But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.
Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thousand
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. â€”
Act I Scene 4
Wrath makes him deaf ; speak thovi, Northum-
North. Hold, Clifford ! do not honour him so
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.
[They lay hands on York, ivho strugyles.
Clif. Ay, ay; so strives the woodcock with
North. So doth the coney struggle in the net.
[ York is taken jyrlsoner.
York. So triumph thieves upon their con-
quer'd booty ;
So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd.
North. What would your grace have done
unto him now ?
Q. Mar. Brave warriors, ClifTord and North-
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here.
That raught* at inountains with out- [reached
Yet pai'ted but the shadow with his hand.â€”
What! was it you that would be England's
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 (four sum
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 ?
Third Part of King Henry VT
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland ?
Look, York : I stain'd this napkin with the
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,
1 K've thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas, poor York ! but that I hate thee deadly,
1 should lament thy miserable state.
T prithee, grieve to make me merry, York ;
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine
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.
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.
[Putting a])aper croion on his head.
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
And will you pale* your head in Henry's ten.irde
And rob his temples of the diadem,
N(jw in his life, against your holy oath ?
O, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable !
Act I Scene 4 "^
Ofif with the crown, and with the crown his
And whilst we breathe take time to do him dead.
Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake.
Q. Mar. Nay, stay ; let 's hear the orisons he
York. She-wolf of France, but worse than
wolves of France,
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates !
Bvit that thy face is, vizard-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
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou
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 adiuir'd ;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at.
'Tis government that makes them seem divine ;
â– 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.* [north
Third Part of Kiu^ Henry VI
O tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide I
How conldst thou drain the life-blood of the
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face ?
'\\'f)nion arc soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible ;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bidd'st thou me rage ? why, now thou hast thy
Wouldst have me weep ? why, now thou hast
thy will ;
For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
ATid, 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 French-
Xorth. Beshrew me, but his passion moves me
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
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 I it was a piteous deed.'
There, take the crown, and with the crown my
Act II Scene 1
And in thy need such comfort come to thee
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand ! â€”
Hard-hearted Chfford, take me from the world ;
My soul to heaven, my blood vipon your heads !
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all ray
I should not, for ray life, but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
Q. Mar. What ! weeping-ripe, my Lord North-
Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my
father's death. [Stabbing him.
Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-
hearted king. [Stabbing hhn.
York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God I
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out
Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York
So York may overlook the town of York.
Scene 1.â€” A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in
A March. Enter Edward and Richard,
with their Poiver.
Edw. 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
Third Piirt uf King Henry VI
Had he been slain, we should have heard the
Oi* had he scap'd, niethinks we should have heard
The liappy tidings of his good escape.
How fares my brother? why is he so sad?
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd* [satisfied
"Where oiu- 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 dt)th a lion in a herd of neat* ; Icattie
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,
Trinim'd like a younker prancing to his love !
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do 1 see three
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect
Not separated with the racking* clouds, [vapoury
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.
Edu\ 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet
never heard of.
I think it cit<-s us, brother, to the field,
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds,* [merits
Act II Scene 1
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights to-
And overshine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair shining suns.
Rich. Nay, bear three daughters; by yoiii-
leave I speak it,
You love the breeder better than the male.
Enter a Messenger.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongvie ?
Mess. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on
Whenas the noble Duke of York was slain.
Your princely father and my loving lord.
Edw. O, speak no more, for I have heard too
Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.
Mess. Environed he was with many foes,
And stood against them as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks that would have enter'd
But Herciiles himself must yield to odds ;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
By many hands your father was subdued.
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen,
Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite,
I^ugh'd in his face, and when with grief he wept
The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks,
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
Of sweet young Rutland, l)y rough Clifford slain;
And, after many scorns, many foul taunts.
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They set the same ; and there it doth remain,
Third Part of King Henry VI
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.
Edio. Sweet Duke of York ! our prop to lean
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
O Clifford ! boisterous Clilford ! thou hast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry ;
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee.
Now my soul's palace is become a prison :
Ah, would she break from hence, that this my
Might in the ground be closed up in rest !
For never henceforth shall I joy again.
Never, O, never, shall I see more joy !
Rich. I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture
Scarce serves to quench my fiuiiace-burning
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great
For selfsame wind that I should speak withal
Is kindling coals that fires all my breast
And burns me up with flames that tears would
To weep is to make less the depth of grief :
Tears, then, for babes ; blows and revenge for
Richard, I bear thy name ; I '11 venge thy death
Or die renowned by attem])ling it.
Fdw. His name that valiant duke hath left
with thee ;
His dukedom and his chair with me is left.
Rich. Nay, if thou be t hat princely eagle's bird.
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun :
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.
Act II Scene 1
March. Enter Warwick and Montague,
with their Army.
War. How now, fair lords! What fare?
what news abroad ?
Rich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should
Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,
The words would add more anguish than the
0, valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain I
Ediv. O, Warwick ! Warwick ! that Plan-
Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption,
Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.
War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in
And now, to add more measure to your woes,
I come to tell you things sith then befallen.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought.
Where your brave father breath'd his latest
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
Were brought me of your loss and his depart.
1, then in London, keeper of the king,
Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
And very well appointed, as I thought,
March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the
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 succes-
Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met,
Tliird Part of King: Hcnrv \l
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,
1 cannot judge : l)ut, 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 q\ieen ;
Loi'd 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 an(jther head to fight again.
Edw. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle
And when came George from Burgundy to
War. Some six miles off the duke is with the
And for your brother, he was lately sent
From your kind aunt. Duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.
Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Wai*-
wick fled ;
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit.
But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.
War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost
thou hear ;
Act II Scene 1
For thou shalt know, this strong right hand
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,
Were he as famovis and as bold in war
As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.
Rich. 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 oiu- 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.
War. Why, therefore Warwick can)e to seek
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
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
Why, Via! to Londtm w'ill we march amain.
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
Tliiicl J\irt of King Henry VI
And once again cry ' Charge upon oin- foes !
But never once again turn hack and fly.
Rich. Ay, now, niethinks, I liear great War-
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day
That cries ' Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay.
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I
And when thou fail'stâ€” as God forbid the hour ! â€”
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven fore-
War. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of
The next degree is England's royal throne ;
For King of England shalt thou be proclaini'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 Edwai'd, valiant Richard, Montague,
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,
But sound the ti-unipets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Cliiford, were thy heart as hard
As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edic. Then strike up, drums ! God and Saint
George for us !
Enter a Messenger.
War. How now ! what news ?
Mess. The Dvike of Norfolk sends you word
The queen is coming with a puissant host,
And craves your company for speedy counsel.
\l"ar. Why then it sorts*; brave [is owxirtune
warriors, let's away. [E.ceunt.
Act II Scene 2
Scene 2.â€” Before York.
Flourish. Enter King Henry, Qiteen Mar-
garet, the Prince of Wales, Clifford, and
Northicniberland, with drums and triimpets.
Q. Mar. 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 ?
K. Hen. Ay, as the i-ocks cheer them that fear
their .wrack ;
To see the sight, it irks my very soul.
Withhold revenge, dear God ! 'tis not my fault.
Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow.
Clif. My gracious lioge, 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.
W'hose hand is that the foi-est 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 Y^ork 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, blest with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him.
Which argu'd thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young ;
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Y'et, in protection of their tender ones.
Who hath not seen them, even with those wings
7 O 33
Third JÂ»art of King Henry VI
Which sometime they have us'd in 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 pre-
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault.
And long hereafter say imto 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
Sxiccessf ul fortune, steel thy melting heai-t
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.
K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the
Inferring arguments of naighty 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
AVhose father, for his hoarding, went to hell ?
1 '11 leave my son my virtuous deeds behind.
And woidd 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. â€”
Ah, cousin York, would thy bestfriendsdidknow
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here !
Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits ; our
foes ai-e nigh.
And this softcoin-age makes your followers faint.
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son ;
Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently. â€”
Fdward, kneel down.
A'. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight :
And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right.
Act II Scene 2
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly
I '11 draw it as apparent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Royal coinmanders, be in readiness ;
For with a band of thirty thousand men
Comes Warwick, backing of the Dvike of York,
And in the towns, as they do march along,
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him.
Darraign your battle,* for they [set jour force in or.icr
are at hand.
Clif. I would your highness would depai't the
The queen hath best success whenyouareabsent.
Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to
K. Hen. Why, that 's my fortune too ; there-
fore I '11 stay.
North. Be it with resolution then to fight.
Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble
And hearten those that fight in your defence.
Unsheathe your sword, good father ; cry, 'Saint
George ! '
March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, War-
icick, Xoi'folk, Moniagioe, and Soldiers.
Edtc. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel
And set thy diadem upon my head.
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ?
Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud, insulting
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
'riiiixl Tart t)f King Henry VI
Before thy sovorcMj^n aiul thy lawful kinp?
Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his
I was adopted heir by his consent :
Since when, his oath is broke ; for, as I hear,
You, that arc 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.
Clif. And reason, too ;
AVho should succeed the father but the son ?
Rich. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot
Clif. Ay, crook-back ; here I stand, to answer
Or any he the jiroudest of thy sort.
Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland,
was it not ?
Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the
War. What say'st thou, Heni-y, wilt thou
yield the crown ?
Q. M(tr. Why, how now, long-tongued War-
wick ! dare you sjjcak ?
When you and I met at Saint Alban's last.
Your legs did better service than your hands.
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis
Clif. You said so much before, and yet you
War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove
North. No, nor your manhood that durst
make you stay.
Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.
Break off the parley ; for scarce I can refrain
Act II Scene 2
The execution of iiiy big-swolu heart
Upon that Clifford, tliat cruel child-killer.
Clif. I slew thy father ; call'st thou him a
Rich. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ;
But ere sunset I '11 make thee ciuse the deed.
K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and
hear me speak.
Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close
K. Hen. I prithee give no limits to my tongue ;
I am a king, and privileg'd to speak.
CI if. My liege, the wound that bred this
Cannot be cur'd by words ; therefore be still.
Rich. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword.
By him that made us all, I am I'esolv'd* [assure.i
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.
Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day
That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head ;
For York in justice puts his armour on.
Prince. If that be right which Warwick says
There is no wrong, but every thing is right.
Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.
Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire nor
But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,* [deformity
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.
Third Part of King Henry VI
Rich. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,
Whose father bears the title of a king, â€”
As if a channel should be call'd the sea, â€”
Shani'st thou not, knowing whence thou art
To let thy tongue detect* thy base-born frereai
Edtv. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand
To make this shameless callet know hei-self. â€”
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
Altho\igh thy husband may be ]\Ienelaus ;
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
By that false woman as this king by thee.
His father revell'd in the heart of France,
And tam'd the king, and made the dauphin
And, had he match'd according to his state.
He might have kept that glory to this day :
But, when he took a beggar to his bed.
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day,
Even then that simshine brew'd a shower for him
That wash'd his father's fortiines forth of
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept,
And we, in pity of the gentle king,
Had slipp'd our claim until another age.