WARWICK    If thou deny130, their blood upon thy head,

  For York in justice puts his armour on.

  PRINCE EDWARD    If that be right which Warwick says is right,

  There is no wrong, but everything is right.

  RICHARD    Whoever got134 thee, there thy mother stands,

  For well I wot135, thou hast thy mother’s tongue.

  QUEEN MARGARET    But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam136,

  But like a foul misshapen stigmatic137,

  Marked by the destinies138 to be avoided,

  As venom139 toads or lizards’ dreadful stings.

  RICHARD    Iron of Naples140 hid with English gilt,

  Whose father bears the title of a king

  As if a channel142 should be called the sea

  Sham’st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught143,

  To let thy tongue detect144 thy base-born heart?

  EDWARD    A wisp of straw145 were worth a thousand crowns,

  To make this shameless callet146 know herself.

  Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,

  Although thy husband may be Menelaus;148

  And ne’er was Agamemnon’s brother149 wronged

  By that false woman, as this king by thee.

  His father revelled151 in the heart of France,

  And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop.

  And had he matched153 according to his state,

  He might have kept that glory to this day.

  But when he took a beggar to his bed,

  And graced thy poor sire with his156 bridal-day.

  Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him,

  That washed his father’s fortunes forth158 of France,

  And heaped sedition159 on his crown at home.

  For what hath broached160 this tumult but thy pride?

  Hadst thou been meek, our title still161 had slept,

  And we, in pity of the gentle king,

  Had slipped163 our claim until another age.

  GEORGE    But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,164

  And that thy summer bred us no increase165,

  We set the axe to thy usurping root.

  And though the edge hath something167 hit ourselves,

  Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,

  We’ll never leave till we have hewn thee down,

  Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.

  EDWARD    And in this resolution, I defy thee,

  Not willing any longer conference,

  Since thou denied’st173 the gentle king to speak.

  Sound trumpets, let our bloody colours wave,

  And either victory or else a grave!

  QUEEN MARGARET    Stay, Edward.

  EDWARD    No, wrangling woman, we’ll no longer stay.

  These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.

  Exeunt

  [Act 2 Scene 3]

  running scene 5 continues

  Alarum. Excursions. Enter Warwick

  WARWICK    Forspent1 with toil, as runners with a race,

  I lay me down a little while to breathe2,

  For strokes received, and many blows repaid

  Have robbed my strong-knit sinews of their strength,

  And spite of spite5 needs must I rest awhile.

  Enter Edward running

  EDWARD    Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death,

  For this world frowns, and Edward’s sun is clouded.

  WARWICK    How now, my lord, what hap8? What hope of good?

  Enter Clarence [George]

  GEORGE    Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair,

  Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.

  What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly?

  EDWARD    Bootless12 is flight, they follow us with wings,

  And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit.

  Enter Richard

  RICHARD    Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?

  Thy brother’s15 blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,

  Broached with the steely point of Clifford’s lance,

  And in the very pangs of death he cried,

  Like to a dismal clangour18 heard from far,

  ‘Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my death!’

  So, underneath the belly of their steeds,

  That stained their fetlocks21 in his smoking blood,

  The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

  WARWICK    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 upon27, as if the tragedy

  Were played in jest by counterfeiting28 actors?

  Kneels

  Here on my knee, I vow to God above,

  I’ll never pause again, never stand still,

  Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine

  Or fortune given me measure32 of revenge.

  EDWARD    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,

  I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee36,

  Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings,

  Beseeching thee, if with thy will it stands38

  That to my foes this body must be prey,

  Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope40,

  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.

  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 springtime 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 to51 us.

  And, if we thrive52, promise them such rewards

  As victors wear at the Olympian games53.

  This may plant courage in their quailing breasts,

  For yet is hope of life and victory.

  Forslow56 no longer, make we hence amain.

  Exeunt

  [Act 2 Scene 4]

  running scene 5 continues

  Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford

  RICHARD    Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone1.

  Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,

  And this for Rutland, both bound to revenge,

  Wert thou4 environed 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 thee11!

  They fight

  Warwick comes [and rescues Richard], Clifford flies

  RICHARD    Nay Warwick, single out some other chase12,

  For I myself will hunt this wolf to death.

  Exeunt

  [Act 2 Scene 5]

  running scene 5 continues

  Alarum. Enter King Henry alone

  KING HENRY VI    This battle fares like to the morning’s war,

  When dying clouds contend with growing light,

  What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,3

  Can neither call it perfect4 day nor night.

  Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea

  Forced by the tide to combat with the wind.

  Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea

  Forced to retire by fury of the wind.

  Sometime the flood9 prevails, and then the wind,

  Now one the better, then another best;

  Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,

  Yet neither conqueror nor conquerèd:

  So is the equal poise of this fell13 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 chid17 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 swain22,

  To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

  To carve out dials quaintly24, point by point,

  Thereby to see the minutes how they run:

  How many makes the hour full complete,

  How many hours brings about27 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 sport34 myself,

  So many days my ewes have been with young35,

  So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean36,

  So many years ere I shall shear the fleece.

  So minutes, hours, days, months and years,

  Passed over to the end they39 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 silly43 sheep,

  Than doth a rich embroidered canopy44

  To kings that fear their subjects’ treachery?

  O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.

  And to conclude, the shepherd’s homely curds47,

  His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,

  His wonted49 sleep under a fresh tree’s shade,

  All which secure50 and sweetly he enjoys,

  Is far beyond a prince’s delicates51,

  His viands52 sparkling in a golden cup,

  His body couchèd in a curious53 bed,

  When care, mistrust and treason waits on54 him.

  Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, at one door, and a Father that hath killed his son at another door [with their bodies]

  SON    Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.

  This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,

  May be possessèd with some store of crowns57,

  And I, that haply58 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 unwares62 have killed.

  O heavy63 times, begetting such events!

  From London by the king was I pressed64 forth.

  My father, being the Earl of Warwick’s man65,

  Came on the part66 of York, pressed by his master.

  And I, who at his hands received my life,

  Have by my hands of life bereavèd 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 flowed their fill.

  KING HENRY VI    O, piteous spectacle! O, bloody times!

  Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,

  Poor harmless lambs abide75 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’ercharged78 with grief.

  [The]. Father [steps forward], bearing of his Son

  FATHER    Thou that so stoutly79 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 up85 thine eye! See, see what showers arise,

  Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,

  Upon thy wounds, that kills mine eye and heart.

  O, pity, God, this miserable age!

  What stratagems89, how fell, how butcherly,

  Erroneous90, 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 late93!

  KING HENRY VI    Woe above woe! Grief more than common grief!

  O, that my death would stay these ruthful95 deeds!

  O, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!

  The red rose and the white are on his face97,

  The fatal colours of our striving houses:

  The one his purple99 blood right well resembles,

  The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth100.

  Wither one rose, and let the other flourish.

  If you contend102, a thousand lives must wither.

  SON    How will my mother for a father’s death

  Take on with104 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 VI    How will the country for these woeful chances107

  Misthink108 the king and not be satisfied!

  SON    Was ever son so rued109 a father’s death?

  FATHER    Was ever father so bemoaned his son?

  KING HENRY VI    Was ever king so grieved 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-sheet114,

  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 obsequious118 will thy father be,

  E’en for the loss of thee, having no more,

  As Priam was for all his valiant sons120.

  I’ll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,

  For I have murdered where I should not kill.

  Exit [with the body]

  KING HENRY VI    Sad-hearted men, much overgone123 with care,

  Here sits a king more woeful than you are.

  Alarums. Excursions. Enter the Queen, the Prince and Exeter

  PRINCE EDWARD    Fly, father, fly! For all your friends are fled,

  And Warwick rages like a chafèd126 bull:

  Away, for death doth hold us in pursuit.

  QUEEN MARGARET    Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick post amain128.

  Edward and Richard, like a brace129 of greyhounds

  Having the fearful flying hare in sight,

  With fiery eyes sparkling for very131 wrath,

  And bloody steel grasped in their ireful hands,

  Are at our backs, and therefore hence amain133.

  EXETER    Away, for vengeance comes along with them.

  Nay, stay not to expostulate135, make speed,

  Or else come after. I’ll away before.

  KING HENRY VI    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

  [Act 2 Scene 6]

  running scene 5 continues

  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 fear5 glued many friends to thee,

  And now I fall. Thy tough commixtures6 melts,

  Impairing Henry, strength’ning misproud7 York,

  The common people swarm like summer flies,

  And whither fly the gnats but to the sun9?

  And who shines now but Henry’s enemies?

  O Phoebus11, hadst thou never given consent

  That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds,

  Thy burning car never had scorched the earth!13

  And, Henry, hadst thou swayed14 as kings should do,

  Or as thy father and his father did,

  Giving no ground16 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 chair20 in peace.

  For what doth cherish21 weeds but gentle air?

  And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?

  Bootless are plaints23, and cureless are my wounds.