Chapter 23
Part 23
YORK. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, And change misdoubt to resolution. Be that thou hop’st to be, or what thou art Resign to death; it is not worth th’ enjoying. Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man And find no harbour in a royal heart. Faster than springtime showers comes thought on thought, And not a thought but thinks on dignity. My brain, more busy than the labouring spider Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. Well, nobles, well, ’tis politicly done, To send me packing with an host of men; I fear me you but warm the starved snake, Who, cherished in your breasts, will sting your hearts. ’Twas men I lacked, and you will give them me; I take it kindly, yet be well assured You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands. Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, I will stir up in England some black storm Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell; And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage Until the golden circuit on my head, Like to the glorious sun’s transparent beams, Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. And for a minister of my intent, I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman, John Cade of Ashford, To make commotion, as full well he can, Under the title of John Mortimer. In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade Oppose himself against a troop of kerns, And fought so long till that his thighs with darts Were almost like a sharp-quilled porpentine; And in the end being rescued, I have seen Him caper upright like a wild Morisco, Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells. Full often, like a shag-haired crafty kern, Hath he conversed with the enemy, And undiscovered come to me again And given me notice of their villainies. This devil here shall be my substitute; For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble. By this I shall perceive the commons’ mind, How they affect the house and claim of York. Say he be taken, racked, and tortured, I know no pain they can inflict upon him Will make him say I moved him to those arms. Say that he thrive, as ’tis great like he will, Why then from Ireland come I with my strength And reap the harvest which that rascal sowed. For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, And Henry put apart, the next for me.
[_Exit._]
SCENE II. Bury St. Edmund’s. A Room of State
Enter two or three Murderers running over the stage, from the murder of Duke Humphrey.
1 MURDERER. Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know We have dispatched the Duke as he commanded.
2 MURDERER. O that it were to do! What have we done? Didst ever hear a man so penitent?
Enter Suffolk.
1 MURDERER. Here comes my lord.
SUFFOLK. Now, sirs, have you dispatched this thing?
1 MURDERER. Ay, my good lord, he’s dead.
SUFFOLK. Why, that’s well said. Go, get you to my house; I will reward you for this venturous deed. The King and all the peers are here at hand. Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well, According as I gave directions?
1 MURDERER. ’Tis, my good lord.
SUFFOLK. Away, be gone!
[_Exeunt Murderers._]
Sound trumpets. Enter the King, the Queen, Cardinal Beaufort, Somerset with attendants.
KING HENRY. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight; Say we intend to try his grace today If he be guilty, as ’tis published.
SUFFOLK. I’ll call him presently, my noble lord.
[_Exit._]
KING HENRY. Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all, Proceed no straiter ’gainst our uncle Gloucester Than from true evidence of good esteem He be approved in practice culpable.
QUEEN MARGARET. God forbid any malice should prevail That faultless may condemn a nobleman! Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!
KING HENRY. I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.
Enter Suffolk.
How now? Why look’st thou pale? Why tremblest thou? Where is our uncle? What’s the matter, Suffolk?
SUFFOLK. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.
QUEEN MARGARET. Marry, God forfend!
CARDINAL. God’s secret judgment! I did dream tonight The Duke was dumb and could not speak a word.
[_The King swoons._]
QUEEN MARGARET. How fares my lord? Help, lords! the King is dead.
SOMERSET. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.
QUEEN MARGARET. Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!
SUFFOLK. He doth revive again. Madam, be patient.
KING HENRY. O heavenly God!
QUEEN MARGARET. How fares my gracious lord?
SUFFOLK. Comfort, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, comfort!
KING HENRY. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me? Came he right now to sing a raven’s note, Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers, And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast, Can chase away the first-conceived sound? Hide not thy poison with such sugared words; Lay not thy hands on me. Forbear, I say! Their touch affrights me as a serpent’s sting. Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight! Upon thy eyeballs murderous tyranny Sits in grim majesty to fright the world. Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding. Yet do not go away; come, basilisk, And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight. For in the shade of death I shall find joy, In life but double death, now Gloucester’s dead.
QUEEN MARGARET. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus? Although the Duke was enemy to him, Yet he most Christian-like laments his death. And for myself, foe as he was to me, Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life, I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs, And all to have the noble Duke alive. What know I how the world may deem of me? For it is known we were but hollow friends. It may be judged I made the Duke away; So shall my name with slander’s tongue be wounded And princes’ courts be filled with my reproach. This get I by his death. Ay me, unhappy! To be a queen, and crowned with infamy!
KING HENRY. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!
QUEEN MARGARET. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is. What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face? I am no loathsome leper. Look on me. What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf? Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn Queen. Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester’s tomb? Why, then, Dame Margaret was ne’er thy joy. Erect his statue and worship it, And make my image but an alehouse sign. Was I for this nigh wracked upon the sea And twice by awkward wind from England’s bank Drove back again unto my native clime? What boded this, but well forewarning wind Did seem to say “Seek not a scorpion’s nest, Nor set no footing on this unkind shore?” What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts And he that loosed them forth their brazen caves And bid them blow towards England’s blessed shore Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? Yet Aeolus would not be a murderer, But left that hateful office unto thee. The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me, Knowing that thou wouldst have me drowned on shore With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness. The splitting rocks cowered in the sinking sands And would not dash me with their ragged sides, Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, Might in thy palace perish Margaret. As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs, When from thy shore the tempest beat us back, I stood upon the hatches in the storm, And when the dusky sky began to rob My earnest-gaping sight of thy land’s view, I took a costly jewel from my neck— A heart it was, bound in with diamonds— And threw it towards thy land. The sea received it, And so I wished thy body might my heart. And even with this I lost fair England’s view, And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart, And called them blind and dusky spectacles, For losing ken of Albion’s wished coast. How often have I tempted Suffolk’s tongue, The agent of thy foul inconstancy, To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did When he to madding Dido would unfold His father’s acts commenced in burning Troy! Am I not witched like her? Or thou not false like him? Ay me, I can no more! Die, Margaret, For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.
Noise within. Enter Warwick, Salisbury and many Commons.
WARWICK. It is reported, mighty sovereign, That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murdered By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort’s means. The commons, like an angry hive of bees That want their leader, scatter up and down And care not who they sting in his revenge. Myself have calmed their spleenful mutiny, Until they hear the order of his death.
KING HENRY. That he is dead, good Warwick, ’tis too true; But how he died God knows, not Henry. Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, And comment then upon his sudden death.
WARWICK. That shall I do, my liege.—Stay, Salisbury, With the rude multitude till I return.
[_Warwick exits through one door; Salisbury and Commons exit through another._]
KING HENRY. O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts, My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey’s life. If my suspect be false, forgive me, God, For judgment only doth belong to Thee. Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain Upon his face an ocean of salt tears, To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk, And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling; But all in vain are these mean obsequies. And to survey his dead and earthy image, What were it but to make my sorrow greater?
Enter Warwick and others, bearing Gloucester’s body on a bed.
WARWICK. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.
KING HENRY. That is to see how deep my grave is made, For with his soul fled all my worldly solace; For seeing him, I see my life in death.
WARWICK. As surely as my soul intends to live With that dread King that took our state upon Him To free us from His Father’s wrathful curse, I do believe that violent hands were laid Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.
SUFFOLK. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue! What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?
WARWICK. See how the blood is settled in his face. Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless, Being all descended to the labouring heart, Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, Attracts the same for aidance ’gainst the enemy, Which with the heart there cools and ne’er returneth To blush and beautify the cheek again. But see, his face is black and full of blood, His eyeballs further out than when he lived, Staring full ghastly like a strangled man; His hair upreared, his nostrils stretched with struggling, His hands abroad displayed, as one that grasped And tugged for life and was by strength subdued. Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking; His well-proportioned beard made rough and rugged, Like to the summer’s corn by tempest lodged. It cannot be but he was murdered here; The least of all these signs were probable.
SUFFOLK. Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to death? Myself and Beaufort had him in protection, And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.
WARWICK. But both of you were vowed Duke Humphrey’s foes, And you, forsooth, had the good Duke to keep. ’Tis like you would not feast him like a friend, And ’tis well seen he found an enemy.
QUEEN MARGARET. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen As guilty of Duke Humphrey’s timeless death.
WARWICK. Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, But will suspect ’twas he that made the slaughter? Who finds the partridge in the puttock’s nest But may imagine how the bird was dead, Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? Even so suspicious is this tragedy.
QUEEN MARGARET. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where’s your knife? Is Beaufort termed a kite? Where are his talons?
SUFFOLK. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men, But here’s a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart That slanders me with murder’s crimson badge. Say, if thou dar’st, proud Lord of Warwickshire, That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey’s death.
[_Exeunt Cardinal, Somerset and others._]
WARWICK. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?
QUEEN MARGARET. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.
WARWICK. Madam, be still, with reverence may I say; For every word you speak in his behalf Is slander to your royal dignity.
SUFFOLK. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour! If ever lady wronged her lord so much, Thy mother took into her blameful bed Some stern untutored churl, and noble stock Was graft with crab-tree slip, whose fruit thou art, And never of the Nevilles’ noble race.
WARWICK. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, And that my sovereign’s presence makes me mild, I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech And say it was thy mother that thou meant’st, That thou thyself wast born in bastardy; And after all this fearful homage done, Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell, Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men!
SUFFOLK. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood, If from this presence thou dar’st go with me.
WARWICK. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence. Unworthy though thou art, I’ll cope with thee And do some service to Duke Humphrey’s ghost.
[_Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick._]
KING HENRY. What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted? Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though locked up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
[_A noise within._]
QUEEN MARGARET. What noise is this?
Enter Suffolk and Warwick with their weapons drawn.
KING HENRY. Why, how now, lords? Your wrathful weapons drawn Here in our presence? Dare you be so bold? Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?
SUFFOLK. The traitorous Warwick with the men of Bury Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.
Enter Salisbury.
SALISBURY. [_To the Commons, entering_.] Sirs, stand apart; the King shall know your mind.— Dread lord, the commons send you word by me, Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death, Or banished fair England’s territories, They will by violence tear him from your palace And torture him with grievous lingering death. They say, by him the good Duke Humphrey died; They say, in him they fear your highness’ death; And mere instinct of love and loyalty, Free from a stubborn opposite intent, As being thought to contradict your liking, Makes them thus forward in his banishment. They say, in care of your most royal person, That if your highness should intend to sleep And charge that no man should disturb your rest, In pain of your dislike or pain of death, Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict, Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, That slyly glided towards your majesty, It were but necessary you were waked, Lest, being suffered in that harmful slumber, The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal. And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, That they will guard you, whe’er you will or no, From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is, With whose envenomed and fatal sting Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, They say, is shamefully bereft of life.
COMMONS. [_Within_.] An answer from the King, my Lord of Salisbury!
SUFFOLK. ’Tis like the commons, rude unpolished hinds, Could send such message to their sovereign. But you, my lord, were glad to be employed, To show how quaint an orator you are. But all the honour Salisbury hath won Is that he was the lord ambassador Sent from a sort of tinkers to the King.
COMMONS. [_Within_.] An answer from the King, or we will all break in!
KING HENRY. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me, I thank them for their tender loving care; And had I not been cited so by them, Yet did I purpose as they do entreat. For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy Mischance unto my state by Suffolk’s means. And therefore, by His majesty I swear, Whose far unworthy deputy I am, He shall not breathe infection in this air But three days longer, on the pain of death.
[_Exit Salisbury._]
QUEEN MARGARET. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!
KING HENRY. Ungentle Queen, to call him gentle Suffolk! No more, I say; if thou dost plead for him, Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. Had I but said, I would have kept my word; But when I swear, it is irrevocable. If, after three days’ space, thou here be’st found On any ground that I am ruler of, The world shall not be ransom for thy life. Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me; I have great matters to impart to thee.
[_Exeunt all but Queen and Suffolk._]
QUEEN MARGARET. Mischance and sorrow go along with you! Heart’s discontent and sour affliction Be playfellows to keep you company! There’s two of you; the devil make a third! And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!
SUFFOLK. Cease, gentle Queen, these execrations, And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.
QUEEN MARGARET. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch! Has thou not spirit to curse thine enemies?
SUFFOLK. A plague upon them! Wherefore should I curse them? Could curses kill, as doth the mandrake’s groan, I would invent as bitter searching terms, As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear, Delivered strongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many signs of deadly hate, As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave. My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words; Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint; Mine hair be fixed on end, as one distract; Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban; And even now my burdened heart would break Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink! Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste! Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress-trees! Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks; Their softest touch as smart as lizards’ stings! Their music frightful as the serpent’s hiss, And boding screech-owls make the consort full! All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell—
QUEEN MARGARET. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment’st thyself, And these dread curses, like the sun ’gainst glass, Or like an overcharged gun, recoil And turns the force of them upon thyself.
SUFFOLK. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? Now, by the ground that I am banished from, Well could I curse away a winter’s night, Though standing naked on a mountain top Where biting cold would never let grass grow, And think it but a minute spent in sport.
QUEEN MARGARET. O, let me entreat thee cease. Give me thy hand, That I may dew it with my mournful tears; Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place To wash away my woeful monuments. O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand, That thou mightst think upon these by the seal, Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for thee! So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; ’Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by, As one that surfeits thinking on a want. I will repeal thee, or, be well assured, Adventure to be banished myself; And banished I am, if but from thee. Go; speak not to me, even now be gone! O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemned Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves, Loather a hundred times to part than die. Yet now farewell, and farewell life with thee.
SUFFOLK. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, Once by the King, and three times thrice by thee. ’Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence. A wilderness is populous enough, So Suffolk had thy heavenly company; For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world; And where thou art not, desolation. I can no more. Live thou to joy thy life, Myself no joy in nought but that thou liv’st.
Enter Vaux.
QUEEN MARGARET. Whither goes Vaux so fast? What news, I prithee?
VAUX. To signify unto his majesty That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death; For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, That makes him gasp and stare and catch the air, Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth. Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey’s ghost Were by his side; sometime he calls the King And whispers to his pillow, as to him, The secrets of his overcharged soul. And I am sent to tell his majesty That even now he cries aloud for him.
QUEEN MARGARET. Go tell this heavy message to the King.
[_Exit Vaux._]
Ay me! What is this world? What news are these! But wherefore grieve I at an hour’s poor loss, Omitting Suffolk’s exile, my soul’s treasure? Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, And with the southern clouds contend in tears, Theirs for the earth’s increase, mine for my sorrows’? Now get thee hence. The King, thou know’st, is coming; If thou be found by me thou art but dead.
