RICHARD.
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. 

WARWICK.
Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.

GEORGE.
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,
For yet is hope of life and victory.--
Forslow no longer; make we hence amain.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE IV. Another Part of the Field.

[Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD.]

RICHARD.
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.

CLIFFORD.
Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone.
This is the hand that stabbed thy father York,
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;
And here's the heart that triumphs in their death,
And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother
To execute the like upon thyself;
And so have at thee!

[They fight. Warwick enters; Clifford flies.]

RICHARD.
Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase;
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE V. Another Part of the Field.

[Alarum. Enter KING HENRY.]

KING HENRY.
This battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light,
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 selfsame sea
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind.
Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind,
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 brings 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 ean;
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 curds,
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 couched in a curious bed,
When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

[Alarum. Enter a Son that hath killed his father, bringing in 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 receiv'd 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. 

KING HENRY.
O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whiles 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.]

FATHER.
Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me,
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold,
For I have bought it with an 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,
Throw up thine eye; see, see what showers arise,
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,
Upon thy wounds that kill mine eye and heart!--
O, pity, God, this miserable age!--
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!

KING HENRY.
Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!--
O pity, pity! gentle heaven, pity!--
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, presenteth.
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!

FATHER.
How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,
Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied!

KING HENRY.
How will the country, for these woeful chances,
Misthink the king and not be satisfied!

SON.
Was ever son so rued a father's death? 

FATHER.
Was ever father so bemoan'd his son?

KING HENRY.
Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe?
Much is your sorrow, mine ten times so much.

SON.
I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.

[Exit with the body.]

FATHER.
These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
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,
Even 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 will,
For I have murder'd where I should not kill.

[Exit with the body.]

KING HENRY.
Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
Here sits a king more woeful 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.

QUEEN MARGARET.
Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain.
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds,
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.

EXETER.
Away! for vengeance comes along with them.
Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed,
Or else come after; I'll away before.

KING HENRY.
Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter;
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the queen intends. Forward! away!

[Exeunt.]



SCENE VI.  Another Part of the Field

[A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded.]

CLIFFORD.
Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
Which whiles 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 glued many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt,
Impairing Henry, strengthening 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 Phaethon 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?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight.
The foe is merciless and will not pity,
For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.--
Come, York and Richard, Warwick, and the rest;
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.

[He faints.]

[Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD,
MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers.]

EDWARD.
Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us pause,
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.--
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?

WARWICK.
No, 't is impossible he should escape;
For, though before his face I speak the words,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave,
And whereso'er he is he's surely dead.

[Clifford groans and dies.]

EDWARD.
Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?

RICHARD.
A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.

EDWARD.
See who it is; and, now the battle's ended,
If friend or foe, let him be gently us'd.

RICHARD.
Revoke that doom of mercy, for 't is Clifford,
Who, not contented that he lopp'd the branch,
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
But set his murthering knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring;
I mean our princely father, Duke of York.

WARWICK.
From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;
Instead whereof, let this supply the room.
Measure for measure must be answered.

EDWARD.
Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours;
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.

[Soldiers bring the body forward.]

WARWICK.
I think his understanding is bereft.--
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?--
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
And he nor sees nor hears us, what we say.

RICHARD.
O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth;
'T is but his policy to counterfeit,
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
Which in the time of death he gave our father.

GEORGE.
If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.

RICHARD.
Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.

EDWARD.
Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. 

WARWICK.
Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.

GEORGE.
While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.

RICHARD.
Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.

EDWARD.
Thou pitiedst Rutland, I will pity thee.

GEORGE.
Where's Captain Margaret to fence you now?

WARWICK.
They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont.

RICHARD.
What! not an oath? nay then, the world goes hard
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.--
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 unstanched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

WARWICK.
Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head,
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 ask the Lady Bona for thy queen.
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together,
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatt'red foe that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.
First will I see the coronation,
And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.

EDWARD.
Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;
For in thy shoulder do I build my seat,
And never will I undertake the thing
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.--
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloster;--
And George, of Clarence.--Warwick, as ourself,
Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.

RICHARD.
Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloster,
For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.

WARWICK.
Tut! that's a foolish observation;
Richard, be Duke of Gloster. Now to London,
To see these honours in possession.

[Exeunt.]



ACT III.

SCENE I. A Forest in the North of England.

[Enter two Keepers, with crossbows in their hands.]

