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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare The Third Part of King Henry the Sixth

November, 1997

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by William Shakespeare

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, etc.

SCENE: England and France

Alarum. Enter DUKE OF YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and soldiers, with white roses in their hats

Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and others, with red roses in their hats

Enter QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE OF WALES

Flourish. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and MONTAGUE

RICHARD. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. EDWARD. No, I can better play the orator. MONTAGUE. But I have reasons strong and forcible.

Enter the DUKE OF YORK

Enter a MESSENGER

But, stay. What news? Why com'st thou in such post? MESSENGER. The Queen with all the northern earls and lords Intend here to besiege you in your castle. She is hard by with twenty thousand men; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. YORK. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague shall post to London. Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we have left protectors of the King, With pow'rful policy strengthen themselves And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. MONTAGUE. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not. And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Exit

Enter SIR JOHN and SIR HUGH MORTIMER

YORK. Sir john and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles! You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the Queen mean to besiege us. SIR JOHN. She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field. YORK. What, with five thousand men? RICHARD. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. A woman's general; what should we fear? EDWARD. I hear their drums. Let's set our men in order, And issue forth and bid them battle straight. YORK. Five men to twenty! Though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one; Why should I not now have the like success? Exeunt

Alarum. Enter RUTLAND and his TUTOR

RUTLAND. Ah, whither shall I fly to scape their hands? Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!

Enter CLIFFORD and soldiers

Alarum. Enter the DUKE OF YORK

YORK. The army of the Queen hath got the field. My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind, Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves. My sons- God knows what hath bechanced them; But this I know- they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me, And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out.' And full as oft came Edward to my side With purple falchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encount'red him. And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried 'Charge, and give no foot of ground!' And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!' With this we charg'd again; but out alas! We bodg'd again; as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching waves. Ah, hark! The fatal followers do pursue, And I am faint and cannot fly their fury; And were I strong, I would not shun their fury. The sands are numb'red that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, the PRINCE OF WALES, and soldiers

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage; I am your butt, and I abide your shot. NORTHUMBERLAND. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. CLIFFORD. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm With downright payment show'd unto my father. Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. YORK. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all; And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? What! multitudes, and fear? CLIFFORD. So cowards fight when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. YORK. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'errun my former time; And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! CLIFFORD. I will not bandy with thee word for word, But buckler with thee blows, twice two for one. QUEEN MARGARET. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart. What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valour. CLIFFORD. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. NORTHUMBERLAND. So doth the cony struggle in the net. YORK. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. NORTHUMBERLAND. What would your Grace have done unto him now? QUEEN MARGARET. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What, was it you that would be England's king? Was't you that revell'd in our parliament And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now? The wanton Edward and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford with his rapier's point Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I prithee grieve to make me merry, York. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad; And I to make thee mad do mock thee thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; York cannot speak unless he wear a crown. A crown for York!-and, lords, bow low to him. Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on. Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, And this is he was his adopted heir. But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crown'd so soon and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink me, you should not be King Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath? O, 'tis a fault too too Off with the crown and with the crown his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. CLIFFORD. That is my office, for my father's sake. QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes. YORK. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph like an Amazonian trull Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! But that thy face is visard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But, God He knows, thy share thereof is small. 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd; The contrary doth make thee wond'red at. 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable. Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide! How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible: Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bid'st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish; Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will; For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies; And every drop cries vengeance for his death 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman. NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. YORK. That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood; But you are more inhuman, more inexorable- O, ten times more- than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears. This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this; And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!' There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse; And in thy need such comfort come to thee As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world; My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! NORTHUMBERLAND. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him, To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. QUEEN MARGARET. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. CLIFFORD. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. QUEEN MARGARET. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. YORK. Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. QUEEN MARGARET. Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. Flourish. Exeunt

A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power

EDWARD. I wonder how our princely father scap'd, Or whether he be scap'd away or no From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit. Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; Or had he scap'd, methinks we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my brother? Why is he so sad? RICHARD. I cannot joy until I be resolv'd Where our right valiant father is become. I saw him in the battle range about, And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. Methought he bore him in the thickest troop As doth a lion in a herd of neat; Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof and bark at him. So far'd our father with his enemies; So fled his enemies my warlike father. Methinks 'tis prize enough to be his son. See how the morning opes her golden gates And takes her farewell of the glorious sun. How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love! EDWARD. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? RICHARD. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow'd some league inviolable. Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. EDWARD. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think it cites us, brother, to the field, That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should notwithstanding join our lights together And overshine the earth, as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair shining suns. RICHARD. Nay, bear three daughters- by your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male.

