depos'd;
He smiles, and says-his Edward is install'd;
That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more.
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength;
And, in conclusion, wins the king from her,
With promise of his sister, and what else,
To strengthen and support king Edward's place.
O Margaret! thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn.

2 Keep. Say, what art thou talkest of kings and queens?

K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was born to:

A man at least, for less I should not be;
And men may talk of kings, and why not I?

2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a

K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old, My father and my grandfather, were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me; And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths? 1 Keep. No;

For we were subjects, but while you were king. K. Hen. Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man?

Ah, simple men! you know not what you swear.
Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
And as the air blows it to me again,
Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
And yielding to another when it blows,
Commanded always by the greater gust,
Such is the lightness of you common men.
But do not break your oaths; for of that sin
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
Go where you will, the king shall be commanded,
And be you kings; command, and I'll obey.

1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king
Edward.

K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as king Edward is.

1 Keep. We charge you, in God's name, and the king's,

To go with us unto the officers.

K. Hen. In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd:

And what God will, that let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King EDWARD, GLOSTER, CLARENCE, and Lady GREY.

K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans'
field

This lady's husband, sir Richard Grey, was slain,
His land then seiz'd on by the conqueror:
Her suit is now, to repossess those lands,
Which we in justice cannot well deny,
Because in quarrel of the house of York
The worthy gentleman did lose his life.

Glo. Your highness shall do well, to grant her suit; It were dishonour, to deny it her.

K. Edw. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.

L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my task?

K. Edw. An easy task: 'tis but to love a king. L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am a

subject.

K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.

L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand

thanks.

Glo. The match is made: she seals it with a curt'sy.

K. Edw. But stay thee; 'tis the fruits of love I

mean.

L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.

K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get?

L. Grey. My love till death; my humble thanks, my prayers:

That love which virtue begs, and virtue grants. K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.

L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.

K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my

mind.

L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive

Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.

K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.

L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in

prison.

K. Edw. Why then, thou shalt not have thy || husband's lands.

L. Grey. Why then, mine honesty shall be my dower;

For by that loss I will not purchase them.

K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.

L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them and me.

But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadness of my suit;
Please you dismiss me, either with ay, or no.

K. Edw. Ay, if thou wilt say ay, to my request; No, if thou dost say no, to my demand.

L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.

Glo. The widow likes him not, she knits her brows.

Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.

[Aside.

[Aside.

K. Edw. Her looks do argue her replete with modesty ;

[Aside.

Her words do show her wit incomparable;
All her perfections challenge sovereignty:
One way, or other, she is for a king,
And she shall be my love, or else my queen.—
Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen?
L. Grey. "Tis better said than done, my gracious
lord:

I am a subject fit to jest withal,

But far unfit to be a sovereign.

K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee,

I speak no more than what my soul intends;
And that, is to enjoy thee for my love.

L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield unto.
I know, I am too mean to be your queen,
And yet too good to be your concubine.

K. Edw. You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen.

L. Grey. Twill grieve your grace, my sons should call you father.

K. Edw. No more, than when my daughters call thee mother.

Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing

K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.

Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.

K. Edw. You'd think it strange if I should marry her.

Clar. To whom, my lord?
K. Edw.

Why, Clarence, to myself! Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least.

Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes. K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both,

Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.

Enter a Nobleman.

Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken. And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.

K. Edw. See, that he be convey'd unto the

Tower:

And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
To question of his apprehension.-
Widow, go you along.-Lords, use her honourably.
[Exeunt King EDWARD, Lady GREY.
CLARENCE, and Lord.

Glo. Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all.
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring.
To cross me from the golden time I look for!
And yet, between my soul's desire, and me,
The lustful Edward's title buried,

Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies,
To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:
A cold premeditation for my purpose.
Why then, I do but dream on sovereignty;
Like one that stands upon a promontory,
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye;
And chides the sea that sunders him from thence.
Saying he'll lade it dry to have his way:
So do I wish the crown, being so far off,
And so I chide the means that keep me from it:
And so I say I'll cut the causes off,
Flattering me with impossibilities.—

My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,
Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
Well, say there is no kingdom, then, for Richard,
What other pleasure can the world afford?
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
O miserable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns.
Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb:
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where sits deformity to mock my body;
To shape my legs of an unequal size;
To disproportion me in every part,
Like to a chaos, ar an unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impression like the dam.

And am I, then, a man to be belov'd?

O, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to check, to o'erbear such
As are of better person than myself,

I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown;
And, whiles I live, t' account this world but hell,
Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head,
Be round impaled with a glorious crown.
And yet I know not how to get the crown,
For many lives stand between me and home:
And I, like one lost in a thorny wood,

That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns,
Seeking a way, and straying from the way,
Not knowing how to find the open air,

But toiling desperately to find it out,
Torment myself to catch the English crown:
And from that torment I will free myself,
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.
Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile,
And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart,
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions.

I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall,
I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;
I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,
Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,
And like a Sinon take another Troy.
I can add colours to the cameleon,

Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages,

SCENE III.-France. A Room in the Palace. Flourish.

Enter LEWIS the French King, and Lady BONA, attended by the Admiral Bourbon, and others: the King takes his seat, then rises to receive Queen MARGARET, Prince EDWARD, and the Earl of OxFORD, who enter.

K. Lew. Fair queen of England, worthy Margaret,

Sit down with us: it ill befits thy state, And birth, that thou should'st stand, while Lewis doth sit.

Q. Mar. No, mighty king of France; now
Margaret

Must strike her sail, and learn a while to serve,
Where kings command. I was, I must confess,
Great Albion's queen in former golden days;
But now mischance hath trod my title down,
And with dishonour laid me on the ground,
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,
And to my humble seat conform myself.
K. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs
this deep despair?

Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears,

And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in

cares.

K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, And sit thee by our side: yield not thy neck

[Seats her by him. To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance. Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.

Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts,

And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.
Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis,
That Henry, sole possessor of my love,

Is of a king become a banish'd man,
And forc'd to live in Scotland, a forlorn;
While proud ambitious Edward, duke of York,
Usurps the regal title, and the seat
Of England's true-anointed lawful king.
This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret,
With this my son, prince Edward, Henry's heir,
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid;
And if thou fail us all our hope is done.
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help;
Our people and our peers are both misled,

Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight,

And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.

32

K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm,

While we bethink a means to break it off.

Q. Mar. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.

K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee.

Q. Mar. O! but impatience waiteth on true

sorrow:

And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow. Enter WARWICK, attended.

K. Lew. What's he, approacheth boldly to our presence?

Q. Mar. Our earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.

K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick. What brings thee to France?

[He descends. Queen MARGARET rises. Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;

For this is he that moves both wind and tide.

War. From worthy Edward, king of Albion. My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, I come, in kindness, and unfeigned love, First, to do greetings to thy royal person, And, then, to crave a league of amity; And, lastly, to confirm that amnity With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant