The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 217

EDWARD. And now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used.

RICHARD. 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.

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 threat'ning sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.

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.

'Tis 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 pitied'st 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 Gloucester; And George, of Clarence; Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.

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

WARWICK. Tut, that's a foolish observation.

Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London To see these honours in possession. Exeunt

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ACT III. SCENE I.

A chase in the north of England

Enter two KEEPERS, with cross-bows in their hands

FIRST 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 princ.i.p.al of all the deer.

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

FIRST KEEPER. 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 befell me on a day In this self-place where now we mean to stand.

SECOND 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 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 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?

FIRST 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.

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

FIRST 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 t.i.tle, 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!

SECOND 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?

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

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

SECOND 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.

SECOND 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?

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

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

SECOND 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?

FIRST 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.

FIRST 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.

FIRST KEEPER. We charge you, in G.o.d's name and the King's, To go with us unto the officers.

KING HENRY. In G.o.d's name, lead; your King's name be obey'd; And what G.o.d will, that let your King perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. Exeunt

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SCENE II.

London. The palace