SUFFOLK. If I depart from thee, I cannot live; And in thy sight to die, what were it else But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? Here could I breathe my soul into the air, As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe Dying with mother’s dug between its lips; Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth. So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul, Or I should breathe it so into thy body, And then it lived in sweet Elysium. To die by thee were but to die in jest; From thee to die were torture more than death. O, let me stay, befall what may befall!
QUEEN MARGARET. Away! Though parting be a fretful corrosive, It is applied to a deathful wound. To France, sweet Suffolk! Let me hear from thee, For whereso’er thou art in this world’s globe I’ll have an Iris that shall find thee out.
SUFFOLK. I go.
QUEEN MARGARET. And take my heart with thee.
SUFFOLK. A jewel, locked into the woefull’st cask That ever did contain a thing of worth. Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we. This way fall I to death.
QUEEN MARGARET. This way for me.
[_Exeunt severally._]
SCENE III. A Bedchamber
Enter the King, Salisbury and Warwick, to the Cardinal in bed.
KING HENRY. How fares my lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.
CARDINAL. If thou be’st Death, I’ll give thee England’s treasure, Enough to purchase such another island, So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain.
KING HENRY. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life Where death’s approach is seen so terrible!
WARWICK. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
CARDINAL. Bring me unto my trial when you will. Died he not in his bed? Where should he die? Can I make men live, whe’er they will or no? O, torture me no more! I will confess. Alive again? Then show me where he is. I’ll give a thousand pound to look upon him. He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. Comb down his hair; look, look, it stands upright, Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul. Give me some drink, and bid the apothecary Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
KING HENRY. O Thou eternal mover of the heavens, Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! O, beat away the busy meddling fiend That lays strong siege unto this wretch’s soul, And from his bosom purge this black despair!
WARWICK. See how the pangs of death do make him grin!
SALISBURY. Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.
KING HENRY. Peace to his soul, if God’s good pleasure be! Lord Cardinal, if thou think’st on heaven’s bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. He dies and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!
WARWICK. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
KING HENRY. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close, And let us all to meditation.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT IV
SCENE I. The Coast of Kent
Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a Lieutenant, Suffolk, disguised, a prisoner. The Master, a Master’s Mate, Walter Whitmore, and prisoners.
LIEUTENANT. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea; And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades That drag the tragic melancholy night, Who, with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings Clip dead men’s graves and from their misty jaws Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize; For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore. Master, this prisoner freely give I thee, And thou that art his mate, make boot of this; The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.
1 GENTLEMAN. What is my ransom, master? Let me know.
MASTER. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
MATE. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
LIEUTENANT. What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns, And bear the name and port of gentlemen? Cut both the villains’ throats—for die you shall. The lives of those which we have lost in fight Be counterpoised with such a petty sum!
1 GENTLEMAN. I’ll give it, sir, and therefore spare my life.
2 GENTLEMAN. And so will I, and write home for it straight.
WHITMORE. [_To Suffolk_.] I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, And therefore to revenge it shalt thou die; And so should these, if I might have my will.
LIEUTENANT. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.
SUFFOLK. Look on my George; I am a gentleman. Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.
WHITMORE. And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore. How now! Why starts thou? What, doth death affright?
SUFFOLK. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death. A cunning man did calculate my birth And told me that by water I should die. Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded; Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded.
WHITMORE. Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not. Never yet did base dishonour blur our name But with our sword we wiped away the blot. Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced, And I proclaimed a coward through the world!
SUFFOLK. Stay, Whitmore, for thy prisoner is a prince, The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.
WHITMORE. The Duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags?
SUFFOLK. Ay, but these rags are no part of the Duke. Jove sometime went disguised, and why not I?
LIEUTENANT. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.
SUFFOLK. Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry’s blood, The honourable blood of Lancaster, Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. Hast thou not kissed thy hand and held my stirrup? Bareheaded plodded by my foot-cloth mule, And thought thee happy when I shook my head? How often hast thou waited at my cup, Fed from my trencher, kneeled down at the board, When I have feasted with Queen Margaret? Remember it, and let it make thee crestfallen, Ay, and allay thus thy abortive pride. How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood And duly waited for my coming forth? This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.
WHITMORE. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?
LIEUTENANT. First let my words stab him, as he hath me.
SUFFOLK. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou.
LIEUTENANT. Convey him hence, and on our longboat’s side Strike off his head.
SUFFOLK. Thou dar’st not, for thy own.
LIEUTENANT. Yes, poll!
SUFFOLK. Pole!
LIEUTENANT. Pool! Sir Pool! Lord! Ay, kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt Troubles the silver spring where England drinks; Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth For swallowing the treasure of the realm. Thy lips that kissed the Queen shall sweep the ground; And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey’s death Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again. And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, For daring to affy a mighty lord Unto the daughter of a worthless king, Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. By devilish policy art thou grown great And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged With gobbets of thy mother’s bleeding heart. By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France, The false revolting Normans thorough thee Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts, And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. The princely Warwick, and the Nevilles all, Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, As hating thee are rising up in arms. And now the house of York, thrust from the crown By shameful murder of a guiltless king And lofty, proud, encroaching tyranny, Burns with revenging fire, whose hopeful colours Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine, Under the which is writ “_Invitis nubibus_.” The commons here in Kent are up in arms; And, to conclude, reproach and beggary Is crept into the palace of our King, And all by thee.—Away! Convey him hence.
SUFFOLK. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! Small things make base men proud. This villain here, Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. Drones suck not eagles’ blood but rob beehives. It is impossible that I should die By such a lowly vassal as thyself. Thy words move rage and not remorse in me. I go of message from the Queen to France; I charge thee waft me safely ’cross the Channel.
LIEUTENANT. Walter.
WHITMORE. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.
SUFFOLK. _Pene gelidus timor occupat artus_. It is thee I fear.
WHITMORE. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee. What, are ye daunted now? Now will ye stoop?
1 GENTLEMAN. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.
SUFFOLK. Suffolk’s imperial tongue is stern and rough, Used to command, untaught to plead for favour. Far be it we should honour such as these With humble suit. No, rather let my head Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any Save to the God of heaven and to my King; And sooner dance upon a bloody pole Than stand uncovered to the vulgar groom. True nobility is exempt from fear; More can I bear than you dare execute.
LIEUTENANT. Hale him away, and let him talk no more.
SUFFOLK. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, That this my death may never be forgot! Great men oft die by vile Bezonians. A Roman sworder and banditto slave Murdered sweet Tully; Brutus’ bastard hand Stabbed Julius Caesar; savage islanders Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.
[_Exeunt Whitmore and others with Suffolk._]
LIEUTENANT. And as for these whose ransom we have set, It is our pleasure one of them depart. Therefore come you with us, and let him go.
[_Exeunt all but the 1 Gentleman._]
Enter Whitmore with Suffolk’s body and head.
WHITMORE. There let his head and lifeless body lie, Until the Queen his mistress bury it.
[_Exit._]
1 GENTLEMAN. O barbarous and bloody spectacle! His body will I bear unto the King. If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; So will the Queen, that living held him dear.
[_Exit with the body._]
SCENE II. Blackheath
Enter George Bevis and John Holland.
