The Third Part of King Henry the Sixth

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 glu'd many friends to thee;
    And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts,
    Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud 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 stern the waves.
    But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
  WARWICK. No, 'tis 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]
  RICHARD. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?
    A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.
    See who it is.
  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
 

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 principal 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 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!
  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 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. London. The palace

Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY

 
  KING EDWARD. Brother of Gloucester, 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.
  GLOUCESTER. 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.
  GLOUCESTER. [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 GLOUCESTER] He knows the game; how true he
    keeps the wind!
  GLOUCESTER. [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.
  GLOUCESTER. [Aside] 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 GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she
chance
    to fall.
  GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that, for he'll take
    vantages.
  KING EDWARD. How many children hast thou, widow, tell me.
  CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child
of
    her.
  GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, then whip me; he'll rather
    give her two.
  LADY GREY. Three, my most gracious lord.
  GLOUCESTER. [Aside] You shall have four if you'll be rul'd by
him.
  KING EDWARD. 'Twere 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.
  GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have
      leave
    Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.
                              [GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE withdraw]
  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.
  GLOUCESTER. 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; 'tis 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.
  GLOUCESTER. The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy.
  KING EDWARD. But stay thee- 'tis 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.
  GLOUCESTER. 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. 'Tis 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. 'Twill 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, 'tis a happy thing
    To be the father unto many sons.
    Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.
  GLOUCESTER. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.
  CLARENCE. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shrift.
  KING EDWARD. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.
  GLOUCESTER. The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.
  KING EDWARD. You'd think it strange if I should marry her.
  CLARENCE. To who, my lord?
  KING EDWARD. Why, Clarence, to myself.
  GLOUCESTER. That would be ten days' wonder at the least.
  CLARENCE. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.
  GLOUCESTER. 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 all but GLOUCESTER
  GLOUCESTER. 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 t' account this world but hell,
    Until my misshap'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 rents 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 whiles 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 chameleon,
    Change shapes with Protheus for advantages,
    And set the murderous Machiavel to school.
    Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
    Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. Exit