1 KEEPER.
Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves,
For through this laund anon the deer will come;
And in this covert will we make our stand,
Culling the principal of all the deer.

2 KEEPER.
I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.

1 KEEPER.
That cannot be; the noise of thy crossbow
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 befell me on a day
In this self place where now we mean to stand.

2 KEEPER.
Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past.

[Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a prayer-book.]

KING HENRY.
From Scotland am I stolen, even of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No, Harry, Harry, 't is 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 Caesar 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 KEEPER.
Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee.
This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.

KING HENRY.
Let me embrace thee, sour adversity;
For wise men say it is the wisest course.

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

1 KEEPER.
Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.

KING HENRY.
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 batt'ry 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 't will be! and thou, poor soul,
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn!

2 KEEPER.
Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings and queens?

KING HENRY.
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 KEEPER.
Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

KING HENRY.
Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

2 KEEPER.
But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?

KING HENRY.
My crown is in my heart, not on my head,
Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones,
Not to be seen; my crown is call'd content,
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

2 KEEPER.
Well, if you be a king crown'd with content,
Your crown content and you must be contented
To go along with us; for, as we think,
You are the king King Edward hath depos'd,
And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance,
Will apprehend you as his enemy.

KING HENRY.
But did you never swear, and break an oath?

2 KEEPER.
No, never such an oath; nor will not now.

KING HENRY.
Where did you dwell when I was King of England? 

2 KEEPER.
Here in this country, where we now remain.

KING HENRY.
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 KEEPER.
No;
For we were subjects but while you were king.

KING HENRY.
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 KEEPER.
We are true subjects to the king,--King Edward. 

KING HENRY.
So would you be again to Henry
If he were seated as King Edward is.

1 KEEPER.
We charge you, in God's name and the king's
To go with us unto the officers.

KING HENRY.
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. The palace.

[Enter KING EDWARD, GLOSTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY.]

KING EDWARD.
Brother of Gloster, at Saint Alban's field
This lady's husband, Sir John 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.

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

KING EDWARD.
It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.

GLOSTER.
[Aside to Clarence.] Yea; is it so?
I see the lady hath a thing to grant
Before the king will grant her humble suit.

CLARENCE.
[Aside to Gloster.] He knows the game; 
  how true he keeps the wind!

GLOSTER.
[Aside to Clarence.] Silence!

KING EDWARD.
Widow, we will consider of your suit,
And come some other time to know our mind.

LADY GREY.
Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay;
May it please your highness to resolve me now,
And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me.

GLOSTER.
[Aside to Clarence.] Ay, widow? 
then I'll warrant you all your lands,
An if what pleases him shall pleasure you.
Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow.

CLARENCE.
[Aside to Gloster.] I fear her not, unless she chance
to fall.

GLOSTER.
[Aside to CLARENCE.] God forbid that, for he'll take
vantages.

KING EDWARD.
How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.

CLARENCE.
[Aside to Gloster.] I think he means to beg a child of
her.

GLOSTER.
[Aside to Clarence.] Nay, whip me then; he'll rather
give her two.

LADY GREY.
Three, my most gracious lord.

GLOSTER.
[Aside to Clarence.] You shall have four if you'll be
rul'd by him.

KING EDWARD.
'T were pity they should lose their father's lands.


LADY GREY.
Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.

KING EDWARD.
Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit.

GLOSTER.
[Aside to Clarence.] Ay, good leave have you; 
for you will have leave
Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.

[Gloster and Clarence stand apart.]

KING EDWARD.
Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?

LADY GREY.
Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.

KING EDWARD.
And would you not do much to do them good?

LADY GREY.
To do them good I would sustain some harm.

KING EDWARD.
Then get your husband's lands to do them good.

LADY GREY.
Therefore I came unto your majesty.

KING EDWARD.
I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.

LADY GREY.
So shall you bind me to your highness' service.

KING EDWARD.
What service wilt thou do me if I give them?

LADY GREY.
What you command that rests in me to do.

KING EDWARD.
But you will take exceptions to my boon.

LADY GREY.
No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.

KING EDWARD.
Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.

LADY GREY.
Why, then, I will do what your grace commands.

GLOSTER.
He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble.

CLARENCE.
As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt.

LADY GREY.
Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my task?

KING EDWARD.
An easy task; 't is but to love a king.

LADY GREY.
That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.