BEVIS. Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have been up these two days.
HOLLAND. They have the more need to sleep now, then.
BEVIS. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.
HOLLAND. So he had need, for ’tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up.
BEVIS. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen.
HOLLAND. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.
BEVIS. Nay, more, the King’s Council are no good workmen.
HOLLAND. True; and yet it is said, “Labour in thy vocation,” which is as much to say as, “Let the magistrates be labouring men;” and therefore should we be magistrates.
BEVIS. Thou hast hit it; for there’s no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand.
HOLLAND. I see them! I see them! There’s Best’s son, the tanner of Wingham.
BEVIS. He shall have the skin of our enemies, to make dog’s leather of.
HOLLAND. And Dick the butcher.
BEVIS. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity’s throat cut like a calf.
HOLLAND. And Smith the weaver.
BEVIS. Argo, their thread of life is spun.
HOLLAND. Come, come, let’s fall in with them.
Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the Butcher, Smith the Weaver and a Sawyer with infinite numbers carrying long staves.
CADE. We, John Cade, so termed of our supposed father—
DICK. [_Aside_.] Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings.
CADE. For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with the spirit of putting down kings and princes. Command silence.
DICK. Silence!
CADE. My father was a Mortimer—
DICK. [_Aside_.] He was an honest man and a good bricklayer.
CADE. My mother a Plantagenet—
DICK. [_Aside_.] I knew her well; she was a midwife.
CADE. My wife descended of the Lacies—
DICK. [_Aside_.] She was indeed a pedler’s daughter, and sold many laces.
SMITH. [_Aside_.] But now of late, not able to travel with her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home.
CADE. Therefore am I of an honourable house.
DICK. [_Aside_.] Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable; and there was he born, under a hedge, for his father had never a house but the cage.
CADE. Valiant I am.
SMITH. [_Aside_.] He must needs; for beggary is valiant.
CADE. I am able to endure much.
DICK. [_Aside_.] No question of that; for I have seen him whipped three market-days together.
CADE. I fear neither sword nor fire.
SMITH. [_Aside_.] He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of proof.
DICK. [_Aside_.] But methinks he should stand in fear of fire, being burnt i’ th’ hand for stealing of sheep.
CADE. Be brave, then, for your captain is brave, and vows reformation. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny; the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops, and I will make it felony to drink small beer. All the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And when I am king, as king I will be—
ALL. God save your majesty!
CADE. I thank you, good people.—There shall be no money; all shall eat and drink on my score, and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree like brothers and worship me their lord.
DICK. The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.
CADE. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment; that parchment, being scribbled o’er, should undo a man? Some say the bee stings, but I say ’tis the bee’s wax; for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now? Who’s there?
Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chartham.
SMITH. The clerk of Chartham. He can write and read and cast account.
CADE. O, monstrous!
SMITH. We took him setting of boys’ copies.
CADE. Here’s a villain!
SMITH. H’as a book in his pocket with red letters in ’t.
CADE. Nay, then, he is a conjurer.
DICK. Nay, he can make obligations and write court-hand.
CADE. I am sorry for ’t. The man is a proper man, of mine honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die.—Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee. What is thy name?
CLERK. Emmanuel.
DICK. They use to write it on the top of letters. ’Twill go hard with you.
CADE. Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name? Or hast thou a mark to thyself, like a honest, plain-dealing man?
CLERK. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up that I can write my name.
ALL. He hath confessed. Away with him! He’s a villain and a traitor.
CADE. Away with him, I say! Hang him with his pen and inkhorn about his neck.
[_Exit one with the Clerk._]
Enter Michael.
MICHAEL. Where’s our general?
CADE. Here I am, thou particular fellow.
MICHAEL. Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are hard by, with the King’s forces.
CADE. Stand, villain, stand, or I’ll fell thee down. He shall be encountered with a man as good as himself. He is but a knight, is he?
MICHAEL. No.
CADE. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently. [_Kneels_.] Rise up Sir John Mortimer. [_Rises_.] Now have at him!
Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford and his Brother with Drum and soldiers.
STAFFORD. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, Marked for the gallows, lay your weapons down; Home to your cottages, forsake this groom. The King is merciful, if you revolt.
BROTHER. But angry, wrathful, and inclined to blood, If you go forward. Therefore yield, or die.
CADE. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not. It is to you, good people, that I speak, Over whom, in time to come, I hope to reign, For I am rightful heir unto the crown.
STAFFORD. Villain, thy father was a plasterer, And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not?
CADE. And Adam was a gardener.
BROTHER. And what of that?
CADE. Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, Married the Duke of Clarence’ daughter, did he not?
STAFFORD. Ay, sir.
CADE. By her he had two children at one birth.
BROTHER. That’s false.
CADE. Ay, there’s the question; but I say ’tis true. The elder of them, being put to nurse, Was by a beggar-woman stolen away, And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, Became a bricklayer when he came to age. His son am I; deny it if you can.
DICK. Nay, ’tis too true; therefore he shall be King.
SMITH. Sir, he made a chimney in my father’s house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it; therefore deny it not.
STAFFORD. And will you credit this base drudge’s words, That speaks he knows not what?
ALL. Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone.
BROTHER. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught you this.
CADE. [_Aside_.] He lies, for I invented it myself.—Go to, sirrah, tell the King from me that, for his father’s sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns, I am content he shall reign, but I’ll be Protector over him.
DICK. And furthermore, we’ll have the Lord Saye’s head for selling the dukedom of Maine.
CADE. And good reason, for thereby is England mained and fain to go with a staff, but that my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you that that Lord Saye hath gelded the commonwealth and made it an eunuch; and more than that, he can speak French, and therefore he is a traitor.
STAFFORD. O gross and miserable ignorance!
CADE. Nay, answer if you can. The Frenchmen are our enemies; go to, then, I ask but this: can he that speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good counsellor, or no?
ALL. No, no, and therefore we’ll have his head.
BROTHER. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail, Assail them with the army of the King.
STAFFORD. Herald, away, and throughout every town Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade; That those which fly before the battle ends May, even in their wives’ and children’s sight, Be hanged up for example at their doors. And you that be the King’s friends, follow me.
[_Exeunt the two Staffords and soldiers._]
CADE. And you that love the commons follow me. Now show yourselves men; ’tis for liberty. We will not leave one lord, one gentleman; Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon, For they are thrifty honest men and such As would, but that they dare not, take our parts.
DICK. They are all in order and march toward us.
CADE. But then are we in order when we are most out of order. Come, march forward.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. Another part of Blackheath
[Alarums to the fight, wherein both the Staffords are slain. Enter Cade and the rest.
CADE. Where’s Dick, the butcher of Ashford?
DICK. Here, sir.
CADE. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behaved’st thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughterhouse. Therefore thus will I reward thee: the Lent shall be as long again as it is, and thou shalt have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking one.
DICK. I desire no more.
CADE. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. This monument of the victory will I bear. [_putting on Sir Humphrey’s brigandine_] And the bodies shall be dragged at my horse heels till I do come to London, where we will have the Mayor’s sword borne before us.
DICK. If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the gaols and let out the prisoners.
CADE. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let’s march towards London.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. London. The Palace
Enter the King with a supplication, and the Queen with Suffolk’s head, the Duke of Buckingham and the Lord Saye.
