SCENE V.- Another Part of the Field.

Alarum. Enter KING HENRY.

K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's

war,

When dying clouds contend with growing light;
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind:

Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind:
Now, one the better; then, another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered :
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
'Would I were dead! if God's good will were so :
For what is in this world, but grief and woe?
O God! methinks it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run:
How many make the hour full complete,
How
many hours bring about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times:
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I cóntemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;
So many years ere I shall sheer the fleece;

So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Pass'd over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

Alarum.

Enter a Son that has killed his Father, dragging in the dead body.

Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits no-body. This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns: And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me, — Who's this? O God! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.

O heavy times, begetting such events!
From London by the king was I press'd forth;
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,
Have by my hands of life bereaved him.
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did!
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill.
K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity,
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee, tear for tear;
And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war,
Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with
grief.

Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with the body in his arms.

Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; For I have bought it with an hundred blows. But let me see: — is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son! Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart! O, pity, God, this miserable age! What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!

-

--

K. Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!

O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! →
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!

The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:
The one, his purple blood right well resemble:;
The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present:
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish !
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied?

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied?

K. Hen. How will the country, for these woful chances,

Misthink the king, and not be satisfied?

Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death?
Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son?

K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects' woe?

Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much. Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. [Exit, with the buty. Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding

sheet;

My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre ;
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,

Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
For I have murder'd where I should not kill.
[Exit, with the body.

K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,

Here sits a king more woful than you are.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET,
PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER.

Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,

And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain:

Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,

And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence remain.
Ere. Away for vengeance comes along with
them :

Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
Or else come after, I'll away before.

K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet
Exeter ;

Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the queen intends.

Forward; away! [Exeunt.

The same.

A loud Alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded. Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, Which, while 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, glew'd many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt. Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud 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 Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth : And Henry, had'st 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. Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids

Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.

Edw. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd.

Rich. 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 murdering knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
I mean, our princely father, duke of York.

War. 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.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,

That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
[Attendants bring the body forward
War. 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.

Rich. 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.
Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager
words.

Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to
York.

Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.
Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now?
War. They mock thee, Clifford! swear as thou

wast wont.

Rich. 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 unstaunched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.
War. 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 scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.
First, will I see the coronation;

And then to Britany I'll cross the sea,

To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be :
For on thy shoulder do I build my seat;
And never will I undertake the thing,

SCENE I. A Chace in the North of England. Enter Two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands. 1 Keep. 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.

2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. 1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy crossbow

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. 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past.

Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a prayer-book. K. Hen. 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 scepter wrung from thee,
Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed :
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar 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?

1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee:

This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities: For wise men say, it is the wisest course.

Heep. Why linger we let us lay hands upon him.

1 Keep. Forbear a while; we'll hear a little more. I. Hen. 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 pity'd much :
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The tiger will be mild, while 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.

2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings and queens?

K. Hen. 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?

2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is call'd, content; A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy.

2 Keep. 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.

K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an oath?

2 Keep. No, never such an oath; nor will not now. K. Hen. Where did you dwell, when I was king

of England?

2 Keep. Here in this country, where we now remain.

K. Hen. 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? 1 Keep. No;

For we were subjects, but while you were king.

K. Hen. Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a

man?

Ah, simple men, you know not what you swea".
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 broak 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.

1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king
Edward.

K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as king Edward is.

1 Keep. We charge you, in God's name, and in the king's,

To go with us unto the officers.

K. Hen. In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd:

And what God will, then let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. - London. A Rom in the Palace. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOSTER, CLARENCE, and Lady GREY.

K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans' field This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain, His lands 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.

Glo. Your highness shall do well, to grant her suit; It were dishonour, to deny it her.

K. Edw. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.
Glo. Yea! is it so?

I see, the lady hath a thing to grant,
Before the king will grant her humble suit.

Clar. He knows the game; How true he keeps
the wind!

Glo. Silence!

[Aside. Aside.

K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit;
And come some other time, to know our mind.
L. 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.

Glo. [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.
Clar. I fear her not, unless she chance to fall.

[Aside. Glo. God forbid that! for he'll take vantages. [Aside. K. Edw. How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.

Clar. I think, he means to beg a child of her.

L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. Glo. You shall have four, if you'll be rul'd by him. [Aside.

K. Edw. 'Twere pity, they should lose their father's land.

L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. K. Edw. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit.

Glo. Ay, good leave have you; for you will have leave,

Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. GLOSTER and CLARENCE retira to the other side.

L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some harm.

K. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.

L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. K. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' service.

K. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give them?

L. Grey. What you command, that rests in me to do.

K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon. L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.

L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace commands.

Glo. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. [Aside.

Clar. As red as fire! nay, then her wax must

my prayers;

That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants. K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.

L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.

K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my mind.

L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive

Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.

K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.

K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.

L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;

For by that loss I will not purchase them.

K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.

L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both the 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.

K. Edw. Ay; if thou wilt say ay, to my request:

No; if thou dost say no, to my demand.

L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.

Glo. The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. [Aside. [Aside.

Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.

K. Edw. [Aside.] Her looks do argue her replete with modesty ;

Her words do 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?
L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious
lord:

I am a subject fit to jest withal,
But far unfit to be a sovereign.

K. Edw. 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.

L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield

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 keep me froin 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, to account this world but hell,
Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears 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 while 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 cameleon ;
Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages,
And set the murd'rous Machiavel to school.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
Tut! were it further off, I'll pluck it down. [Erit