KING EDWARD.
Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.

LADY GREY.
I take my leave with many thousand thanks.

GLOSTER.
The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy.

KING EDWARD.
But stay thee; 't is the fruits of love I mean.

LADY GREY.
The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.

KING EDWARD.
Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.
What love, thinkst thou, I sue so much to get?

LADY GREY.
My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;
That love which virtue begs, and virtue grants.

KING EDWARD.
No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.

LADY GREY.
Why, then, you mean not as I thought you did.

KING EDWARD.
But now you partly may perceive my mind.

LADY GREY.
My mind will never grant what I perceive
Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright.

KING EDWARD.
To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. 

LADY GREY.
To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.

KING EDWARD.
Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.

LADY GREY.
Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower,
For by that loss I will not purchase them.

KING EDWARD.
Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.

LADY 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.

KING EDWARD.
Ay, if thou wilt say ay to my request.
No, if thou dost say no to my demand.

LADY GREY.
Then no, my lord. My suit is at an end.

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

CLARENCE.
He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.

KING EDWARD.
[Aside.] Her looks doth argue her replete with
modesty,
Her words doth 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?

LADY GREY.
'T is better said than done, my gracious lord;
I am a subject fit to jest withal,
But far unfit to be a sovereign.

KING EDWARD.
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.

LADY 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.

KING EDWARD.
You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen.

LADY GREY.
'T will grieve your grace my sons should call you
father.

KING EDWARD.
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, 't is a happy thing
To be the father unto many sons.
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.

GLOSTER.
The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.

CLARENCE.
When he was made a shriver, 't was for shift.

KING EDWARD.
Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. 

[Gloster and Clarence come forward.]

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

KING EDWARD.
You'd think it strange if I should marry her.

CLARENCE.
To whom, my lord?

KING EDWARD.
Why, Clarence, to myself.

GLOSTER.
That would be ten days' wonder, at the least.

CLARENCE.
That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.

GLOSTER.
By so much is the wonder in extremes.

KING EDWARD.
Well, jest on, brothers; I can tell you both,
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.

[Enter a Nobleman.]

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

KING EDWARD.
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 Nobleman.]

GLOSTER.
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 keeps 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, or 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, to account this world but hell
Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bear 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 murther 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 slyly than Ulysses could,
And like a Sinon take another Troy.
I can add colours to the chameleon,
Change shapes with Protheus for advantages,
And set the murtherous Machiavel to school.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. 

[Exit.]



SCENE III. France. The King's Palace.

[Flourish. Enter LEWIS, the French King, and LADY BONA, attended:
the King takes his state. Then enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE 
EDWARD, and the EARL OF OXFORD; LEWIS rising as she enters.]

KING LEWIS.
Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,
Sit down with us; it ill befits thy state
And birth that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit.

QUEEN MARGARET.
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.

KING LEWIS.
Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep
despair?

QUEEN MARGARET.
From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears
And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares. 

KING LEWIS.
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.

QUEEN MARGARET.
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.

KING LEWIS.
Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm
While we bethink a means to break it off.

QUEEN MARGARET.
The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.

KING LEWIS.
The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee.

QUEEN MARGARET.
O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow!--
And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow.

[Enter WARWICK, attended.]

KING LEWIS.
What's he approacheth boldly to our presence?

QUEEN MARGARET.
Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.

KING LEWIS.
Welcome, brave Warwick. What brings thee to France?

[He descends. Queen Margaret rises.]

QUEEN MARGARET.
Ay, now begins a second storm to rise,
For this is he that moves both wind and tide.

WARWICK.
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 amity
With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant
That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,
To England's king in lawful marriage.

QUEEN MARGARET.
[Aside.] If that go forward, Henry's hope is
done.

WARWICK.
[To BONA.] And, gracious madam, in our king's behalf,
I am commanded, with your leave and favour,
Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue
To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart,
Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears,
Hath plac'd thy beauty's image and thy virtue.

QUEEN MARGARET.
King Lewis,--and Lady Bona,--hear me speak
Before you answer Warwick. His demand
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,
But from deceit, bred by necessity;
For how can tyrants safely govern home
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?
To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice,--
That Henry liveth still; but were he dead,
Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son.
Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage
Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour;
For though usurpers sway the rule awhile,
Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.

WARWICK.
Injurious Margaret!

PRINCE.
And why not queen?