QUEEN MARGARET. [_Aside_.] Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind And makes it fearful and degenerate; Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep. But who can cease to weep and look on this? Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast; But where’s the body that I should embrace?
BUCKINGHAM. What answer makes your grace to the rebels’ supplication?
KING HENRY. I’ll send some holy bishop to entreat, For God forbid so many simple souls Should perish by the sword! And I myself, Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, Will parley with Jack Cade their general. But stay, I’ll read it over once again.
QUEEN MARGARET. [_Aside_.] Ah, barbarous villains! Hath this lovely face Ruled, like a wandering planet, over me, And could it not enforce them to relent That were unworthy to behold the same?
KING HENRY. Lord Saye, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head.
SAYE. Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his.
KING HENRY. How now, madam? Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk’s death? I fear me, love, if that I had been dead, Thou wouldst not have mourned so much for me.
QUEEN MARGARET. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee.
Enter a Messenger.
KING HENRY. How now, what news? Why com’st thou in such haste?
MESSENGER. The rebels are in Southwark; fly, my lord! Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer, Descended from the Duke of Clarence’ house, And calls your grace usurper openly, And vows to crown himself in Westminster. His army is a ragged multitude Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless. Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother’s death Hath given them heart and courage to proceed. All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, They call false caterpillars, and intend their death.
KING HENRY. O graceless men! They know not what they do.
BUCKINGHAM. My gracious lord, retire to Killingworth Until a power be raised to put them down.
QUEEN MARGARET. Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now alive, These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased!
KING HENRY. Lord Saye, the traitors hate thee; Therefore away with us to Killingworth.
SAYE. So might your grace’s person be in danger. The sight of me is odious in their eyes; And therefore in this city will I stay And live alone as secret as I may.
Enter another Messenger.
MESSENGER. Jack Cade hath gotten London Bridge; The citizens fly and forsake their houses. The rascal people, thirsting after prey, Join with the traitor, and they jointly swear To spoil the city and your royal court.
BUCKINGHAM. Then linger not, my lord; away, take horse!
KING HENRY. Come, Margaret. God, our hope, will succour us.
QUEEN MARGARET. [_Aside_.] My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceased.
KING HENRY. Farewell, my lord. Trust not the Kentish rebels.
BUCKINGHAM. Trust nobody, for fear you be betrayed.
SAYE. The trust I have is in mine innocence, And therefore am I bold and resolute.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE V. London. The Tower
Enter Lord Scales upon the Tower, walking. Then enter two or three Citizens below.
SCALES. How now? Is Jack Cade slain?
1 CITIZEN. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have won the Bridge, killing all those that withstand them. The Lord Mayor craves aid of your honour from the Tower to defend the city from the rebels.
SCALES. Such aid as I can spare you shall command, But I am troubled here with them myself; The rebels have assayed to win the Tower. But get you to Smithfield and gather head, And thither I will send you Matthew Gough. Fight for your king, your country, and your lives! And so farewell, for I must hence again.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE VI. London. Cannon Street
Enter Jack Cade and the rest, and strikes his staff on London Stone.
CADE. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting upon London Stone, I charge and command that, of the city’s cost, the Pissing Conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign. And now henceforward it shall be treason for any that calls me other than Lord Mortimer.
Enter a Soldier, running.
SOLDIER. Jack Cade! Jack Cade!
CADE. Knock him down there.
[_They kill him._]
DICK. If this fellow be wise, he’ll never call ye Jack Cade more. I think he hath a very fair warning. My lord, there’s an army gathered together in Smithfield.
CADE. Come then, let’s go fight with them. But first, go and set London Bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let’s away.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE VII. London. Smithfield
Alarums. Matthew Gough is slain, and all the rest. Then enter Jack Cade with his company.
CADE. So, sirs. Now go some and pull down the Savoy; others to th’ Inns of Court; down with them all.
DICK. I have a suit unto your lordship.
CADE. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word.
DICK. Only that the laws of England may come out of your mouth.
HOLLAND. [_Aside_.] Mass, ’twill be sore law, then; for he was thrust in the mouth with a spear, and ’tis not whole yet.
SMITH. [_Aside_.] Nay, John, it will be stinking law, for his breath stinks with eating toasted cheese.
CADE. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, burn all the records of the realm. My mouth shall be the parliament of England.
HOLLAND. [_Aside_.] Then we are like to have biting statutes, unless his teeth be pulled out.
CADE. And henceforward all things shall be in common.
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER. My lord, a prize, a prize! Here’s the Lord Saye, which sold the towns in France; he that made us pay one-and-twenty fifteens, and one shilling to the pound, the last subsidy.
Enter George Bevis with the Lord Saye.
CADE. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! Now art thou within point-blank of our jurisdiction regal. What canst thou answer to my majesty for giving up of Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu, the Dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these presence, even the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I am the besom that must sweep the court clean of such filth as thou art. Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used, and, contrary to the King, his crown, and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and a verb, and such abominable words as no Christian ear can endure to hear. Thou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before them about matters they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou hast put them in prison, and because they could not read, thou hast hanged them, when indeed only for that cause they have been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride on a foot-cloth, dost thou not?
SAYE. What of that?
CADE. Marry, thou ought’st not to let thy horse wear a cloak when honester men than thou go in their hose and doublets.
DICK. And work in their shirt too; as myself, for example, that am a butcher.
SAYE. You men of Kent—
DICK. What say you of Kent?
SAYE. Nothing but this; ’tis _bona terra, mala gens_.
CADE. Away with him, away with him! He speaks Latin.
SAYE. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will. Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ, Is termed the civil’st place of all this isle. Sweet is the country, because full of riches; The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy; Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy, Yet to recover them would lose my life. Justice with favour have I always done; Prayers and tears have moved me, gifts could never. When have I aught exacted at your hands Kent to maintain the King, the realm, and you? Large gifts have I bestowed on learned clerks, Because my book preferred me to the King. And seeing ignorance is the curse of God, Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, Unless you be possessed with devilish spirits, You cannot but forbear to murder me. This tongue hath parleyed unto foreign kings For your behoof—
CADE. Tut, when struck’st thou one blow in the field?
SAYE. Great men have reaching hands; oft have I struck Those that I never saw, and struck them dead.
GEORGE. O monstrous coward! What, to come behind folks?
SAYE. These cheeks are pale for watching for your good.
CADE. Give him a box o’ th’ ear, and that will make ’em red again.
SAYE. Long sitting to determine poor men’s causes Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.
CADE. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and the help of hatchet.
DICK. Why dost thou quiver, man?
SAYE. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.
CADE. Nay, he nods at us, as who should say, “I’ll be even with you.” I’ll see if his head will stand steadier on a pole or no. Take him away, and behead him.
SAYE. Tell me, wherein have I offended most? Have I affected wealth or honour? Speak. Are my chests filled up with extorted gold? Is my apparel sumptuous to behold? Whom have I injured, that ye seek my death? These hands are free from guiltless bloodshedding, This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts. O, let me live!
CADE. [_Aside_.] I feel remorse in myself with his words, but I’ll bridle it. He shall die, an it be but for pleading so well for his life. Away with him! He has a familiar under his tongue; he speaks not i’ God’s name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike off his head presently; and then break into his son-in-law’s house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them both upon two poles hither.
