Shakespeare's First Folio Part 395

See who it is

Ed. And now the Battailes ended, If Friend or Foe, let him be gently vsed

Rich. Reuoke that doome of mercy, for 'tis Clifford, Who not contented that he lopp'd the Branch In hewing Rutland, when his leaues put forth, But set his murth'ring knife vnto the Roote, From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, I meane our Princely Father, Duke of Yorke

War. From off the gates of Yorke, fetch down y head, Your Fathers head, which Clifford placed there: In stead whereof, let this supply the roome, Measure for measure, must be answered

Ed. Bring forth that fatall Schreechowle to our house, That nothing sung but death, to vs and ours: Now death shall stop his dismall threatning sound, And his ill-boading tongue, no more shall speake

War. I thinke his vnderstanding is bereft: Speake Clifford, dost thou know who speakes to thee?

Darke cloudy death ore-shades his beames of life, And he nor sees, nor heares vs, what we say

Rich. O would he did, and so (perhaps) he doth, 'Tis but his policy to counterfet, Because he would auoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gaue our Father

Cla. If so thou think'st, Vex him with eager Words

Rich. Clifford, aske mercy, and obtaine no grace

Ed. Clifford, repent in bootlesse penitence

War. Clifford, deuise excuses for thy faults

Cla. While we deuise fell Tortures for thy faults

Rich. Thou didd'st loue Yorke, and I am son to Yorke

Edw. Thou pittied'st Rutland, I will pitty thee

Cla. Where's Captaine Margaret, to fence you now?

War. They mocke thee Clifford, Sweare as thou was't wont

Ric. What, not an Oath? Nay then the world go's hard When Clifford cannot spare his Friends an oath: I know by that he's dead, and by my Soule, If this right hand would buy two houres life, That I (in all despight) might rayle at him, This hand should chop it off: & with the issuing Blood Stifle the Villaine, whose vnstanched thirst Yorke, and yong Rutland could not satisfie War. I, but he's dead. Of with the Traitors head, And reare it in the place your Fathers stands.

And now to London with Triumphant march, There to be crowned Englands Royall King: From whence, shall Warwicke cut the Sea to France, And aske the Ladie Bona for thy Queene: So shalt thou sinow both these Lands together, And hauing France thy Friend, thou shalt not dread The scattred Foe, that hopes to rise againe: For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet looke to haue them buz to offend thine eares: First, will I see the Coronation, And then to Britanny Ile crosse the Sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my Lord

Ed. Euen as thou wilt sweet Warwicke, let it bee: For in thy shoulder do I builde my Seate; And neuer will I vndertake the thing Wherein thy counsaile and consent is wanting: Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, And George of Clarence; Warwicke as our Selfe, Shall do, and vndo as him pleaseth best

Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloster, For Glosters Dukedome is too ominous

War. Tut, that's a foolish obseruation: Richard, be Duke of Gloster: Now to London, To see these Honors in possession.

Exeunt.

Enter Sinklo, and Humfrey, with Crosse-bowes in their hands.

Sink. Vnder this thicke growne brake, wee'l shrowd our selues: For through this Laund anon the Deere will come, And in this couert will we make our Stand, Culling the princ.i.p.all of all the Deere

Hum. Ile stay aboue the hill, so both may shoot

Sink. That cannot be, the noise of thy Crosse-bow Will scarre the Heard, and so my shoot is lost: Heere stand we both, and ayme we at the best: And for the time shall not seeme tedious, Ile tell thee what befell me on a day, In this selfe-place, where now we meane to stand

Sink. Heere comes a man, let's stay till he be past: Enter the King with a Prayer booke.

Hen. From Scotland am I stolne euen of pure loue, To greet mine owne Land with my wishfull sight: No Harry, Harry, 'tis no Land of thine, Thy place is fill'd, thy Scepter wrung from thee, Thy Balme washt off, wherewith thou was Annointed: No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, No humble suters prease to speake for right: No, not a man comes for redresse of thee: For how can I helpe them, and not my selfe?

Sink. I, heere's a Deere, whose skin's a Keepers Fee: This is the quondam King; Let's seize vpon him

Hen. Let me embrace the sower Aduersaries, For Wise men say, it is the wisest course

Hum. Why linger we? Let vs lay hands vpon him

Sink. Forbeare a-while, wee'l heare a little more

Hen. My Queene and Son are gone to France for aid: And (as I heare) the great Commanding Warwicke I: thither gone, to craue the French Kings Sister To wife for Edward. If this newes be true, Poore Queene, and Sonne, your labour is but lost: For Warwicke is a subtle Orator: And Lewis a Prince soone wonne with mouing words: By this account then, Margaret may winne him, For she's a woman to be pittied much: Her sighes will make a batt'ry in his brest, Her teares will pierce into a Marble heart: The Tyger will be milde, whiles she doth mourne; And Nero will be tainted with remorse, To heare and see her plaints, her Brinish Teares.

I, but shee's come to begge, Warwicke to giue: Shee on his left side, crauing ayde for Henrie; He on his right, asking a wife for Edward.

Shee Weepes, and sayes, her Henry is depos'd: He Smiles, and sayes, his Edward is instaul'd; That she (poore Wretch) for greefe can speake no more: Whiles Warwicke tels his t.i.tle, smooths the Wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, And in conclusion winnes the King from her, With promise of his Sister, and what else, To strengthen and support King Edwards place.

O Margaret, thus 'twill be, and thou (poore soule) Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorne

Hum. Say, what art thou talk'st of Kings & Queens?

King. More then I seeme, and lesse then I was born to: A man at least, for lesse I should not be: And men may talke of Kings, and why not I?

Hum. I, but thou talk'st, as if thou wer't a King

King. Why so I am (in Minde) and that's enough

Hum. But if thou be a King, where is thy Crowne?

King. My Crowne is in my heart, not on my head: Not deck'd with Diamonds, and Indian stones: Nor to be seene: my Crowne, is call'd Content, A Crowne it is, that sildome Kings enioy

Hum. Well, if you be a King crown'd with Content, Your Crowne Content, and you, must be contented To go along with vs. For (as we thinke) You are the king King Edward hath depos'd: And we his subiects, sworne in all Allegeance, Will apprehend you, as his Enemie

King. But did you neuer sweare, and breake an Oath

Hum. No, neuer such an Oath, nor will not now

King. Where did you dwell when I was K[ing]. of England?

Hum. Heere in this Country, where we now remaine

King. I was annointed King at nine monthes old, My Father, and my Grandfather were Kings: And you were sworne true Subiects vnto me: And tell me then, haue you not broke your Oathes?

Sin. No, for we were Subiects, but while you wer king King. Why? Am I dead? Do I not breath a Man?

Ah simple men, you know not what you sweare: Looke, as I blow this Feather from my Face, And as the Ayre blowes it to me againe, Obeying with my winde when I do blow, And yeelding to another, when it blowes, Commanded alwayes by the greater gust: Such is the lightnesse of you, common men.

But do not breake your Oathes, for of that sinne, My milde intreatie shall not make you guiltie.

Go where you will, the king shall be commanded, And be you kings, command, and Ile obey

Sinklo. We are true Subiects to the king, King Edward

King. So would you be againe to Henrie, If he were seated as king Edward is

Sinklo. We charge you in G.o.ds name & the Kings, To go with vs vnto the Officers

King. In G.o.ds name lead, your Kings name be obeyd, And what G.o.d will, that let your King performe.

And what he will, I humbly yeeld vnto.