WARWICK.
Because thy father Henry did usurp,
And thou no more art prince than she is queen.

OXFORD.
Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt,
Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain;
And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,
Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest;
And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth,
Who by his prowess conquered all France.
From these our Henry lineally descends.

WARWICK.
Oxford, how haps it in this smooth discourse,
You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost
All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten?
Methinks these peers of France should smile at that.
But for the rest, you tell a pedigree
Of threescore and two years,--a silly time
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth.

OXFORD.
Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege,
Whom thou obeyedst thirty and six years,
And not bewray thy treason with a blush?

WARWICK.
Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right,
Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree?
For shame Leave Henry, and call Edward king.

OXFORD.
Call him my king by whose injurious doom
My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere,
Was done to death? and more than so, my father,
Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years,
When nature brought him to the door of death?
No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm,
This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.

WARWICK.
And I the house of York.

KING LEWIS.
Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford,
Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside
While I use further conference with Warwick.

QUEEN MARGARET.
Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him
not!

[They stand aloof.]

KING LEWIS.
Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience,
Is Edward your true king? for I were loath
To link with him that were not lawful chosen.

WARWICK.
Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.

KING LEWIS.
But is he gracious in the people's eye?

WARWICK.
The more that Henry was unfortunate.

LEWIS.
Then further, all dissembling set aside,
Tell me for truth the measure of his love
Unto our sister Bona.

WARWICK.
Such it seems
As may beseem a monarch like himself.
Myself have often heard him say and swear
That this his love was an eternal plant,
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground,
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun,
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,
Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.

LEWIS.
Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.

BONA.
Your grant or your denial shall be mine.
Yet I confess [to Warwick] that often ere this day,
When I have heard your king's desert recounted,
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.

KING LEWIS.
Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward's;
And now forthwith shall articles be drawn
Touching the jointure that your king must make,
Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd.--
Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness
That Bona shall be wife to the English king.

PRINCE.
To Edward, but not to the English king.

QUEEN MARGARET.
Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device
By this alliance to make void my suit.
Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend.

KING LEWIS.
And still is friend to him and Margaret;
But if your title to the crown be weak,
As may appear by Edward's good success,
Then 't is but reason that I be releas'd
From giving aid which late I promised.
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand
That your estate requires and mine can yield.

WARWICK.
Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease,
Where, having nothing, nothing can he lose.
And as for you yourself, our quondam queen,
You have a father able to maintain you,
And better 't were you troubled him than France.

QUEEN MARGARET.
Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick,
Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings!
I will not hence, till, with my talk and tears,
Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold
Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love;
For both of you are birds of selfsame feather.

[A horn sounded within.]

KING LEWIS.
Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.

[Enter the Post.]

POST.
My lord ambassador, these letters are for you.
Sent from your brother Marquess Montague.--
These from our king unto your majesty.--
And, madam, these for you, from whom I know not.

[They all read their letters.]

OXFORD.
I like it well that our fair queen and mistress
Smiles at her news while Warwick frowns at his.

PRINCE.
Nay, mark how Lewis stamps as he were nettled;
I hope all's for the best.

KING LEWIS.
Warwick, what are thy news?--and yours, fair queen?

QUEEN MARGARET.
Mine, such as fill my heart with unhop'd joys.

WARWICK.
Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent.

KING LEWIS.
What! has your king married the Lady Grey,
And now, to soothe your forgery and his,
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?
Is this the alliance that he seeks with France?
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?

QUEEN MARGARET.
I told your majesty as much before;

This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty.

WARWICK.
King Lewis, I here protest, in sight of heaven,
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss,
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's;
No more my king, for he dishonours me,
But most himself, if he could see his shame.
Did I forget that by the house of York
My father came untimely to his death?
Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece?
Did I impale him with the regal crown?
Did I put Henry from his native right?
And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame?
Shame on himself! for my desert is honour;
And to repair my honour lost for him,
I here renounce him and return to Henry.--
My noble queen, let former grudges pass,
And henceforth I am thy true servitor.
I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona,
And replant Henry in his former state.

QUEEN MARGARET.
Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to
love;
And I forgive and quite forget old faults,
And joy that thou becom'st King Henry's friend.