Enter a MESSENGER, blowing

March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army

WARWICK. How now, fair lords! What fare? What news abroad? RICHARD. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news and at each word's deliverance Stab poinards in our flesh till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! EDWARD. O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. WARWICK. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss and his depart. I, then in London, keeper of the King, Muster'd my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as I thought, March'd toward Saint Albans to intercept the Queen, Bearing the King in my behalf along; For by my scouts I was advertised That she was coming with a full intent To dash our late decree in parliament Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. Short tale to make- we at Saint Albans met, Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought; But whether 'twas the coldness of the King, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen, Or whether 'twas report of her success, Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went: Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards, But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we in them no hope to win the day; So that we fled: the King unto the Queen; Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, In haste post-haste are come to join with you; For in the marches here we heard you were Making another head to fight again. EDWARD. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to England? WARWICK. Some six miles off the Duke is with the soldiers; And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. RICHARD. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled. Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. WARWICK. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Were he as famous and as bold in war As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. RICHARD. I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not. 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say 'Ay,' and to it, lords. WARWICK. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting Queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many moe proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting King like wax. He swore consent to your succession, His oath enrolled in the parliament; And now to London all the crew are gone To frustrate both his oath and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong. Now if the help of Norfolk and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, Via! to London will we march amain, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!' But never once again turn back and fly. RICHARD. Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak. Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day That cries 'Retire!' if Warwick bid him stay. EDWARD. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou fail'st- as God forbid the hour!- Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend. WARWICK. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York; The next degree is England's royal throne, For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along; And he that throws not up his cap for joy Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets and about our task. RICHARD. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it or to give thee mine. EDWARD. Then strike up drums. God and Saint George for us!

Enter a MESSENGER

WARWICK. How now! what news? MESSENGER. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me The Queen is coming with a puissant host, And craves your company for speedy counsel. WARWICK. Why, then it sorts; brave warriors, let's away. Exeunt

Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN MARGARET, the PRINCE OF WALES, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets

QUEEN MARGARET. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompass'd with your crown. Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? KING HENRY. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck- To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow. CLIFFORD. My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back, The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York did level at thy crown, Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows. He, but a Duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue like a loving sire: Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them- even with those wings Which sometime they have us'd with fearful flight- Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offering their own lives in their young's defence For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, And long hereafter say unto his child 'What my great-grandfather and grandsire got My careless father fondly gave away'? Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. KING HENRY. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear That things ill got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; And would my father had left me no more! For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession any jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! QUEEN MARGARET. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promis'd knighthood to our forward son: Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down. KING HENRY. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson: Draw thy sword in right. PRINCE OF WALES. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. CLIFFORD. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER. Royal commanders, be in readiness; For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York, And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him. Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. CLIFFORD. I would your Highness would depart the field: The Queen hath best success when you are absent. QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. KING HENRY. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. NORTHUMBERLAND. Be it with resolution, then, to fight. PRINCE OF WALES. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence. Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!'

March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and soldiers

EDWARD. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace And set thy diadem upon my head, Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? QUEEN MARGARET. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy. Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? EDWARD. I am his king, and he should bow his knee. I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You that are King, though he do wear the crown, Have caus'd him by new act of parliament To blot out me and put his own son in. CLIFFORD. And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son? RICHARD. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! CLIFFORD. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he, the proudest of thy sort. RICHARD. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? CLIFFORD. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. RICHARD. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. WARWICK. What say'st thou, Henry? Wilt thou yield the crown? QUEEN MARGARET. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick! Dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Albans last Your legs did better service than your hands. WARWICK. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. CLIFFORD. You said so much before, and yet you fled. WARWICK. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. NORTHUMBERLAND. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.

Alarum; excursions. Enter WARWICK

WARWICK. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe; For strokes receiv'd and many blows repaid Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.

Enter EDWARD, running

EDWARD. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death; For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. WARWICK. How now, my lord. What hap? What hope of good?

Enter GEORGE

GEORGE. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us. What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly? EDWARD. Bootless is flight: they follow us with wings; And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.

Enter RICHARD

RICHARD. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, 'Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my death.' So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. WARWICK. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood. I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage, And look upon, as if the tragedy Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above I'll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine Or fortune given me measure of revenge. EDWARD. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine, And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee, Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings, Beseeching Thee, if with Thy will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that Thy brazen gates of heaven may ope And give sweet passage to my sinful soul. Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. RICHARD. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms. I that did never weep now melt with woe That winter should cut off our spring-time so. WARWICK. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell. GEORGE. Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay, And call them pillars that will stand to us; And if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games. This may plant courage in their quailing breasts, For yet is hope of life and victory. Forslow no longer; make we hence amain. Exeunt

Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD

RICHARD. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone. Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. CLIFFORD. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone. This is the hand that stabbed thy father York; And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart that triumphs in their death And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother To execute the like upon thyself; And so, have at thee!

Enter WARWICK; CLIFFORD flies

RICHARD. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt

Alarum. Enter KING HENRY alone

KING HENRY. 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 selfsame 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 makes the hour full complete, How many hours brings 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 contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will can; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, 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 To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? O yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude: the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates- His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

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