ALL. It shall be done.
SAYE. Ah, countrymen, if when you make your prayers, God should be so obdurate as yourselves, How would it fare with your departed souls? And therefore yet relent, and save my life.
CADE. Away with him! And do as I command ye.
[_Exeunt some with Lord Saye._]
The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head on his shoulders unless he pay me tribute; there shall not a maid be married but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere they have it. Men shall hold of me _in capite;_ and we charge and command that their wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue can tell.
DICK. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside and take up commodities upon our bills?
CADE. Marry, presently.
ALL. O, brave!
Enter one with the heads.
CADE. But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another, for they loved well when they were alive. Now part them again, lest they consult about the giving up of some more towns in France. Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until night; for with these borne before us instead of maces will we ride through the streets, and at every corner have them kiss. Away!
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE VIII. Southwark
Alarum and retreat. Enter Cade and all his rabblement.
CADE. Up Fish Street! Down Saint Magnus’ Corner! Kill and knock down! Throw them into Thames! [_Sound a parley_.] What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or parley when I command them kill?
Enter Buckingham and old Clifford attended.
BUCKINGHAM. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee. Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the King Unto the commons, whom thou hast misled, And here pronounce free pardon to them all That will forsake thee and go home in peace.
CLIFFORD. What say ye, countrymen? Will ye relent And yield to mercy whilst ’tis offered you, Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths? Who loves the King and will embrace his pardon, Fling up his cap, and say “God save his Majesty!” Who hateth him and honours not his father, Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake, Shake he his weapon at us and pass by.
ALL. God save the King! God save the King!
CADE. What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave? And you, base peasants, do ye believe him? Will you needs be hanged with your pardons about your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke through London gates, that you should leave me at the White Hart in Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out these arms till you had recovered your ancient freedom; but you are all recreants and dastards, and delight to live in slavery to the nobility. Let them break your backs with burdens, take your houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daughters before your faces. For me, I will make shift for one, and so God’s curse light upon you all!
ALL. We’ll follow Cade! We’ll follow Cade!
CLIFFORD. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth, That thus you do exclaim you’ll go with him? Will he conduct you through the heart of France And make the meanest of you earls and dukes? Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to, Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil, Unless by robbing of your friends and us. Were ’t not a shame that whilst you live at jar The fearful French, whom you late vanquished, Should make a start o’er seas and vanquish you? Methinks already in this civil broil I see them lording it in London streets, Crying “_Villiago!_” unto all they meet. Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman’s mercy. To France, to France, and get what you have lost! Spare England, for it is your native coast. Henry hath money, you are strong and manly; God on our side, doubt not of victory.
ALL. A Clifford! A Clifford! We’ll follow the King and Clifford.
CADE. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred mischiefs and makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay their heads together to surprise me. My sword make way for me, for here is no staying.—In despite of the devils and hell, have through the very middest of you! And heavens and honour be witness that no want of resolution in me, but only my followers’ base and ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to my heels.
[_Exit._]
BUCKINGHAM. What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him; And he that brings his head unto the King Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.
[_Exeunt some of them._]
Follow me, soldiers; we’ll devise a mean To reconcile you all unto the King.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IX. Kenilworth Castle
Sound trumpets. Enter King, Queen and Somerset on the terrace, aloft.
KING HENRY. Was ever king that joyed an earthly throne And could command no more content than I? No sooner was I crept out of my cradle But I was made a king at nine months old. Was never subject longed to be a king As I do long and wish to be a subject.
Enter Buckingham and old Clifford.
BUCKINGHAM. Health and glad tidings to your majesty!
KING HENRY. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade surprised? Or is he but retired to make him strong?
Enter below multitudes with halters about their necks.
CLIFFORD. He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield, And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, Expect your highness’ doom of life or death.
KING HENRY. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates To entertain my vows of thanks and praise! Soldiers, this day have you redeemed your lives And showed how well you love your prince and country. Continue still in this so good a mind, And Henry, though he be infortunate, Assure yourselves, will never be unkind. And so, with thanks and pardon to you all, I do dismiss you to your several countries.
ALL. God save the King! God save the King!
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER. Please it your grace to be advertised The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland, And with a puissant and a mighty power Of gallowglasses and stout kerns Is marching hitherward in proud array, And still proclaimeth, as he comes along, His arms are only to remove from thee The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor.
KING HENRY. Thus stands my state, ’twixt Cade and York distressed, Like to a ship that, having scaped a tempest, Is straightway calmed and boarded with a pirate. But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed, And now is York in arms to second him. I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him, And ask him what’s the reason of these arms. Tell him I’ll send Duke Edmund to the Tower.— And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither, Until his army be dismissed from him.
SOMERSET. My lord, I’ll yield myself to prison willingly, Or unto death, to do my country good.
KING HENRY. In any case, be not too rough in terms, For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language.
BUCKINGHAM. I will, my lord, and doubt not so to deal As all things shall redound unto your good.
KING HENRY. Come, wife, let’s in, and learn to govern better; For yet may England curse my wretched reign.
[_Flourish. Exeunt._]
SCENE X. Kent. Iden’s Garden
Enter Cade.
CADE. Fie on ambitions! Fie on myself, that have a sword and yet am ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods and durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now am I so hungry that if I might have a lease of my life for a thousand years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, o’er a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, to see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss to cool a man’s stomach this hot weather. And I think this word “sallet” was born to do me good; for many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan had been cleft with a brown bill; and many a time, when I have been dry and bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a quart pot to drink in; and now the word “sallet” must serve me to feed on.
Enter Iden and his men.
IDEN. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? This small inheritance my father left me Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy. I seek not to wax great by others’ waning, Or gather wealth, I care not with what envy; Sufficeth that I have maintains my state And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.
CADE. Here’s the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave.—Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me and get a thousand crowns of the King by carrying my head to him; but I’ll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.
IDEN. Why, rude companion, whatsoe’er thou be, I know thee not; why, then, should I betray thee? Is ’t not enough to break into my garden And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds, Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?
CADE. Brave thee? Ay, by the best blood that ever was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five days, yet come thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as a doornail, I pray God I may never eat grass more.
IDEN. Nay, it shall ne’er be said, while England stands, That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, Took odds to combat a poor famished man. Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, See if thou canst outface me with thy looks. Set limb to limb and thou art far the lesser; Thy hand is but a finger to my fist, Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon. My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast; And if mine arm be heaved in the air, Thy grave is digged already in the earth. As for words, whose greatness answers words, Let this my sword report what speech forbears.
CADE. By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I heard! Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on my knees thou mayst be turned to hobnails.
[_Here they fight and Cade falls._]
O, I am slain! Famine and no other hath slain me. Let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the ten meals I have lost, and I’d defy them all. Wither, garden; and be henceforth a burying place to all that do dwell in this house, because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.
IDEN. Is’t Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor? Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, And hang thee o’er my tomb when I am dead. Ne’er shall this blood be wiped from thy point, But thou shalt wear it as a herald’s coat To emblaze the honour that thy master got.
CADE. Iden, farewell, and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from me she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be cowards; for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour.
[_Dies._]
IDEN. How much thou wrong’st me, heaven be my judge. Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee! And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, And there cut off thy most ungracious head, Which I will bear in triumph to the King, Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon.