WARWICK.
So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,
That if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us
With some few bands of chosen soldiers,
I'll undertake to land them on our coast
And force the tyrant from his seat by war.
'T is not his new-made bride shall succour him;
And as for Clarence,--as my letters tell me,--
He's very likely now to fall from him,
For matching more for wanton lust than honour,
Or than for strength and safety of our country.

BONA.
Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd
But by thy help to this distressed queen?

QUEEN MARGARET.
Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?

BONA.
My quarrel and this English queen's are one.

WARWICK.
And mine, fair Lady Bona, joins with yours.

KING LEWIS.
And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's.
Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd
You shall have aid.

QUEEN MARGARET.
Let me give humble thanks for all at once.

KING LEWIS.
Then, England's messenger, return in post
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers
To revel it with him and his new bride.
Thou seest what's past; go fear thy king withal.

BONA.
Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.

QUEEN MARGARET.
Tell him my mourning weeds are laid aside,
And I am ready to put armour on.

WARWICK.
Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere 't be long.
There's thy reward; be gone.

[Exit Post.]

KING LEWIS.
But, Warwick,
Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men,
Shall cross the seas and bid false Edward battle;
And, as occasion serves, this noble queen
And prince shall follow with a fresh supply.
Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt:
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?

WARWICK.
This shall assure my constant loyalty,--
That if our queen and this young prince agree,
I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy
To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.

QUEEN MARGARET.
Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion.--
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous;
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick,
And with thy hand thy faith irrevocable
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.

PRINCE.
Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it;
And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand.

[He gives his hand to Warwick.]

KING LEWIS.
Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied,
And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high admiral,
Shall waft them over with our royal fleet.--
I long till Edward fall by war's mischance
For mocking marriage with a dame of France.

[Exeunt all but Warwick.]

WARWICK.
I came from Edward as ambassador,
But I return his sworn and mortal foe;
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,
But dreadful war shall answer his demand.
Had he none else to make a stale but me?
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.
I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown,
And I'll be chief to bring him down again;
Not that I pity Henry's misery,
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery.

[Exit.]



ACT IV.

SCENE I. London. The Palace

[Enter GLOSTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, and MONTAGUE.]

GLOSTER.
Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you
Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey?
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?

CLARENCE.
Alas! you know 't is far from hence to France;
How could he stay till Warwick made return?

SOMERSET.
My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the King.

[Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, attended; LADY GREY, as Queen; 
PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, HASTINGS, and others.]

GLOSTER.
And his well-chosen bride.

CLARENCE.
I mind to tell him plainly what I think.

KING EDWARD.
Now, brother Clarence, how like you our choice
That you stand pensive as half malcontent?

CLARENCE.
As well as Lewis of France, or the Earl of Warwick,
Which are so weak of courage and in judgment
That they'll take no offence at our abuse.

KING EDWARD.
Suppose they take offence without a cause,
They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward,
Your King and Warwick's, and must have my will.

GLOSTER.
And shall have your will, because our King;
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

KING EDWARD.
Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?

GLOSTER.
Not I.
No; God forbid that I should wish them sever'd
Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 't were pity
To sunder them that yoke so well together.

KING EDWARD.
Setting your scorns and your mislike aside,
Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey
Should not become my wife and England's queen.--
And you too, Somerset and Montague,
Speak freely what you think.

CLARENCE.
Then this is mine opinion,--that King Lewis
Becomes your enemy, for mocking him
About the marriage of the Lady Bona.

GLOSTER.
And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,
Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.

KING EDWARD.
What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd
By such invention as I can devise?

MONTAGUE.
Yet to have join'd with France in such alliance
Would more have strength'ned this our commonwealth
'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage.

HASTINGS.
Why, knows not Montague that of itself
England is safe if true within itself?

MONTAGUE.
But the safer when 't is back'd with France.

HASTINGS.
'T is better using France than trusting France.
Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas
Which he hath giv'n for fence impregnable,
And with their helps only defend ourselves;
In them and in ourselves our safety lies.

CLARENCE.
For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves
To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.

KING EDWARD.
Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant;
And for this once my will shall stand for law.

GLOSTER.
And yet, methinks, your grace hath not done well
To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales
Unto the brother of your loving bride.
She better would have fitted me or Clarence;
But in your bride you bury brotherhood.

CLARENCE.
Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir
Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son,
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.

KING EDWARD.
Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife
That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.

CLARENCE.
In choosing for yourself you show'd your judgment,
Which being shallow you shall give me leave
To play the broker in mine own behalf;
And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.

