Read Ebook: The Third Part of King Henry the Sixth by Shakespeare William

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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.

Alarum. Enter a son that hath kill'd his Father, at one door; and a FATHER that hath kill'd his Son, at another door

SON. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. 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. KING HENRY. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whiles 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 FATHER, bearing of his SON

FATHER. Thou that so stoutly hath 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, no, it is mine only son! Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye! See, see what show'rs arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart Upon thy wounds, that kills 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! KING HENRY. 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 resembles; The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth. Wither one rose, and let the other flourish! If you contend, a thousand lives must perish. SON. How will my mother for a father's death Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied! FATHER. How will my wife for slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied! KING HENRY. How will the country for these woeful chances Misthink the King, and not be satisfied! SON. Was ever son so rued a father's death? FATHER. Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? KING HENRY. 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 body FATHER. 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, Even 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 murdered where I should not kill. Exit with the body KING HENRY. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woeful than you are.

Alarums, excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER

PRINCE OF WALES. Fly, father, fly; for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull. Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. QUEEN MARGARET. 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 amain. EXETER. Away! for vengeance comes along with them. Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed; Or else come after. I'll away before. KING HENRY. 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

A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded

CLIFFORD. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow More than my body's parting with my soul! My love and fear glu'd many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts, Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud York. The common people swarm like summer flies; And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? And who shines now but Henry's enemies? O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth! And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, Or as thy father and his father did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I and ten thousand in this luckless realm Had left no mourning widows for our death; And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds. No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight. The foe is merciless and will not pity; For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest; I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms: split my breast.

Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and soldiers

EDWARD. Now breathe we, lords. Good fortune bids us pause And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stern the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? WARWICK. No, 'tis impossible he should escape; For, though before his face I speak the words, Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave; And, whereso'er he is, he's surely dead. RICHARD. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. See who it is. EDWARD. And now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used. RICHARD. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murd'ring knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring- I mean our princely father, Duke of York. WARWICK. From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; Instead whereof let this supply the room. Measure for measure must be answered. EDWARD. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours. Now death shall stop his dismal threat'ning sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. WARWICK. I think his understanding is bereft. Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. RICHARD. O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth. 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. GEORGE. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. RICHARD. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. EDWARD. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. WARWICK. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. GEORGE. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. RICHARD. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. EDWARD. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. GEORGE. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now? WARWICK. They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont. RICHARD. What, not an oath? Nay, then the world goes hard When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. I know by that he's dead; and by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hours' life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. WARWICK. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands. And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal King; From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen. So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scatt'red foe that hopes to rise again; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation; And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. EDWARD. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, And never will I undertake the thing Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester; And George, of Clarence; Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. RICHARD. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester; For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. WARWICK. Tut, that's a foolish observation. Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London To see these honours in possession. Exeunt

Enter two KEEPERS, with cross-bows in their hands

FIRST KEEPER. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves, For through this laund anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer. SECOND KEEPER. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. FIRST KEEPER. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best; And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day In this self-place where now we mean to stand. SECOND KEEPER. Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past.

Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a prayer-book

Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY

KING EDWARD. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Albans' field This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, His land then seiz'd on by the conqueror. Her suit is now to repossess those lands; Which we in justice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his life. GLOUCESTER. Your Highness shall do well to grant her suit; It were dishonour to deny it her. KING EDWARD. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. GLOUCESTER. Yea, is it so? I see the lady hath a thing to grant, Before the King will grant her humble suit. CLARENCE. He knows the game; how true he keeps the wind! GLOUCESTER. Silence! KING EDWARD. Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time to know our mind. LADY GREY. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay. May it please your Highness to resolve me now; And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me. GLOUCESTER. Ay, widow? Then I'll warrant you all your lands, An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. Fight closer or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. CLARENCE. I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. GLOUCESTER. God forbid that, for he'll take vantages. KING EDWARD. How many children hast thou, widow, tell me. CLARENCE. I think he means to beg a child of her. GLOUCESTER. Nay, then whip me; he'll rather give her two. LADY GREY. Three, my most gracious lord. GLOUCESTER. You shall have four if you'll be rul'd by him. KING EDWARD. 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.