[_Exit._]
ACT V
SCENE I. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath
Enter York and his army of Irish, with drum and colours.
YORK. From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right And pluck the crown from feeble Henry’s head. Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright, To entertain great England’s lawful king. Ah, _sancta majestas_, who would not buy thee dear? Let them obey that knows not how to rule. This hand was made to handle nought but gold. I cannot give due action to my words Except a sword or sceptre balance it. A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul, On which I’ll toss the fleur-de-luce of France.
Enter Buckingham.
Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me? The King hath sent him, sure. I must dissemble.
BUCKINGHAM. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well.
YORK. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting. Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?
BUCKINGHAM. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege, To know the reason of these arms in peace; Or why thou, being a subject as I am, Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, Should raise so great a power without his leave, Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.
YORK. [_Aside_.] Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint, I am so angry at these abject terms; And now, like Ajax Telamonius, On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury. I am far better born than is the King, More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts. But I must make fair weather yet awhile, Till Henry be more weak and I more strong.— Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me, That I have given no answer all this while; My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. The cause why I have brought this army hither Is to remove proud Somerset from the King, Seditious to his grace and to the state.
BUCKINGHAM. That is too much presumption on thy part; But if thy arms be to no other end, The King hath yielded unto thy demand: The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.
YORK. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?
BUCKINGHAM. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.
YORK. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers. Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves; Meet me tomorrow in Saint George’s field, You shall have pay and everything you wish.
[_Exeunt Soldiers._]
And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons, As pledges of my fealty and love, I’ll send them all as willing as I live. Lands, goods, horse, armour, anything I have Is his to use, so Somerset may die.
BUCKINGHAM. York, I commend this kind submission. We twain will go into his highness’ tent.
Enter King and Attendants.
KING HENRY. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?
YORK. In all submission and humility York doth present himself unto your highness.
KING HENRY. Then what intends these forces thou dost bring?
YORK. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade, Who since I heard to be discomfited.
Enter Iden with Cade’s head.
IDEN. If one so rude and of so mean condition May pass into the presence of a king, Lo, I present your grace a traitor’s head, The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.
KING HENRY. The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou! O, let me view his visage, being dead, That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?
IDEN. I was, an ’t like your majesty.
KING HENRY. How art thou called? And what is thy degree?
IDEN. Alexander Iden, that’s my name; A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his King.
BUCKINGHAM. So please it you, my lord, ’twere not amiss He were created knight for his good service.
KING HENRY. Iden, kneel down. [_He kneels_.] Rise up a knight. We give thee for reward a thousand marks, And will that thou henceforth attend on us.
IDEN. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, And never live but true unto his liege!
[_Rises._]
Enter Queen and Somerset.
KING HENRY. See, Buckingham, Somerset comes with the Queen. Go, bid her hide him quickly from the Duke.
QUEEN MARGARET. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head, But boldly stand and front him to his face.
YORK. How now? Is Somerset at liberty? Then, York, unloose thy long-imprisoned thoughts, And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. Shall I endure the sight of Somerset? False king, why hast thou broken faith with me, Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? “King” did I call thee? No, thou art not king, Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, Which dar’st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. That head of thine doth not become a crown; Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer’s staff, And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. That gold must round engirt these brows of mine, Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles’ spear, Is able with the change to kill and cure. Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up And with the same to act controlling laws. Give place! By heaven, thou shalt rule no more O’er him whom heaven created for thy ruler.
SOMERSET. O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York, Of capital treason ’gainst the King and crown. Obey, audacious traitor, kneel for grace.
YORK. Wouldst have me kneel? First let me ask of these If they can brook I bow a knee to man. Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail.
[_Exit Attendant._]
I know, ere they will have me go to ward, They’ll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.
QUEEN MARGARET. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain, To say if that the bastard boys of York Shall be the surety for their traitor father.
[_Exit Buckingham._]
YORK. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, Outcast of Naples, England’s bloody scourge! The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, Shall be their father’s bail; and bane to those That for my surety will refuse the boys!
Enter Edward and Richard.
See where they come; I’ll warrant they’ll make it good.
Enter old Clifford and his Son.
QUEEN MARGARET. And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.
CLIFFORD. Health and all happiness to my lord the King.
[_Rises._]
YORK. I thank thee, Clifford. Say, what news with thee? Nay, do not fright us with an angry look. We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again. For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.
CLIFFORD. This is my king, York, I do not mistake; But thou mistakes me much to think I do. To Bedlam with him! Is the man grown mad?
KING HENRY. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour Makes him oppose himself against his king.
CLIFFORD. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower, And chop away that factious pate of his.
QUEEN MARGARET. He is arrested, but will not obey; His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.
YORK. Will you not, sons?
EDWARD. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.
RICHARD. And if words will not, then our weapons shall.
CLIFFORD. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!
YORK. Look in a glass, and call thy image so. I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, That with the very shaking of their chains They may astonish these fell-lurking curs. Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.
Enter the Earls of Warwick and Salisbury.
CLIFFORD. Are these thy bears? We’ll bait thy bears to death And manacle the bearherd in their chains, If thou dar’st bring them to the baiting-place.
RICHARD. Oft have I seen a hot o’erweening cur Run back and bite because he was withheld, Who, being suffered with the bear’s fell paw, Hath clapped his tail between his legs and cried; And such a piece of service will you do If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.
CLIFFORD. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!
YORK. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.
CLIFFORD. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.
KING HENRY. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow? Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair, Thou mad misleader of thy brainsick son! What, wilt thou on thy deathbed play the ruffian, And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty? If it be banished from the frosty head, Where shall it find a harbour in the earth? Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, And shame thine honourable age with blood? Why art thou old, and want’st experience? Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? For shame, in duty bend thy knee to me That bows unto the grave with mickle age.
SALISBURY. My lord, I have considered with myself The title of this most renowned duke, And in my conscience do repute his grace The rightful heir to England’s royal seat.
KING HENRY. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?
SALISBURY. I have.
KING HENRY. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?
SALISBURY. It is great sin to swear unto a sin, But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. Who can be bound by any solemn vow To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, To force a spotless virgin’s chastity, To reave the orphan of his patrimony, To wring the widow from her customed right, And have no other reason for this wrong But that he was bound by a solemn oath?
QUEEN MARGARET. A subtle traitor needs no sophister.
KING HENRY. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.
YORK. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, I am resolved for death or dignity.
CLIFFORD. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.
WARWICK. You were best to go to bed and dream again, To keep thee from the tempest of the field.
CLIFFORD. I am resolved to bear a greater storm Than any thou canst conjure up today; And that I’ll write upon thy burgonet, Might I but know thee by thy household badge.
WARWICK. Now, by my father’s badge, old Neville’s crest, The rampant bear chained to the ragged staff, This day I’ll wear aloft my burgonet, As on a mountain top the cedar shows That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm, Even to affright thee with the view thereof.
CLIFFORD. And from thy burgonet I’ll rend thy bear And tread it under foot with all contempt, Despite the bearherd that protects the bear.
YOUNG CLIFFORD. And so to arms, victorious father, To quell the rebels and their complices.
RICHARD. Fie, charity, for shame! Speak not in spite, For you shall sup with Jesu Christ tonight.
YOUNG CLIFFORD. Foul stigmatic, that’s more than thou canst tell.