KING EDWARD.
Leave me or tarry, Edward will be king,
And not be tied unto his brother's will.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.
My lords, before it pleas'd his majesty
To raise my state to title of a queen,
Do me but right, and you must all confess
That I was not ignoble of descent,
And meaner than myself have had like fortune.
But as this title honours me and mine,
So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing,
Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.

KING EDWARD.
My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns.
What danger or what sorrow can befall thee
So long as Edward is thy constant friend
And their true sovereign, whom they must obey?
Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too,
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands;
Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe,
And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.

GLOSTER.
[Aside.] I hear, yet say not much, but think the more.

[Enter a Messenger.]

KING EDWARD.
Now, messenger, what letters or what news
From France?

MESSENGER.
My sovereign liege, no letters, and few words,
But such as I, without your special pardon,
Dare not relate.

KING EDWARD.
Go to, we pardon thee; therefore, in brief,
Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them.
What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters?

MESSENGER.
At my depart these were his very words:
'Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king,
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers
To revel it with him and his new bride.'

KING EDWARD.
Is Lewis so brave? belike he thinks me Henry.
But what said Lady Bona to my marriage?

MESSENGER.
These were her words, utt'red with mild disdain:
'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.'

KING EDWARD.
I blame not her, she could say little less,
She had the wrong; but what said Henry's queen?
For I have heard that she was there in place.

MESSENGER.
'Tell him' quoth she 'my mourning weeds are done,
And I am ready to put armour on.'

KING EDWARD.
Belike she minds to play the Amazon.
But what said Warwick to these injuries?

MESSENGER.
He, more incens'd against your majesty
Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words:
'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere 't be long.'

KING EDWARD.
Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?
Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd;
They shall have wars, and pay for their presumption.
But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?

MESSENGER.
Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in
friendship
That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter.

CLARENCE.
Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger.
Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast,
For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter;
That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage
I may not prove inferior to yourself.--
You that love me and Warwick, follow me.

[Exit Clarence, and Somerset follows.]

GLOSTER.
[Aside.] Not I.
My thoughts aim at a further matter; I
Stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown.

KING EDWARD.
Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!
Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen,
And haste is needful in this desperate case.--
Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf
Go levy men and make prepare for war;
They are already, or quickly will be landed.
Myself in person will straight follow you.--

[Exeunt Pembroke and Stafford.]

But, ere I go, Hastings and Montague,
Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest,
Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance;
Tell me if you love Warwick more than me?
If it be so, then both depart to him.
I rather wish you foes than hollow friends;
But if you mind to hold your true obedience,
Give me assurance with some friendly vow,
That I may never have you in suspect.

MONTAGUE.
So God help Montague as he proves true!

HASTINGS.
And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause!

KING EDWARD.
Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?

GLOSTER.
Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.

KING EDWARD.
Why, so! then am I sure of victory.
Now, therefore, let us hence; and lose no hour
Till we meet Warwick with his foreign pow'r.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE II. A Plain in Warwickshire

[Enter WARWICK and OXFORD with French and other Forces.]

WARWICK.
Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;
The common people by numbers swarm to us.
But see where Somerset and Clarence comes!--

[Enter CLARENCE and SOMERSET.]

Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?

CLARENCE.
Fear not that, my lord.

WARWICK.
Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;--
And welcome, Somerset.--I hold it cowardice
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love;
Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother,
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings.
But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine.
And now what rests but, in night's coverture,
Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd,
His soldiers lurking in the towns about,
And but attended by a simple guard,
We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?
Our scouts have found the adventure very easy;
That as Ulysses and stout Diomede
With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents,
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,
So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,
At unawares may beat down Edward's guard,
And seize himself,--I say not slaughter him,
For I intend but only to surprise him.--
You that will follow me to this attempt,
Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.

[They all cry, 'Henry!']

Why then, let's on our way in silent sort;
For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George!

[Exeunt.]



SCENE III. Edward's Camp near Warwick.

[Enter certain Watchmen, to guard the KING'S tent.]

1 WATCHMAN.
Come on, my masters, each man take his stand;
The king by this is set him down to sleep.

2 WATCHMAN.
What, will he not to bed?

1 WATCHMAN.
Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow
Never to lie and take his natural rest
Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd.

2 WATCHMAN.
To-morrow, then, belike shall be the day,
If Warwick be so near as men report.