Enter a NOBLEMAN

NOBLEMAN. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. KING EDWARD. See that he be convey'd unto the Tower. And go we, brothers, to the man that took him To question of his apprehension. Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER. Ay, Edward will use women honourably. Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring To cross me from the golden time I look for! And yet, between my soul's desire and me- The lustful Edward's title buried- Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms ere I can place myself. A cold premeditation for my purpose! Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye; And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying he'll lade it dry to have his way- So do I wish the crown, being so far off; And so I chide the means that keeps me from it; And so I say I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities. My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns. Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb; And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam. And am I, then, a man to be belov'd? O monstrous fault to harbour such a thought! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me But to command, to check, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And whiles I live t' account this world but hell, Until my misshap'd trunk that bear this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home; And I- like one lost in a thorny wood That rents the thorns and is rent with the thorns, Seeking a way and straying from the way Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out- Torment myself to catch the English crown; And from that torment I will free myself Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'Content!' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Protheus for advantages, And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. Exit

Flourish. Enter LEWIS the French King, his sister BONA, his Admiral call'd BOURBON; PRINCE EDWARD, QUEEN MARGARET, and the EARL of OXFORD. LEWIS sits, and riseth up again

LEWIS. Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret, Sit down with us. It ill befits thy state And birth that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit. QUEEN MARGARET. No, mighty King of France. Now Margaret Must strike her sail and learn a while to serve Where kings command. I was, I must confess, Great Albion's Queen in former golden days; But now mischance hath trod my title down And with dishonour laid me on the ground, Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, And to my humble seat conform myself. LEWIS. Why, say, fair Queen, whence springs this deep despair? QUEEN MARGARET. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares. LEWIS. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, And sit thee by our side. Yield not thy neck To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance. Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. QUEEN MARGARET. Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. Now therefore be it known to noble Lewis That Henry, sole possessor of my love, Is, of a king, become a banish'd man, And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn; While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York Usurps the regal title and the seat Of England's true-anointed lawful King. This is the cause that I, poor Margaret, With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir, Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; And if thou fail us, all our hope is done. Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help; Our people and our peers are both misled, Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight, And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight. LEWIS. Renowned Queen, with patience calm the storm, While we bethink a means to break it off. QUEEN MARGARET. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe. LEWIS. The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee. QUEEN MARGARET. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow. And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow!

Enter WARWICK

Enter the POST

POST. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you, Sent from your brother, Marquis Montague. These from our King unto your Majesty. And, madam, these for you; from whom I know not. OXFORD. I like it well that our fair Queen and mistress Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps as he were nettled. I hope all's for the best. LEWIS. Warwick, what are thy news? And yours, fair Queen? QUEEN MARGARET. Mine such as fill my heart with unhop'd joys. WARWICK. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent. LEWIS. What, has your king married the Lady Grey? And now, to soothe your forgery and his, Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? Is this th' alliance that he seeks with France? Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? QUEEN MARGARET. I told your Majesty as much before. This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty. WARWICK. King Lewis, I here protest in sight of heaven, And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's- No more my king, for he dishonours me, But most himself, if he could see his shame. Did I forget that by the house of York My father came untimely to his death? Did I let pass th' abuse done to my niece? Did I impale him with the regal crown? Did I put Henry from his native right? And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame? Shame on himself! for my desert is honour; And to repair my honour lost for him I here renounce him and return to Henry. My noble Queen, let former grudges pass, And henceforth I am thy true servitor. I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona, And replant Henry in his former state. QUEEN MARGARET. Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love; And I forgive and quite forget old faults, And joy that thou becom'st King Henry's friend. WARWICK. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, That if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us With some few bands of chosen soldiers, I'll undertake to land them on our coast And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him; And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me, He's very likely now to fall from him For matching more for wanton lust than honour Or than for strength and safety of our country. BONA. Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd But by thy help to this distressed queen? QUEEN MARGARET. Renowned Prince, how shall poor Henry live Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? BONA. My quarrel and this English queen's are one. WARWICK. And mine, fair Lady Bona, joins with yours. LEWIS. And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's. Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd You shall have aid. QUEEN MARGARET. Let me give humble thanks for all at once. LEWIS. Then, England's messenger, return in post And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, That Lewis of France is sending over masquers To revel it with him and his new bride. Thou seest what's past; go fear thy king withal. BONA. Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, I'll wear the willow-garland for his sake. QUEEN MARGARET. Tell him my mourning weeds are laid aside, And I am ready to put armour on. WARWICK. Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long. There's thy reward; be gone. Exit POST LEWIS. But, Warwick, Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men, Shall cross the seas and bid false Edward battle: And, as occasion serves, this noble Queen And Prince shall follow with a fresh supply. Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt: What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? WARWICK. This shall assure my constant loyalty: That if our Queen and this young Prince agree, I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. QUEEN MARGARET. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion. Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, Therefore delay not- give thy hand to Warwick; And with thy hand thy faith irrevocable That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. PRINCE OF WALES. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it; And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. LEWIS. stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied; And thou, Lord Bourbon, our High Admiral, Shall waft them over with our royal fleet. I long till Edward fall by war's mischance For mocking marriage with a dame of France. Exeunt all but WARWICK WARWICK. I came from Edward as ambassador, But I return his sworn and mortal foe. Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, But dreadful war shall answer his demand. Had he none else to make a stale but me? Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown, And I'll be chief to bring him down again; Not that I pity Henry's misery, But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. Exit

Enter GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, and MONTAGUE

GLOUCESTER. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey? Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? CLARENCE. Alas, you know 'tis far from hence to France! How could he stay till Warwick made return? SOMERSET. My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the King.

Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, attended; LADY GREY, as Queen; PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, HASTINGS, and others. Four stand on one side, and four on the other

Enter a POST

Enter WARWICK and OXFORD, with French soldiers

WARWICK. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; The common people by numbers swarm to us.

Enter CLARENCE and SOMERSET

But see where Somerset and Clarence comes. Speak suddenly, my lords- are we all friends? CLARENCE. Fear not that, my lord. WARWICK. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick; And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love; Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother, Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings. But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine. And now what rests but, in night's coverture, Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, His soldiers lurking in the towns about, And but attended by a simple guard, We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? Our scouts have found the adventure very easy; That as Ulysses and stout Diomede With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds, So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, At unawares may beat down Edward's guard And seize himself- I say not 'slaughter him,' For I intend but only to surprise him. You that will follow me to this attempt, Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. Why then, let's on our way in silent sort. For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George! Exeunt

Enter three WATCHMEN, to guard the KING'S tent

FIRST WATCHMAN. Come on, my masters, each man take his stand; The King by this is set him down to sleep. SECOND WATCHMAN. What, will he not to bed? FIRST WATCHMAN. Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow Never to lie and take his natural rest Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd. SECOND WATCHMAN. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day, If Warwick be so near as men report. THIRD WATCHMAN. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that That with the King here resteth in his tent? FIRST WATCHMAN. 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the King's chiefest friend. THIRD WATCHMAN. O, is it So? But why commands the King That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, While he himself keeps in the cold field? SECOND WATCHMAN. 'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous. THIRD WATCHMAN. Ay, but give me worship and quietness; I like it better than dangerous honour. If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 'Tis to be doubted he would waken him. FIRST WATCHMAN. Unless our halberds did shut up his passage. SECOND WATCHMAN. Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent But to defend his person from night-foes?

Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, SOMERSET, and French soldiers, silent all

WARWICK. This is his tent; and see where stand his guard. Courage, my masters! Honour now or never! But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. FIRST WATCHMAN. Who goes there? SECOND WATCHMAN. Stay, or thou diest.

WARWICK and the rest cry all 'Warwick! Warwick!' and set upon the guard, who fly, crying 'Arm! Arm!' WARWICK and the rest following them

The drum playing and trumpet sounding, re-enter WARWICK and the rest, bringing the KING out in his gown, sitting in a chair. GLOUCESTER and HASTINGS fly over the stage

SOMERSET. What are they that fly there? WARWICK. Richard and Hastings. Let them go; here is the Duke. KING EDWARD. The Duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted, Thou call'dst me King? WARWICK. Ay, but the case is alter'd. When you disgrac'd me in my embassade, Then I degraded you from being King, And come now to create you Duke of York. Alas, how should you govern any kingdom That know not how to use ambassadors, Nor how to be contented with one wife, Nor how to use your brothers brotherly, Nor how to study for the people's welfare, Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies? KING EDWARD. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too? Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down. Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, Of thee thyself and all thy complices, Edward will always bear himself as King. Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. WARWICK. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king; But Henry now shall wear the English crown And be true King indeed; thou but the shadow. My Lord of Somerset, at my request, See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd Unto my brother, Archbishop of York. When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, I'll follow you and tell what answer Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him. Now for a while farewell, good Duke of York. KING EDWARD. What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide. OXFORD. What now remains, my lords, for us to do But march to London with our soldiers? WARWICK. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do; To free King Henry from imprisonment, And see him seated in the regal throne. Exeunt

Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and RIVERS

RIVERS. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change? QUEEN ELIZABETH. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward? RIVERS. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick? QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, but the loss of his own royal person. RIVERS. Then is my sovereign slain? QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner; Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares; And, as I further have to understand, Is new committed to the Bishop of York, Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe. RIVERS. These news, I must confess, are full of grief; Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may: Warwick may lose that now hath won the day. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay. And I the rather wean me from despair For love of Edward's offspring in my womb. This is it that makes me bridle passion And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross; Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown King Edward's fruit, true heir to th' English crown. RIVERS. But, madam, where is Warwick then become? QUEEN ELIZABETH. I am inform'd that he comes towards London To set the crown once more on Henry's head. Guess thou the rest: King Edward's friends must down. But to prevent the tyrant's violence- For trust not him that hath once broken faith- I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary To save at least the heir of Edward's right. There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly: If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. Exeunt

Enter GLOUCESTER, LORD HASTINGS, SIR WILLIAM STANLEY, and others

GLOUCESTER. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley, Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither Into this chiefest thicket of the park. Thus stands the case: you know our King, my brother, Is prisoner to the Bishop here, at whose hands He hath good usage and great liberty; And often but attended with weak guard Comes hunting this way to disport himself. I have advertis'd him by secret means That if about this hour he make this way, Under the colour of his usual game, He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, To set him free from his captivity.

Enter KING EDWARD and a HUNTSMAN with him

HUNTSMAN. This way, my lord; for this way lies the game. KING EDWARD. Nay, this way, man. See where the huntsmen stand. Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest, Stand you thus close to steal the Bishop's deer? GLOUCESTER. Brother, the time and case requireth haste; Your horse stands ready at the park corner. KING EDWARD. But whither shall we then? HASTINGS. To Lynn, my lord; and shipt from thence to Flanders. GLOUCESTER. Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning. KING EDWARD. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. GLOUCESTER. But wherefore stay we? 'Tis no time to talk. KING EDWARD. Huntsman, what say'st thou? Wilt thou go along? HUNTSMAN. Better do so than tarry and be hang'd. GLOUCESTER. Come then, away; let's ha' no more ado. KING EDWARD. Bishop, farewell. Shield thee from Warwick's frown, And pray that I may repossess the crown. Exeunt

Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLARENCE, WARWICK, SOMERSET, young HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, OXFORD, MONTAGUE, LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER, and attendants

Enter a POST

WARWICK. What news, my friend? POST. That Edward is escaped from your brother And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. WARWICK. Unsavoury news! But how made he escape? POST. He was convey'd by Richard Duke of Gloucester And the Lord Hastings, who attended him In secret ambush on the forest side And from the Bishop's huntsmen rescu'd him; For hunting was his daily exercise. WARWICK. My brother was too careless of his charge. But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide A salve for any sore that may betide. Exeunt all but SOMERSET, RICHMOND, and OXFORD SOMERSET. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's; For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help, And we shall have more wars befor't be long. As Henry's late presaging prophecy Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond, So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts, What may befall him to his harm and ours. Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany, Till storms be past of civil enmity. OXFORD. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown, 'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down. SOMERSET. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany. Come therefore, let's about it speedily. Exeunt

Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and soldiers

Enter, on the walls, the MAYOR OF YORK and his BRETHREN

MAYOR. My lords, we were forewarned of your coming And shut the gates for safety of ourselves, For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. KING EDWARD. But, Master Mayor, if Henry be your King, Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York. MAYOR. True, my good lord; I know you for no less. KING EDWARD. Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom, As being well content with that alone. GLOUCESTER. But when the fox hath once got in his nose, He'll soon find means to make the body follow. HASTINGS. Why, Master Mayor, why stand you in a doubt? Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends. MAYOR. Ay, say you so? The gates shall then be open'd. GLOUCESTER. A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded! HASTINGS. The good old man would fain that all were well, So 'twere not long of him; but being ent'red, I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade Both him and all his brothers unto reason.

Enter, below, the MAYOR and two ALDERMEN

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