RICHARD. If not in heaven, you’ll surely sup in hell.
[_Exeunt severally._]
SCENE II. Saint Albans
The sign of the Castle Inn is displayed. Alarums to the battle. Enter Warwick.
WARWICK. Clifford of Cumberland, ’tis Warwick calls; An if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum And dead men’s cries do fill the empty air, Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me! Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.
Enter York.
How now, my noble lord? What, all afoot?
YORK. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed, But match to match I have encountered him And made a prey for carrion kites and crows Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.
Enter old Clifford.
WARWICK. Of one or both of us the time is come.
YORK. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase, For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
WARWICK. Then, nobly, York; ’tis for a crown thou fight’st. As I intend, Clifford, to thrive today, It grieves my soul to leave thee unassailed.
[_Exit._]
CLIFFORD. What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause?
YORK. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
CLIFFORD. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem, But that ’tis shown ignobly and in treason.
YORK. So let it help me now against thy sword As I in justice and true right express it!
CLIFFORD. My soul and body on the action both!
YORK. A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.
[_They fight and Clifford falls._]
CLIFFORD. _La fin couronne les oeuvres._
[_Dies._]
YORK. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still. Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!
[_Exit._]
Enter young Clifford.
YOUNG CLIFFORD. Shame and confusion! All is on the rout, Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, Whom angry heavens do make their minister, Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly. He that is truly dedicate to war Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself Hath not essentially but by circumstance, The name of valour. [_Sees his dead father_.] O, let the vile world end And the premised flames of the last day Knit earth and heaven together! Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, Particularities and petty sounds To cease! Wast thou ordained, dear father, To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve The silver livery of advised age, And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight My heart is turned to stone, and while ’tis mine It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; No more will I their babes; tears virginal Shall be to me even as the dew to fire, And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. Henceforth I will not have to do with pity. Meet I an infant of the house of York, Into as many gobbets will I cut it As wild Medea young Absyrtus did. In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
[_He takes him up on his back._]
Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford’s house; As did Aeneas old Anchises bear, So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; But then Aeneas bare a living load, Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.
[_Exit, bearing off his father._]
Enter Richard and Somerset to fight. Somerset is killed.
RICHARD. So, lie thou there; For underneath an alehouse’ paltry sign, The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset Hath made the wizard famous in his death. Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still! Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.
[_Exit._]
Fight. Excursions. Enter King, Queen and others.
QUEEN MARGARET. Away, my lord! You are slow, for shame, away!
KING HENRY. Can we outrun the heavens? Good Margaret, stay.
QUEEN MARGARET. What are you made of? You’ll nor fight nor fly. Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence To give the enemy way, and to secure us By what we can, which can no more but fly.
[_Alarum afar off._]
If you be ta’en, we then should see the bottom Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape, As well we may, if not through your neglect, We shall to London get, where you are loved And where this breach now in our fortunes made May readily be stopped.
Enter young Clifford.
YOUNG CLIFFORD. But that my heart’s on future mischief set, I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly; But fly you must; uncurable discomfit Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. Away, for your relief! And we will live To see their day and them our fortune give. Away, my lord, away!
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. Fields near Saint Albans
Alarum. Retreat. Enter York, Richard, Warwick and Soldiers with drum and colours.
YORK. Of Salisbury, who can report of him, That winter lion, who in rage forgets Aged contusions and all brush of time, And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, Repairs him with occasion? This happy day Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, If Salisbury be lost.
RICHARD. My noble father, Three times today I holp him to his horse, Three times bestrid him; thrice I led him off, Persuaded him from any further act; But still, where danger was, still there I met him, And like rich hangings in a homely house, So was his will in his old feeble body. But, noble as he is, look where he comes.
Enter Salisbury.
Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought today.
SALISBURY. By th’ mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard. God knows how long it is I have to live, And it hath pleased him that three times today You have defended me from imminent death. Well, lords, we have not got that which we have; ’Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, Being opposites of such repairing nature.
YORK. I know our safety is to follow them; For, as I hear, the King is fled to London To call a present court of parliament. Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth. What says Lord Warwick? Shall we after them?
WARWICK. After them? Nay, before them, if we can. Now, by my hand, lords, ’twas a glorious day. Saint Albans battle won by famous York Shall be eternized in all age to come. Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all; And more such days as these to us befall!
[_Exeunt._]
THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH
Contents
ACT I Scene I. London. The Parliament House Scene II. Sandal Castle Scene III. Plains near Sandal Castle Scene IV. The Same
ACT II Scene I. A plain near Mortimer’s Cross in Herefordshire Scene II. Before York Scene III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire Scene IV. Another Part of the Field Scene V. Another Part of the Field Scene VI. Another Part of the Field
ACT III Scene I. A Forest in the North of England Scene II. The Palace Scene III. France. The King’s Palace
ACT IV Scene I. London. The Palace Scene II. A Plain in Warwickshire Scene III. Edward’s Camp near Warwick Scene IV. London. The Palace Scene V. A park near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire Scene VI. London. The Tower Scene VII. Before York Scene VIII. London. The Palace
ACT V Scene I. Coventry Scene II. A Field of Battle near Barnet Scene III. Another Part of the Field Scene IV. Plains near Tewkesbury Scene V. Another part of the Field Scene VI. London. The Tower Scene VII. London. The Palace
Dramatis Personæ
KING HENRY the Sixth QUEEN MARGARET PRINCE EDWARD, Prince of Wales, his son DUKE OF SOMERSET DUKE OF EXETER EARL OF OXFORD EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND EARL OF WESTMORELAND LORD CLIFFORD RICHARD PLANTAGENET, Duke of York EDWARD, Earl of March, afterwards King Edward IV., his son GEORGE, afterwards Duke of Clarence, his son RICHARD, afterwards Duke of Gloucester, his son EDMUND, Earl of Rutland, his son DUKE OF NORFOLK MARQUESS OF MONTAGUE EARL OF WARWICK EARL OF PEMBROKE LORD HASTINGS LORD STAFFORD SIR JOHN MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York SIR HUGH MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York LADY GREY, afterwards Queen Elizabeth to Edward IV EARL RIVERS, brother to Lady Grey HENRY, Earl of Richmond, a youth SIR WILLIAM STANLEY SIR JOHN MONTGOMERY SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE KING LEWIS the Eleventh, King of France BONA, sister to the French Queen Tutor to Rutland Mayor of York Lieutenant of the Tower A Nobleman Two Keepers A Huntsman A Son that has killed his father A Father that has killed his son
Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, etc.
SCENE: England and France
ACT I
SCENE I. London. The Parliament House
Alarum. Enter Duke of York, Edward, Richard, Norfolk, Montague, Warwick and Soldiers, all wearing the white rose.
WARWICK. I wonder how the King escaped our hands.
YORK. While we pursued the horsemen of the north, He slyly stole away and left his men; Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, Cheered up the drooping army; and himself, Lord Clifford, and Lord Stafford, all abreast, Charged our main battle’s front, and breaking in, Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.
EDWARD. Lord Stafford’s father, Duke of Buckingham, Is either slain or wounded dangerous; I cleft his beaver with a downright blow. That this is true, father, behold his blood.
[_Showing his bloody sword._]
MONTAGUE. And, brother, here’s the Earl of Wiltshire’s blood,